#And oh my god that is will I was having him speak like Nikola because I had no idea who he was 😂

[coconut530]

COLLECTING THESE SPECTRES LIKE POKÉMON

ALSO DUDE YOU ARE THE LITERAL DEVILLLLLLLLLLLL

Plus some important information for the fandom if they didn’t see ;)

[bones4thecats]

I'm not sure if you accepting RoR request but can I request Shiva, Buddha, Qin Shi Huang and Nikola Tesla with a fem reader that's Nyarlathotep? (crawling chaos from HP Lovecraft) she looks normal and even cute most of the time but she can be very much terrifying when turning into her cosmic horror form or if she wants to just mess around with the gods (mostly Zeus and Odin) by messing with their heads most of the time and they can't do much because she's an outer god but around them she's very sweet and helpful and ties her best to push away her violent tendencies for their sake

Type of Writing: Request Characters: Shiva, Buddha, Qin Shi Huang, and Nikola Tesla Name: {Character} with a Nyarlathotep! Reader Requester: Anonymous

A/N: At this point, I may as well make a page dedicated to my H.P. Lovecraft-themed Reader pieces, since I've written like three pieces now! It's ironic because of how much I love reading about these characters, lmao

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🪩 This man thrives on destruction, he's the God of it for crying out loud!

🪩 When he first met you, you and your father, Azathoth, were attending the Gods' Council meeting, and you were one of the Gods who decided to spare Humanity, and when asked by him, you just replied with a sly

" Oh, I do not wish for them to live because of pity or love, silly! Quite the opposite, actually! Humans have caused so much chaos and madness, it's wonderful! And, I plan on keeping them for as long as I find them enjoyable. Now, ta-ta~ "

🪩 He'd be lying if he said he didn't find you a hint alluring, you looked far cuter than what was written down, you were always described as a being that looked more 'monstrous' and 'hideous' than anything Humanity could've created

🪩 Shiva and you would normally speak whenever necessary, but, after a while, your more distant bond grew into a blooming friendship and eventual marriage!

🪩 This God definitely doesn't care about how mad you sound with your words, he just fears that maybe one day you'll either say something to the wrong person or you'll end up going unstoppable with madness and get annihilated by a stronger being

🪩 Whenever Loki messes around with Shiva, you end up messing with his mind a lot, prompting Odin to knock you away, which makes you target him, much to his birds' annoyance

🪩 Shiva tried pushing his own violent tendencies away for you and his fellow wives' sake, and because of this, he ends up having a special day every month for him to go out and let out those thoughts and actions, and, when he notices just how much pressure was building on you, he'd take you with him

" Go ahead and blow that massive boulder up! Good job, my Being of Chaos! "

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🍭 This guy was concerned when he first met you, you were seemingly more insane than the other Gods he met, and that included those such as Loki, and we all know how crazy that guy is

🍭 The only reason this guy even spoke to you was because of how strongly your father stood with the destruction of Humanity, every. single. time. that the Gods voted

🍭 Buddha was getting annoyed with how ignorant and oblivious your father was, and he could tell you were as well, and when he asked you about how you truly felt about your father, you acknowledged him, unlike many different Gods, and spoke to him calmly with hidden insanity

" My father is quite ignorant and, to be honest, sometimes even I wonder how in the name of the universe he has so much power. But, let me be honest with you, Buddha. Because of this, he's fun to manipulate. But, don't tell anyone about that, yeah? Yeah! Alright, gotta go, bye! "

🍭 He was quite off-put when he asked Brunhilde about you, and when she said how dangerous and hideous of a being you were, he was confused, you were adorable and seemingly sweet

🍭 Your God-friend and you were some of the only Gods who voted for Humanity's safety, though, you both kept it to yourselves, not wishing to have a certain someone's rage on your asses

🍭 When Ragnarok commenced, you teleported to speak to Brunhilde, telling her your plan of siding with Humanity during the Gods' strongest point to break them down mentally, you did love to watch them struggle, after all!

🍭 After finding out that Buddha was siding with Humanity, you jumped down, causing many to believe you were fighting against him, but, when you announced your defect to their side, your father's rage knew no bounds

" Oh, father, just how much of an ignorant prick can you be? Humanity does have some, decent, qualities to them. And while I may never fully understand them, I will try my best to do so. Anyways, have fun fighting, my dear! "

🍭 Much like Shiva, he appreciates how much you try staying sane around him and the Human Fighters, it lets him know just how much you do care about him

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👑 When Qin first met you, it was because one of your father's minions accidentally caused mass destruction to his home, leaving many lives in ruin and an emperor very, very, upset

👑 You attending the small meeting with your father, though you spent your time screwing around with the nearby humans, causing the ruler to ignore your father's rambles of incoherentness

👑 While he initially disliked how unsettlingly cute yet sadistic you were, once he got to know you a bit better, thanks to some well-spent time on Earth by yourself, he began to see you for what you really were

👑 Being raised by such a cruel yet idiotic being, you really didn't have the best examples when it came to interactions with other brings, heck, you had some of the most horrendous relationships with your two siblings, Nameless Mist and Darkness

👑 During one of your first meetings while on decent terms, he asked you exactly what you were going to do, since he had heard about Ragnarok forming from one of the guards of his

" Ragnarok? It sounds pretty pathetic to me, honestly. Though, I suppose watching the smug smirks of those so called Gods fade would make me smile myself. I kid, I kid! Oh, you see right through me, emperor! Honestly, really it's a funny thing, but, I may side with Humanity in the downfall, you know how I am! "

👑 Qin disliked how cruel and hostile you were with pretty much anyone, but, when he noticed how much softer and seemingly polite you were with his fellow fighters, he would smile to himself

👑 You must really care about him if it meant you were trying to push back the only thing you ever knew behind just so he could be happier and not driven to the brink of insanity himself from stress

" Why am I so kind with the mortals? I figured I was being sneaky with my behavior, oh well! They're far weaker appearing then they really are, I suppose. And I respect that, to a degree. I'm not going soft, damn you! "

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🧪 Nikola Tesla, the man known on Earth as the 'Ultimate Mad Scientist of His Time', and his title alone was enough to interest you

🧪 Once you learned of where he resided in Valhalla, you took a small trip there, leaving a simply written note on the table your father sat at daily, and setting a straight-lined course there

🧪 He was just working on his newest invention when his doors slammed open, making him jump and snap his head back to see a fairly tall humanoid-being standing there

🧪 While he stared at you, you smiled and ran up to him, allowing your form to float above him and ask if he was indeed the human known as 'Nikola Tesla'

🧪 Once reassuring his identity, you began asking about his work, from how he made something so complicated look so seemingly simple, despite the multitude of horrendously long equation written on his chalkboard

🧪 Due to his own curiosity, Nikola had to push himself to ask who and what you were, in which you just laughed and answered him with a honey-coated voice

" Who am I? That's quite surprising, dearest mortal! I am Y/N, the offspring of the Outer God, Azathoth, and the God of Madness, at least in many's eyes I am. Humans are different creatures... ANYWAYS! How about you explain about that, uh, what did you call it again? Ah, yes! The electric engineering, how does that work again? "

🧪 Nikola was very off-put by how devoted you were to being by his side to learn everything he was working on, and, in all honesty, he kinda enjoyed having you around to speak to, it made him feel a little less lonely

🧪 While he was being scolded by Brunhilde for speaking to a God who was said to have only sided with Humanity to make them suffer at their own hands, he couldn't help but argue back with how you were far more gentle with his fellow scientists when working on his armory

" Brunhilde. While I agree with the fact that their father isn't ideal in the slightest, Y/N is going behind his and the multitude of Gods' backs just to help me and my fellow geniuses win Ragnarok. You may not trust them, but I do. Now, I recommend you leave before they arrive, it may get ugly, and I do not wish for their aura to destroy our hard work. "

[the-path-to-redemption]

Long Post Ahead

So, I just rewatched the first episode of Ice Queendom, and MY GOD, did it just pisses me off even more when I looked at the entire series as a whole.

It set up the characters, the dynamic, the pacing, and the motivation so fucking well that I'm more than just disappointed that the entire series derailed at the end. The first episode was amazing, and I think that's why many of us wanted to give the franchise another chance.

Already in the first 5 minutes of the episode, we were shown what we always wanted from canon RWBY: Yang's interaction with Summer's grave and how she felt about her mother. Hell, she even calls Summer "Mama", and gives her a wink as she embraces Ruby who just told Summer about her sister's admission to Beacon. It establishes their family dynamic, which only furthers when we see Tai interacting with his daughters.

He jokes with Yang and talks to her about their family having an outing, he goes with her to Vale to check on Ruby when she's late with the present, and they both wait for Ruby at the police station. He even sent them off on the airship. Where the fuck was this guy in the canon?? Ice Queendom actually managed to make him believable as a single father who's trying his best to support his girls, instead of someone sitting around in his house doing nothing.

The first episode also established the Schnee family so fucking well as a contrast to the Xiao Long-Roses, with Weiss already too familiar with her mother's day drinking habit and her tense relationship with Whitley, who was given a moment of complexity! What the fuck, they actually feel like siblings who never connected because their parents are never there for them without villainizing neither kids for feeling the way they do.

It even shows, in the end, how Weiss felt about her grandfather. Which had it been written by capable writers, we could've seen Nikolas Schnee from various perspectives. He could've simultaneously been a good family man, a great man whom Weiss idolizes, and a colonizing monster that he is to everyone else, especially to Vacuans whom he spearheaded their decline. There was something here, people, fucking do something about it.

And Blake... oh, baby girl I am fucking mad for you at the end of Ice Queendom. It sets her and Adam up so well, even with him clearly letting her go so that she, in his mind, can truly understand the cruelty of the world and how it treats Faunus. None of that bullshit "abusive relationship" shtick was shown, but rather what we expected of them: they have a fallout due to differing opinions but still aim for the same goal which is Faunus liberation.

But nope, her shadow self was villainized at the end for speaking the TRUTH. Weiss and her family did exploit the Faunus. Hell, Weiss herself in the nightmare clearly groups the exploitative, parasitic board members of her company in the same hostile environment as the people they abuse, the Faunus, who she portrays as monsters. In Weiss' mind, these two groups are the same, and that's fucking horrid. Weiss don't give a fuck about the truth at the end, she's just embarrassed that now everyone she knows sees how much of a fucking racist she is.

Ice Queendom disappointed me, and I hate it.

[northstarco]

fact checks (ft. nikolas)

❝ nikolas checks facts, and answers questions.. at three in the morning ❞

"did you break your arm again?"

nikolas chuckles mid-read, glancing down at his oddly placed right arm and shaking his head, the question makes him place a hand on his forehead. "no my arm is not broken, not yet, at least".

"how weak are your bones?— well it's not my fault that i somehow almost always manage to break something it just happens!" niko shrugs, acting like his answer wasn't the stupidest thing in the world and glancing down at the sleeping feline in his lap. "i have bad luck, don't yell at me" he mutters, as if trying to be quiet so he doesn't wake up susi.

where is that poster from?

niko narrows his eyes at the comment, turning back to the queen poster situated right above his desk. he allows for a small laugh to escape his lips as he thinks about where he got it from. "a fan handed it to me at a fansign like a year ago? i thought it was a mistake but she just let me have it.."

did you really forget your instagram password?

nikolas, ready to make an excuse, laughs again. "yes, i did, and until i figure it out again you're never getting another juno instagram update" the 96 liner doesn't seem too bothered by the news, much to the dismay of his own fans.

i didn't know you played the violin :0 that's so cool!!

"ah" niko pauses, clicking his tongue. "well mæ̀ is a violin instructor so it was one of the first instruments i learned how to play, it's not my favorite, though, the strings make my fingers hurt" he frowns slightly, looking down at his scarred fingers. "these days the scars are from my guitar, though".

do you dream in english?

the question is enough to make nikolas snicker, it baffles him that someone would ask that, but it's also too interesting to not answer. "that's such a strange thing to ask.." he snickers again, just the thought of the question alone is enough to make him laugh. "i guess so? i dream in a weird mix of english and thai, my dreams don't make any sense".

you need to write more songs hello??

the comment makes nikolas smile lightly, and he places his cheek on his fist. "i do write a lot of songs, i just trash most of them because they're.. well, not sm approved" he chuckles at his own wording, he'd explain why in more detail if he wasn't weary about his mangers watching. "most of the songs i write are about personal experiences, not general experiences".

juno solo debut when?

"never" niko mumbles, shaking his head as he un-balls his fist and places his chin onto his hand. he chuckles at his own response, watching as the comments explode into questions of why? and what do you mean? a small smile grows on his face, and he lets his face fall down. "actually i don't know, not that the company will tell me anything anyway, if they even have something planned.."

niko narrows his eyes suspiciously, staring into space as he thinks about it for a moment. "i'm not sure, maybe those songs will escape the drafts someday".

song recommendations!!

"song recommendations.." niko taps his fingers onto his desk, scouring his mind for songs he himself enjoys. "everything is everything by lauryn hill, uh.. alterlife by rina sawayama, and farewell by akmu, that's a good one".

"i feel like you'd be a good music teacher— i have no idea what that's supposed to mean! but thank you!"

why are you live at three am?

"hm.. well i can't sleep, i'm bored, and doyoungie would've killed me if i called him at three in the morning" nikolas thinks of more reasons he could give to answer that question, but as he's about to answer, he gets a notification from his phone. when he looks down at his phone, he snickers, covering his mouth with his hand. "aww, kim doyoung hates me everybody" he pouts playfully at his phone, presumably humored by a text he'd gotten from his best friend.

"let's hope he doesn't come for my soul, i can't die before rina's new album is released.. oh my god, speaking of rina—"

nikolas then goes on a rant about rina sawayama's music, much too immersed in it. it's safe to say, the viewers were very amazed by the sight of silent niko, who often sat back and let his members do the talking during group lives, running his mouth like nothing else in the world mattered.

niko's ramblings only stop when a certain question catches his eye. "i'm going to australia soon, have any snack recommendations?— oh my god you have to try tim tams, and fairy bread, and also anzac biscuits those are so good! i remember my mom sent me snacks a few weeks ago and i finally got to eat them again, i also made fairy bread a few weeks ago, it was as good as i remember it".

"what are tim tams? oh they're chocolate biscuits that usually have some sort of filling, the ones with caramel filling are the best trust me".

"go to sleep" niko blinks at the comment, a small chuckle escaping his lips. "no! you can't tell me what to do, i'm staying awake for the rest of time now that you commented that".

nikolas crosses his arms, remaining stubborn as ever.

[bibliocratic]

I come bearing a sort-of fic idea! (Only if you feel inspired to use it, of course 😊) Back in ep 101, Martin figures out that/where the Stranger has taken Jon, and goes all BAMF to save him, using either Web powers or his developing Backup Archivist powers to do it. (Dealer's choice) Some of that sweet sweet emotional h/c...

Dearest anon, this fic has been so long in the writing, and it’s only distantly related to what you asked for. Hope you like it regardless. :)

Set in an S3 AU, implied JonMartin. Tim-centric.

Content warnings for strongly implied graphic violence, canonical S3 captivity and imprisonment, hospitals and hospitalisation.  Rated T for language and implied violence

Jon’s skittering, sprawl-legged slam against the archive door startles Tim from the shadowed walkways of his reveries.

The tilted legs of his chair thump back in a slap to the floor. Almost physically wrenched into the now, there’s a snapback to Tim’s spine, a vice-clench knot tightening in his jaw. His mood cranking up from frosty to furious.

“The fuck?” he barks at the intrusion. His snarling primed with teeth, his temper clawed to rend. He’s up and standing, whereas Jon’s practically handing off the door handle, the impact of his arrival almost knocking his legs out like ten pins from under him. An ugly, airless heaving of his chest. His eyes bloodshot, wild. In the weeks since Tim saw him, his hair has grown out unwashed and limp. His skin shimmering wrong in the light in a way that’s oddly greasy.

He’s a shattering mannequin of a man tending to ruin but Tim’s long pared down his own capacity for compassion. He loads up his questions in their chambers, and he knows where to place emphasis, where to press at the bruising, the soft-tissue targets; where the hell have you been, oh wait, don’t fucking bother, why would you even tell us anything anyway huh, because you don’t even trust us. So why the bloody hell should we care where you go galivanting off to for weeks without a word, fine by us, just fucking peachy.

“Martin,” Jon rasps out finally. His words floundering beached in his mouth, and Tim has never seen this particular mania, this bruise-sick shade of pathetic desperation. “T-tim, please, help, please, god, i-i-it’s Martin.”

Jon’s spasming, quivering hands are staining brown with blood.

-

“He wouldn’t have just left! Not – not like – like this!”

“You mean without saying anything. Not sharing with the class. I dunno, Martin, sounds exactly like something he’d have done. Classic Jon.”

“I’m telling you, something’s wrong!”

“Ha – everything’s wrong. Narrow it down.”

“You know what I mean! Something’s… He should be here, is all I’m saying, and Elias, well he’s useless but he – he knows something, I’m sure of it. We have to do something.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know! Find him!”

“Maybe he doesn’t want to be found. Huh, what about that? Maybe he’s finally managed to fuck off and leave here, legged it and left the rest of us to rot.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do.”

“We should – ”

“No. No, listen, Martin. This isn’t a team sport. Jon made his choice to go this alone. If he’s gone off somewhere, then that’s on him. There’s no ‘we’.”

“There used to be.”

-

Martin didn’t come in for work, and Tim assumed he’d left. Just like Jon.

He’d stewed in that betrayal, pacing lupine and furious, bricking up the walls of himself with his self-righteous anger. Because he’d been right, hadn’t he, he’d been vindicated in his bitterness, because of course Martin had left scurrying after Jon, of course there was never any loyalty to Tim despite his pretensions to their friendship. Of course, Martin hadn’t fucking stayed, and Tim was glad he was gone, free of his nagging and needling and whining.

Tim was acquitted in all his furies, every one of his poisonous doubts. The rose-thorns of his betrayals tore deeper, and he let the wounds fester.

-

Elias arrives in the aftermath.

Jon collapsed not too long ago. Shock and dehydration and whatever the hell happened to him threaded through him like blood poisoning. He’d babbled to the ambulance crews, his tongue a senseless oracle of clowns and skin and blood. They’d given him a shock blanket, the foil treating the light around them erratically, but he kept shaking it off and trying to stand, dressed in grubby boxers, an overlong coat, the fabric worn to grey at the pockets and stretched to billowing at the chest, clearly belonging to Martin.

It was hard for Tim to hate him like that, even as he’d barked at Jon to stay down. Jon’s face a theatre mask of ghoulish blood, begging the paramedics to help Martin, manic and spiralling.

The old bastard had had a heart after all.

There’s a bank of chairs outside the part of the ward where they’re keeping Jon. He’s pin-cushioned with IV’s, a set of machines monitoring his vitals. He wakes fitfully, and every waking is a pitiful confusion before he sinks back under.

Martin’s still in surgery.

Elias, deigning to leave his ivory tower, his face formed in an impeccable replica of concern. He wants to speak to Jon. To have, as he put it, ‘a private word’. He talks a precisely ordered stream of bullshit in his infuriatingly reasonable tone, about all this being such a terrible tragedy, such a blow to their little family, if only they’d known. Poor Martin, of course, what a horrible ordeal, we’ll naturally help him with recovery, cover any time off, no expense considered.

Tim watches his mouth move, and knows in his gut that Elias could have stopped all this.

That he chose not to.

Elias doesn’t get within a hundred feet of Jon. Tim makes sure of it.

-

Jon does not speak for days. Delirious and distraught. Martin’s condition worsens, then stabilises, then lingers at critical. There are several more operations, and Tim does not know what they are doing, only that they are reforming a heap of blood and bone back into a person.

Tim wants to know what happened. Where Jon went, where Martin found him, who he needs to hate.

Tim learns to temper his frustration, the desire for knowing that curls at the bottom of his stomach. It is not a natural wanting, and it’s a spiteful, gleeful action, to deny that rot within him.

-

“Tim?”

“Stay still, boss,” Tim says. “You’ll pull everything out.”

Jon doesn’t say anything more for a long while. Tim shifts uneasy on the chair provided, thinking, hoping that Jon might have sunk back into sleep, when:

“Martin? Is he…?”

Jon turns his head to look at him. His eyes wide, beseeching, wet with fear. Wanting Tim to make this all ok.

Jon’s eyes in this light are a lot like Danny’s. Tim sucks back a hard breath, and doesn’t meet his gaze, and he knows that only distresses Jon further, who will take the avoidance as a death knell, as a punishment he is expecting to have earned.

“He’s alive, boss,” Tim says eventually. The words hard won. “He’s… he’ll be alright.”

That could be a lie. He doesn’t know much these days.

-

“Th-there was a room,” Jon stammers one day. He’s sat up, pillows stuffed behind his back. Tim’s bought him an apple juice carton like you buy for children, and he hasn’t touched it, even to push the plastic straw through the top.

His fingers at his lap twist, twist, twist.

“It must have been a … a factory floor, or something. One of those old textile mills or something, up near Manchester. It used to have those big machines for spinning cotton, there were big, discoloured spaces on the boards where they would have sat. There were columns, load-bearing, every fifty feet or so, and t-the chair that they – they had me tied to was anchored against one of those s-so it didn’t – so I couldn’t move it, or knock it over. I-I don’t know how long I was… I.” Jon stops, out of breath. “I don’t even know the date.”

Tim tells him. Jon blinks, and murmurs ‘oh’ like it’s not what he was expecting. His hands are shaking. Tim should reach out, shouldn’t he, it should not be this difficult to provide comfort.

His hands have forgotten how easily reassurance used to come to him.

“Th-they didn’t, they didn’t hurt me. Not, well, not exactly, I-I-I mean, it wasn’t – they wanted me unharmed.” Jon’s voice has crept small and crouched, words tuck under his tongue. “They were waiting. For the right time. They were going to t-take my, um, my skin. For their – for the ritual.”

“Christ.” Tim hisses out, because that is fucked, this whole thing is fucked. How the hell is this the way their lives have turned.

Only Jon’s fingers, his restless hands make noise for the next minute.

“I don’t know how Martin found me,” Jon says.

Tim has a creeping suspicion. It’s the same thing that helps Tim spits out exactly the right seeds to allow hurt to take root. What told Martin that there was something wrong. He could call it intuition, but that’s not how their world works.

Gifts, of a sort. For their faithful service at the temple of their all-seeing god.

“He tried to get me out. Snuck in somehow, cut the ropes with this – huh, this battered old kitchen knife. But I couldn’t… they’d had me tied to the chair for so long that standing up was… I couldn’t walk, and it’s my fault, he was half-carrying me but – I slowed him down, a-and then Nikola came back. And I couldn’t do, I couldn’t do anything, there’s never anything I can do, and they pulled me away and I. I tried, Tim, I-I tried, and I wasn’t… please, Tim, you’ve got to believe I tried to stop them.”

Jon’s fingers are moving to fist in his hair, yanking, tugging, his spine moving to fold himself over.

“Stop,” Tim says sharply. Trying to loosen Jon’s clenched hold.

“I tried, I tried – everything, I offered them anything they wanted, and they just kept – I-I-I tried, Tim.”

“I know,” Tim replies. Quieter. Softer. Separating Jon’s hands from his hair, pressing them back down to his lap, his burnt one held over the other pocked with worm scars. Tim doesn’t move his own away from the fragile tower they’ve made. “I – I know, Jon.”

“Martin – there was more of them. It was easy for them, to hurt him until he stopped struggling. They didn’t tie him up, they knew they didn’t need to. A-and Nikola, she was… she s-s-smiled as they pushed him over onto his back. She – she kept smiling. And she said they didn’t need the two of us. That they could have a bit of fun, a bit of – ” Jon’s voice chokes horrified. “A bit of practise. And wouldn’t I like that. To watch. To give the Eye something to look at.”

Jon crumples into tears then. In on himself like a disintegrating star. Tim feels cold and distant for a moment as he watches this shipwreck as though through the porthole of another boat. Listening to Jon’s hitching sobbing from elsewhere.

The rage is burning off him to reveal something plain and hideous in its humanity, and Tim hates it.

Jon falls apart, and Tim stays.

-

“You know your Archivist killed them all? He’s got a bit of a temper on him after all. Must be all that repression.”

The newest form of the Distortion still smiles like a headache. Her fingers curve corkscrewing. Tim, who is trying to get a Snickers from the vending machine two wards along from Jon, whips his head around to glower at the unwelcome visitor.

“What do you want?”

The Distortion, who has previously called themselves Michael, and is now still Michael but not entirely, whose face has refracted into a different form – there’s been a sort of change in management, if you like, except, well, that’s not really it at all, but do feel free to call me Helen.

“I was hoping for a teeny bit of gratitude. I was the gallant rescue, after that assistant of yours blundered in and made such a pig’s ear of it.”

Tim snarls. The Distortion’s expression wavers displeased.

“Ooh, touchy, alright. Calm down, firecracker. I bought them both back breathing for you. Your Archivist would be still strapped to a chair in Stockport if it wasn’t for me, to say nothing of that woebegone assistant. Blood all over my carpets.”

Tim ignores her. The glint in her eyes suggests she’s disappointed not to have riled him up.

“What now then?”

“Well, you won’t have to worry about the Circus for a while! Dear Jonathan’s seen to that quite splendidly. Knew he had it in him. Although, I suspect, even he didn’t know he could. The Circus was always good at pushing too far.”

“And you. What about you?”

The Distortion’s smile reflects a hundred alternatives.

“Oh, I’m just waiting to see what happens next.”

-

Tim’s thoughts have been straying to Danny a lot. Naturally, all things considered, his trauma’s head reared high and made horrifically manifest.

Jon is not like Danny was, too stiff and self-conscious in his own bones. But Danny’s skin had been lit up with that same live-wire intensity that last night, smeared in shadows and exhaustion and tears that shone foreign on his cheeks. Tim had not recognised the crying, silent, shaking stranger in his room, just as he barely recognises Jon.

Watching him finally fall apart holds no victory for any of them.

Martin is not like Danny was. Taller, for one, wound-up over tight in his own clockwork of fears. He’d be about Danny’s age though. Maybe.

Danny went back to the Covent Garden Theatre, alone, and the being that had then gone by the name of Joseph Grimaldi had torn off his skin as easily as wrapping paper.

Martin went alone. He didn’t ask Tim for help, because he knew Tim would have said no, and there’s an ashy shame coating his tongue, knowing it would have been true.

It’s powerlessness that’s snarled him up in barbed wire, toothless and immobile. Tim’s felt powerless for a long time. That is not going to stop.

But his anger hasn’t protected him. Hasn’t protected Jon. Certainly hasn’t protected Martin.

Jon is not in bed when Tim goes back during visiting hours. The nurse directs him to another ward, indicating in few words that this jaunt was neither encouraged nor advised, but the patient was not one to be dissuaded.

Sounds like Jon.

The man himself has dressed erratically in the spares Tim bought. A t-shirt that is divorced from his own style, the colouring drawing him over-sallow, the jeans too short and trailing above his ankle. He’s squashed himself into a chair, his back folded like a shepherd’s crook, his scatter-shot energy spent into exhaustion. His hand in Martin’s wrapped one.

Martin’s awake. The ministrations of the Circus left his face mostly alone, clear enough for tubing to be threaded into his nostrils and down his throat but the bandaging is extensive. Tim would have thought he’d be away with the fairies on morphine by now, and rightly so, but his jaw sets imperious when he sees Tim. He doesn’t let go of Jon’s hand.

“You doing alright there, Marto?” Tim asks. There is another chair nearby that’s been left by a visitor long gone, and he drags it over. Tim chooses to keep his voice low, chooses to squash the anger that sparks up in him at the violence done to Martin’s body.

“What does it look like?” Martin replies. Not snapping, no wisp of anger there, but there’s a pained whipcord strain to his response, a forced pace to his breathing.

“I thought they’d have you on the good stuff,” Tim says after a moment.

Martin gestures with imprecise movements at a remote off to his right, a grey blocky shape with buttons, hooked up to some sort of patient-controlled analgesia machine.

“You not taken any?”

Martin, as best as he can, shakes his head.

“Why?”

“I just don’t want to, alright?”

Tim doesn’t push. The silence between the two of them is protracted, uncomfortable, but Tim can stand to learn some patience.

Martin’s eyes are watery, clearly trying to push through the pain. Jon sleeps on.

“He won’t tell me,” Martin says. “But it’s bad. I know it’s bad. Right?”

“Yes.”

Martin deserves his honesty. Tim doesn’t know how long Martin suffered on that factory floor until Jon ripped the Circus’ sawdust out with his fury. Long enough for the bandages to coat his arms and legs and back like lacquer, changed multiple times a day to make sure the skin grafts take, and the stitching holds.

Tim should have been there. Like he should have been there for Danny.

“God, Martin,” he says, and he’s surprised to find his throat has clenched tight. “It’s… I’m so sorry.”

“What are you sorry for? I went and got myself…” Martin trails off, swallows with difficulty. “I did this, it was all, all me. Fat lot of good it did.”

“You don’t know that…” Tim starts, but Martin looks at him and he seethes without raising his voice.

“What good’s come out of this then? Go on, Tim, tell me. I’m a – I’m a mess, and what the fuck do I have to show for it. What the fuck have any of us gained from this? I just fucked up, and it – I thought I was going to die. And worse, I thought they mightn’t let me, that they might take what they left as scraps a-a-and – ” Martin’s jaw clacks shut as he pushes down his distress.

“You saved Jon.”

“I didn’t though. The bloody – the bloody door monster showed up and did that simply fine without my help!”

“You don’t know that. You don’t know what you changed. God, Martin, this whole, this entire thing is all so, it’s fucked, right, it’s…” Tim’s voice wobbles, cracks. “But you tried to do something. You tried to help. And I’m – I’m so sorry you did it alone.”

Martin doesn’t leap to forgiveness. But he nods and Tim puts his hand on the wrappings up his arm and he doesn’t move away.

“What now?” he asks after a moment.

“I don’t know.”

Martin closes his eyes.

“I’m tired,” he confesses. “I’m just so tired of all… all this.”

“We’ll think of something,” Tim says. Finding that he means it. It’s not a promise, but it’s as good as he’s able to offer these days. “You should take some of that morphine. It’ll… it’ll help.”

“It makes me feel out of it. Like, sluggish. And everything’s far away.”

“That means it’s working, Marto,” Tim says, trying for light-hearted, but Martin’s shaking his head, and the shivering is back in his hands. A wide and trembling glaze to his expression.

“If they come back…”

He doesn’t finish his sentence.

“I’ll stay,” Tim says. Pats Martin’s arm in a way he hopes conveys reassurance.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Martin nods. Tim helps him grasp the grey remote, push down the button. It’s not long before Martin’s drifted off.

Tim sits there for a long while, thinking about the future.

[fragmentedink-archived]

Hell to Pay: Chapter Fifty-Two

I, II, III, IV, V, VI, VII, VIII, IX, X, XI, XII, XIII, XIV, XV, XVI, IX, IX, XX, XXI, XXII, XXIII, XIV, XV, XVI, XVII, XVIII, XVIIII, XXX, XXXI, XXXII, XXXIII, XXXIV, XXXV, XXXVI, XXXVII, XXXVIII, XXXIX, XL, XLI, XLII, XLIII, XLIV, XLV, XLVI, XLVII, XLVIII, XLIX, XLX, LI

cowritten by @lux-scriptum

A/N: Hey everybody!!! It’s been a hot minute. We’ve been busy lately between work and life and all that fun stuff but here’s a new chapter <3

A/N: So we’re changing a lil bit up, and adding more characters, specifically the gods as we’ve been doing more world building lately. These Gods are also from my own WIP, but have also found their way here!

“I just don’t understand why you need specific wood from a specific place for the crib,” Lev muttered, splashing the water with his foot as he watched Nik paddle around. Nik still wore a large shirt even in the pool, as if Lev and Cameron didn’t know he was pregnant.

"Well, Lev," Nik said. "Not all of us are okay with using hand-me-downs from four hundred years ago. Some of us like new shiny things for new shiny parasites- I say with love- and besides, its native to Tullum. It's home; at least as close to home as I'll likely get."

Lev huffed. “I didn’t mean that you had to get hand-me-downs, if you don’t want to. But I figured asking for wood specific to a region of angel territory when neither of us can go to retrieve it... It’s just a big fuss to make, I guess.” He braced his hands on the side of the pool, leaning forward a bit. “I don’t- Cameron had lots of very pretty options, is all, I guess.”

Nik arched a brow, eyeing him dryly. "And where, exactly, do you think some of those woods come from, Levant?"

Lev hesitated. “I assumed demonic territory?” he finally said, very unsure of the answer now.

Nik splashed Lev with enough force Lev was drenched, spluttering. Before he could think of how to respond, Cameron popped Lev gently on the back of his head. Lev hadn’t even noticed Cameron approach.

As Lev looked up, Cameron simply said, “Come inside. Biela requires your presence. Both of you.”

Lev stood, looking back to Nik, who was hauling himself out of the pool. Since Nik had already soaked him, Lev tucked himself against Nik’s side as they went inside.

Biela was standing in the kitchen. Without looking at them, she simply said, “Take a seat.”

Lev peeled away and settled in a chair, but Nik folded his arms over his stomach, which was beginning to show by that point, and said, "And why should-"

Cameron sliced Nik a look. "Nikolas, sit the fuck down."

At those cold words, Nik promptly sat on the nearest stool without another word.

Lev reached for Nik’s hand. Something told him he would not like whatever Biela had to say. Nik’s fingers tightened around his briefly as they waited for Biela to speak.

Biela fixed her dark gaze on Nik first. “I’m assuming you are keeping the fetus.”

It wasn’t a brief squeeze this time. “Why?” Nik asked sharply.

“Nik,” Lev said softly.

Biela held up a hand in Lev’s direction. “Because I'm also assuming you'd want to know the magic used to bring your boyfriend back from the dead poisoned my lands and is killing countless children. That's why."

Cold washed over Lev, colder than the death that he knew still tugged at his bones. “What?” he blurted, barely a whisper.

"You," Biela said, squarely looking Lev in the eye, "And your cousin and that witch played with forces beyond your control and decided to poison my lands with your greed because you just couldn't leave death well enough alone. I figured since your mate is currently pregnant, that you might want to know what is happening to the infants being born. Much like Nik's infant soon enough."

Lev risked swinging his attention to Cameron, eyes wide. He knew he was digging his nails into Nik’s hand as he searched Cameron’s expression, but for the most part it was unreadable, the usual shrouded calculation flickering in his eyes. Lev looked back to Biela after a moment.

“I didn’t know,” he finally said, voice small.

“Clearly not. You seem to know nothing.”

“I’m sorry,” Lev said, finally shifting his attention to Nik. “I’m sorry.”

The blood had drained from Nik’s face. “You’re lying,” he said, the words a harsh counterpoint to Lev’s whispered apology.

"And why would I lie about such a thing?"

"Because you despise me, and you loathe Lev and want any excuse to put Lev back in the ground."

Biela’s mouth curled in a non-smile. "If I was going to put your precious Lev back where he belonged, I'd do so without needing such a cruel lie. I'd just do it."

Lev tugged on Nik’s hand. “Nik,” he said, a warning in his tone this time. “She’s right.”

Tears of anger welled in Nik's eyes. "This is bullshit. This is absolute bullshit. I just decided to keep the thing. Now you're telling me it'll die anyways?"

Greif coiled alongside the fear and guilt. “You didn’t have to tell us,” Lev said to Biela. “Thank you,” he added, before tugging at Nik again. “We’ll figure it out, Nik. You- you could stay with Nate, couldn’t you?”

Nik's mouth pressed into a thin line. "But this is my home," he said, voice breaking.

Steadily, Biela said, "Not every child has been born dead or scarred. Perhaps your blood will… protect it in some way. Healing it."

Lev pressed his face to Nik’s shoulder. “You should talk to Ash. Or Sazra. Both of them.”

Nik stood abruptly. “I’m going to bed,” he muttered, as if it wasn’t midafternoon. Lev watched him go in silence, his heart aching.

Only once he was gone did Lev look back to Biela. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “Is there anything I can do?” He meant it, knew she’d read that in his mind, and hoped it meant... something. Though he doubted it did.

Biela leaned against her palms, black hair slipping over her shoulder. "What do you think you can do? You and your cousin offer your pretty apologies while countless are dead like a few well placed 'sorries' will give parents their young once more. I highly doubt putting you back where you belong would solve it, and as I promised your cousin, I wouldn't. You will live with your actions and you will think about how this has affected my kingdom. And you will think about how my mercy has been the only thing keeping you with a home. Not even your own people want you. And now, you're a mass murderer to my people. That is what you can do."

Her words hurt, as they were meant to, he was sure, but he heard no untruth. “I would never assume that an apology would fix anything,” he promised carefully. “I will never forget the cost; I promise. But-” He hesitated. “I know most demons don’t appreciate an angels healing. I have the magic to spare, if it is ever useful. I understand that- it’s not- it’s all I can offer.”

Biela arched a brow. "I'll keep it in mind. If there's something to make you useful, I'll look into it. It's the least you can do."

“It is,” Lev agreed, grief leaking into his tone despite himself. “Thank you,” he added again, before lowering his gaze to the ground. Any more, he thought, and he might say too much.

"And you're not even crying," Biela noted. "An improvement." She straightened, readying to leave. "I'll return for our check up. I expect you to behave in the meantime."

On her way out, Cameron dipped his head in a reverent bow.

Lev waited until her footsteps faded before he looked to Cameron. “What are we going to do?” he asked.

All Cameron said was, "Survive."

-----

After nearly a week of Amara seemingly dodging every appointment Ash tried setting up with her, Ash decidedly went to see Nik so he didn't hunt her down and wring her neck. It seemed like the better alternative.

It was Lev who answered the door. Hesitantly, Lev asked, "Am I allowed to talk to you?"

"Well," Ash said, looking over Lev’s head, "if you weren't, you'd be a little too late now. Where's Nik?"

Lev flushed, cheeks going a blotchy gold. “In bed,” he said, sounding sad. “I’m assuming you heard, then.”

Ash blinked. "Heard what? I just needed to check on him. Did something happen to Nik?" He asked, shouldering his way past Lev. "Is he alright?"

“Oh.” Lev seemed to hesitate. “Fine. Nik is. I think. I mean, he is, but-” His voice got smaller and smaller. “Whatever Cyrus did to bring me back- the magic- infants are dying. Not making it to birth. Biela told us a few days ago. I assumed that’s why you were here. I thought Nik had taken my advice.”

At that Ash halted in place and whirled on him, face leeched white with horror and rage. "Wanna run that by me again?"

Lev flinched away. “The magic poisoned the lands,” he whispered. “The children are dying because I came back."

"I-." Ash inhaled sharply. "I told you. I told every single one of you not to do it. I hope you're fucking happy with yourself," he snapped, jabbing him in the chest. "None of you selfish assholes would listen to me and children are dead for it." Ash whirled back around and stormed his way to Nik's bedroom. "And now I need to make sure another one doesn't die because of everyone's bad choices."

Nik jolted up when Ash burned the door in place to stalk inside. He didn't give Nik a moment to speak before he started doing what he did best. "Have you been keeping everything down? Any fevers or anything beyond the usual normal pregnancy stuff?"

Nik blinked blankly at him. "How the hell am I supposed to know? Because I'm an omega? I-"

"My mistake," Ash said. "I shouldn't have asked you. Lev, has everything been normal with Niks pregnancy so far?"

Lev hovered in the charred doorway. “Other than morning sickness that Cameron and I have been keeping an eye on, everything seems fine. I didn’t think to ask Biela how the- what was happening to the parents. I was- it was a shock.”

"Oh I'm sure," he said, shortly. He turned his full focus back on Nik. "Is there any way I can convince you to come home at least until the baby is born?" When Nik shook his head, Ash sighed. "Right. Well, at least meet me for appointments every few days in Liwen. That way you get exposure outside of Demonic Lands as well as getting a better look in my office?"

Nik sat up on his elbow and watched him warily. “Papi doesn’t want me coming home, Ash.”

Ash rolled his eyes and eyed the bruising still fading from Nik’s neck. “Hm. Well. I don’t think your father is going to get to say much of anything when I hold just as much, if not more power and sway than he does. Besides, you’re not stepping foot anywhere near him, especially when you’re pregnant. I’m sure Nate would have my head. Or at the very least try.”

Nik didn’t so much as crack a smile. “I don’t want to go home.”

Ash sighed loudly. “Alright, fine then.” When Lev tried scooting his way past to Nik, Ash shoved his face away. “Move it, I’m dealing with my patient, Lev.” When Lev huffed Ash looked pointedly at him. “If that’s too much to ask,” he suggested, “then perhaps you can see yourself outside while we talk.”

Lev’s only response was making a face. “I think I’m going to go see what Cameron’s making for dinner.”

When Lev left, Ash turned his sole focus back to Nik who was still looking rather tired. “You gotta let me help,” he said. “We both know I’m the best you’re going to get when it comes to your health.”

��Dunno. Sazra seems to know plenty.”

“Sazra hasn’t seen the light of day in well over a thousand years. That,” he said, “and from what you’ve told me, Sazra also wants to string you up by your balls. Your physiology is different from demons and as great as a healer I’m sure she is, I am your healer and I’m not trusting a demon to take care of you when I’ve known you for the last nineteen years.”

Nik waved him off. “Figure it out, Ash. I don’t want to leave.”

“Because of Lev?” Ash asked, pointedly.

“And if it is?” Nik shot back.

“Then you’re making stupid choices for your baby.”

Nik almost looked like Ash hit him. Ash tried to reel back from that very poor choice of words, but even if he was successful at it, he still didn’t regret them. It was the truth especially when there were millions of infants dead because Ash didn’t stop Amara or Cyrus and now Nik was in the line of fire for his own inactions. “Look,” Ash warned, “if you won’t come back then I’m moving in here and I will make everyone who lives in this house as miserable as physically possible.”

“Like Cameron would let you.“

Ash scoffed. “You think I’m afraid of Wonder Bread Cameron? I get what I want and what I currently want won’t come back with me.”

Nik’s brows shot up at that, but before he could say anything Lev came slinking his way back into the room. “Mami’s actually in charge of dinner tonight so Cameron’s in his office. He looks kinda grumpy.”

“Surprise of surprises, I’m sure,” Ash said. He looked back to Nik. “So what is it, you coming with me voluntarily or am I moving in here against all of your wills?” When Nik stared at him in stony silence, Ash took that as answer enough. He got up from the bed and shouldered his way past Lev.

----

Ash was still being cranky, and Nik was still in bed. Lev wasn’t stupid enough enough to bother Cameron again, and so when he heard Eden waking up from her afternoon nap he decided to go pick her up before she upset the whole house with her fussing.

Even if he was supposed to be limiting how much he picked her up.

After some well placed smacks for not getting to her soon enough, Eden buried her face in his shoulder with a half-awake growl. Lev gave her a little bounce and settled in the rocking chair, toy in hand to offer her when she bothered to lift her head.

Only when several minutes had passed did Eden finish her little sniffle-growls and take the stuffed bear. Within seconds the ear was detached.

Lev sighed as he fished it out of her mouth. Eden took the chance to sink her little teeth into his finger, hard enough to draw blood. Before Lev could pull away, Eden gave a pleased shriek, little nails digging into his hand to keep him there. Despite the surprising amount of strength the toddler had, he managed to get free, in time for Ash to stick his head in the room, eyes glowing enough of a bright green that Lev was quite sure Ash was seeing just fine.

“I just can't seem to leave you alone for five minutes without you nearly getting killed by demons,” Ash grumbled.

Lev shrugged, catching Eden’s little hand before she could smack him again. “Hitting isn’t nice, bitty girl.”

She simply screeched in his face, and then thunked her forehead on his shoulder, giggling.

Lev looked up at Ash. “I’ve been meaning to tell you,” he said as Eden took her bear back and began the gruesome work of beheading it. “Well, I mean- I wasn’t sure how to because I wasn’t sure if we were allowed to talk, and then you needed to check on Nik, and-” He paused, blinking hard. “Rambling. Sorry. I’m trying to work on that. I remembered things, about when I was dead.” He pressed a kiss to Eden’s head to buy himself some time to order his thoughts, and then went on. “I met Nature. During that time I was hesitating. And they talked to me.”

“Oh? And you didn’t bother to tell me this sooner?”

Lev winced. From what he’d gathered from the conversation with Nature, the link between Ash and the god ran deeper than Lev had ever realized. Not that Lev had ever really paid attention to it. He’d never been particularly close to Nature himself; he was starting to regret not trying to forge a connection with the only god the angels had. Maybe his magic would have been easier to access, stronger even, if he had.

“I didn’t remember for a long time,” he finally said to Ash. “But I do now, so I’m telling you.”

It’d been an intense conversation, for sure. He could see a lot of Ash in Nature. Or maybe there was a lot of Nature in Ash. Lev wasn’t too sure how the mechanics of it worked. Nature had all but berated him for dragging his feet. Just from past experience they knew if the spell failed it’d have unimaginable consequences, and Lev now knew just how bad it could have been.

“I promised them I would be the last resurrection,” he told Ash. “And I said if that failed, that I’d help take some of the- the punishment you suffered. It’s not fair for you to be in that much pain on your own.”

“Ya think?” Ash snipped.

Lev took a small breath, and then replied calmly, “I really am sorry, Ash. It was the least I could do, I thought.”

Ash rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Tell me everything you talked about.”

“A lot of it was... kind of scolding. About trying to come back,” Lev admitted. “And telling me there were going to be consequences either way. They laid out exactly what you went through while not stopping us.” Lev cleared his throat. “I- that's when I offered. To help shoulder the pain.” After tucking his cheek against Edens hair, he held up a hand, weaving his shadows through his fingers with ease. “I think that might be why my magic is stronger. I was going to try to- to find more ways to connect with them, but I’ll have to wait until I can go back to angelic territory now, I think.”

“Why? There’s temples here.”

“Oh. I didn’t-” He stopped, frowned. “I don’t know much about demons and the gods-” He sighed this time. “I’m still on house arrest. I’m not allowed to leave until Biela deems me not a security risk.”

Ash lifted a brow. “Aren’t you in a relationship with a demon?”

“We’ve never had a conversation about religion, Ash,” Lev said with an even deeper frown. “I don’t think Cameron’s particularly religious. I guess I could ask him about the demonic gods. All I know is that they’re where demons get their magic, like we do from Nature.”

“They have a name, you know,” Ash said. Lev couldn’t figure out if he sounded irritated or tired. “It’s Asmi.”

Lev flushed. “I- I’m sorry,” he mumbled. He cleared his throat, and said more firmly, “No one really calls them by their name, but I should- I should have asked.”

“Probably,” Ash said drily. “And technically they’re not even the god of nature.”

Lev stood up, bouncing Eden on his hip. “They aren’t?” He asked. “That’s what we were taught in primary school, I’m sorry.”

“Primary school?” Ash said. If Lev didn’t know better, he was teasing him now. Crankily, sure, but still.

Rather than dignify that with an answer, Lev gave up and let a very wiggly Eden down to crawl around the nursery.

“Asmi is the god of balance,” Ash finally said. “They’re tied to the earth. Anything falls out of balance, and we’re all affected. That’s probably where the angels got nature from.”

“Makes sense why the teachers simplified it like that, I suppose,” Lev replied. “If it’s- if it’s not too much trouble, could you teach me more, whenever you get the chance?”

“Sure. Looks like I’m rooming with you for the foreseeable future anyway.”

“Thank you,” Lev said, smiling at Ash. He didn’t get one in return, but considering the amount of pain Ash had gone through in the past several months because of Lev, he didn’t blame Ash. Not one bit.

~~~

There was only so much of Nik’s day being spent in bed Lev could stand before he felt restless himself. Even taking care of Eden couldn’t shake his inherent need to be a busy body. So when it occurred to him that Nik had not yet actually celebrated his pregnancy, he decided it was high time something good be associated with Nik’s pregnancy.

After all, it was tradition.

Lev waited until Eden was down for her nap to corner Cameron and Ash in the kitchen. “I think Nik deserves a baby shower,” he said without preamble. “And I think we should throw him one.”

“Of course you do,” Cameron said, not even looking up from the meat he was searing in a skillet.

Lev looked expectantly at Ash, who just gave a shrug. “Might as well get him out of that foul mood of his.”

“He’s no reason to be happy about what’s going on,” Lev replied reasonably. When Ash narrowed his eyes at Lev, the lack of a glow to his green gaze letting Lev know he wasn’t actually able to see him right now, Lev was quick to add, “So I want to... give him some happier memories about this pregnancy. He’s so miserable right now and all he’s gotten is bad news. A party will cheer him up and maybe give him something to look forward to.”

“Are you suggesting he isn’t looking forward to the several horrendous hours of labor to push that fetus out?” Cameron asked, flicking a look Lev’s way.

Lev blinked. “Well. No, I doubt that. But. The after? Holding the baby? I don’t think he’s thought that far. He’s just stressed and worried.”

“That was sarcasm, Levant,” Ash pointed out.

“Oh.” Lev rubbed his nose. “Um. Well. I do think it’s a good idea.”

“Alright. Fine. I’m sure we can have something set up this weekend.”

“Thank you,” Lev said to Cameron, looking pleased. Up until he realized... “Who can we invite”?”

“Well, that is indeed the question, isn’t it?” Ash mused.

“Can Nate be invited?”

“I sure hope so, Nate practically raised him,” Ash said dryly.

Lev grimaced at him, knowing very well he couldn’t see it. “Yes, but- am I allowed to be there if he is?”

“I think it’ll be fine, especially if Bay is with him.”

After considering that, Lev gave a small nod. “Okay. Can I help plan for it, Cameron?”

“I suppose,” Cameron said.

Lev gave a small hum. “Ocean themed? To match the nursery?”

“Sure,” Cameron said, with the same amount of indifference as before.

This time Lev huffed at Cameron. “I’m going to go see if Mami wants to help,” he said, knowing it was a little petty.

“You do that,” Cameron said.

As Lev... well, even he could admit he was flouncing off a bit, Ash followed. Lev took that as a silent agreement to actually participate in the planning.

---

Darius found himself in Cyrus’ office with a mug of tea in front of him and Cyrus across from him with his own coffee. Even if Darius couldn’t drink the tea, he did appreciate the gesture. It would be nice to be able to drink tea once more.

“Why Cameron?” Cyrus asked, not in an accusatory way, but genuine curiosity.

“Why not Cameron?” Darius asked, splaying his brown fingers along the desk.

Cyrus gave a shrug as he continued to flip through his notes, coffee seemingly forgotten. “He’s not exactly the sort most people seem to be attached to. Outside yourself, Nikolas, and Levant, of course. Most others seem frightened more than anything.”

“I don’t see why,” Darius said. “Cameron’s never been frightening to me.”

“Perhaps it's the amount of people he’s tortured and killed,” Cyrus pointed out mildly. He looked up briefly. “I mean no offense, I simply want to understand.”

Darius thought on that, and he thought on the boy he had known when he was alive. And he thought on the hell that was unleashed upon Cameron once it was found that Darius had died at Cameron’s own hand. And then he said, “Perhaps. Though, I do not judge a person by their occupation. One could say Sorin has killed his own fair share of people, no?”

Cyrus looked over at Sorin, who was curled up as a cat on a pile of papers, orange tail twitching against his white flank as he dozed. “He did,” Cyrus agreed. “And he retired. But you made your point. I see where you’re coming from.” He looked back to Darius. “The war made a monster out of many people. But something tells me the war is not what happened to Cameron.”

“Just a different kind of war,” Darius sighed. He traced along one of his rings. “Have you come up with a solution that would not let Cameron die in the process?” Even if Darius was quite sure Cameron wouldn’t blink at the idea of giving his own life to right this particular wrong- even when the last five hundred years had Cameron’s story of survival written in betrayal and blood.

“I considered just... any life. But- that doesn’t seem a fair trade,” Cyrus sighed, running his own ringed fingers over his face. “I’m not willing to attempt the spell without certainty. The cost of failure is too high, and it’s your only chance.”

“Of course,” Darius said. “I do not take any of this lightly. I am very grateful to you, Cyrus.”

Cyrus gave a small smile, though his face was tired. “Don’t thank me,” he said. “Not until after I guarantee this will work.” He propped his chin in his hand. “It’s starting to look like there’s no way for me to be sure what is an acceptable trade, unless I speak with Nature themself.” Cyrus paused. “Which would be difficult, because I’ve never tried to form any sort of connection with Nature before. I didn’t get the education most witches do from their covens, and I was learning so much about the practical side that it slipped my mind.”

“Well,” Darius said, “I am sure there is no time like the present to get acquainted with your god.” Something Cameron, too, was unable to do. “Asmi seems… sturdy.”

Cyrus hummed. “Sturdy. Concrete. Something like that. I think.” He tapped his cheek. “I have no idea how to go about it, though.”

“I could reach out,” Darius offered. “Seeing as how I’m in the same realm as they are. And there’s less risk to you if I were to approach them first.”

Cyrus considered that. “That would... be very helpful, actually,” he mused. He leaned back in his chair with a sigh. “Though perhaps after I take a nap.”

Tagging:  @incandescent-creativity @solangelo3088 @lil-miss-red @halstudies @littleyellowdinosaur @caelisis @idreamonpaper

[janekfan]

Hello friend!! I thought of a prompt, and if you like it, it's yours!! What if Tim was kidnapped by the circus with Jon?? They're having a bad time together; Tim is hostile. Eventually, Jon starts to get quieter, and Tim thinks he's in a mood. Jon complains of a headache, and Tim thinks he's being a baby. Until he finds out he's burning up and was just too afraid to say anything because he didn't think he could take Tim telling him he didn't care 😭 (but, begrudgingly, he DOES) 💖

oooooooh this prompt! Had me feeling things! Thank you @taylortut!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26400745

It was Tim who woke up first, unsure of where he was, still with the residual anger he’d had on his way to confront Jon about all of this nonsense still burning incandescent. Hindsight being 20/20, he probably should have taken the anonymous tip on Jon’s location with a grain of salt and a fistful of caution but he was just so angry it was filling him up like a poison, overflowing with nowhere to go, and it was so much easier to focus on his boss because it was his fault they were in this mess.

It was his fault Sasha was gone.

It was his fault they were all trapped.

“T’Tim...” Barely an exhale and if the room they were contained in hadn’t been dead quiet, he’d ignore Jon. Still might. Let him sit in the guilt and shame of having inflicted whatever this was on yet another assistant.

If he even cared.

“Where...are we?” There was some light to see by, but not nearly enough to determine the answer to that even if he’d wanted to speak to him in the first place. Based on his own headache, Tim assumed that Jon had been knocked unconscious as well and corroborated it with the hiss of pain drawn sharply between his teeth.

“Shouldn’t I be the one asking that?” Snapping callously and surprising even himself at the harsh bite in his voice, Jon flinched hard, turning with it to examine the space.

“We’re tied up.” He remarked, nonplussed, and Tim heard him pulling at his bonds. It wasn’t rope, but something softer and before he could think on it further a shaft of light fell upon Jon as a being, not quite a person, stepped through a door. “Nikola.”

“Well acquainted are you?” Tim scoffed.

“Not by choice.” And he didn’t look anywhere except straight at the thing he’d named, vitriol in his eyes, in the firm set of his jaw.

“Oh, Archivist. Don’t be like that.” Her smile was inhuman, too many teeth, not quite right. “And please do stop frowning like that.” Jon turned away from the fingers claiming his chin and Tim had once been so close to him that he knew he didn’t like to be touched unless he trusted you. Like Tim had trusted him. “I want you in pristine condition for the show.” She snapped once and several mannequins surrounded and released Jon from his bonds. They tried to drag him through the door and Jon fought like a beast possessed, wild and feral and loud and no match for their sturdy yet gentle grip as they carried him off against his will. It left Tim alone in sudden silence, a little stunned and more than a little worried and he’d take that to his grave, thank you very much.

With nothing else to focus his attention on, Tim could only think of how awful Jon looked illuminated in that cold beam with that monster leering down at him. Could only think about how hard he fought before he was hauled away in cold, plastic hands and wondered if that was the last of him.

But he was returned, quiet and haunted, still and silent when they tied him back down and resisting the water they held to his lips until they forced it on him by holding his nose, sputtering and hacking as they poured it down his throat. Calm, Tim took his ration, puzzling over his strange behavior and trying to get a closer look, but Jon just hid behind his overgrown hair, using it like a curtain to shield his face and visibly shivering.

“Given up already?” He sneered, trying to get a rise out of him.

He failed.

Time waxed and waned, strained and stretched, dilating like a pupil in the dark whenever Tim tried to keep track of it. Eventually, he gave up. It didn’t seem like there was any rhyme or reason regarding when they took Jon, but he assumed it was at least once a day. Each time he raged against them with everything he had and each time they overpowered him like he was a child and hurried him off to god knows where. Each time he was tied back down he had an odd blank look in his eye that gradually cleared until it didn’t, trembling finely and Tim used it as a way to needle him, goad him, tried to make him do something, anything. Without a response he didn’t know if he was getting through to him, but it made him feel better to take out his frustration on Jon.

Days passed. Inexorably slow with nothing to do save yell at his sole companion. Jon still tried to make his taking as difficult as he could, but he was slowing down, losing strength on a diet of bread and sips of water. Now when he returned he shook with the effort of weeping without sound, turned away as far as he could and spilling sorrow down the front of his shirt.

“Oh, little Archivist.” Nikola purred one day, lifting his face with a delicately placed fingertip. “Do you know why he hates you?” A new game they were forced to play. Because they were held captive by the Circus. And the Circus had taken Danny. And Tim screamed himself hoarse demanding answers from Jon when he'd been told.

“You’re lucky I’m tied down, Jon! I would take my answers by force if these fuckers would let me!” Jon never said anything other than apologies and it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t fair and when Jon cried it made him that much more furious because what right did he have to be upset when he was the one doing all this to them!

“We can’t have that, Tim.” She would smirk, placing her hands over his shoulders in a mock massage, tone soothing and so understanding. “We need him to be perfect.”

“Perfect.” Tim spat. Perfect. And Jon shook harder at Nikola’s cryptic words until she turned her machinations toward Tim because, after all? If he’d kept a closer eye on his precious family, would he have lost him at all?

“It’s really your fault if you think about it.” Tim tried his damndest to get closer, grappling so hard with his bonds he fell over and still tried to take a chunk out of her with his teeth. She merely laughed, ridiculing them both.

“Leave off!” Jon shouted, Tim’s chest was heaving against the floor as he twisted and bent himself into all manner of shapes in a fruitless attempt to attack her again, blind with rage and hate.

“Only because you asked so nicely.” Nikola caressed his skin and Jon bit his lip until blood ran in rivelets but she left.

“I’m so sor--”

“Save it. Don’t think this changes anything.” Uncomfortable and sore and still seething, Tim laid there until they came for Jon.

Whatever they were doing was taking a visible toll and Jon’s resistance began tapering off and he became too tired to put up a fight. He’d developed a cough that kept them both awake. It began small, chronic and dry, but no less obnoxious and only Jon could find more ways to make this captivity more difficult.

“Stop it.” Clipped and bitter.

“Sorry, sorry. Smoking, you know.” Tim didn’t answer and Jon’s attempts to stifle it were sorely lacking, bursting from his chest like a gunshot.

“You know what they want, don’t you.” Surprised, he looked up, nodding slowly, brow furrowed. “Well?”

“It’s. It’s.” Real fear raced across his face before he could stop it and he swallowed thickly.

“Lemme guess. It involves you.” Tim’s ire began to rise because of course it did.

“Yes.”

“And you won’t just give it over to save us?” Jon looked away, eyes shut tight.

“No.” He tried to take a deep breath and it lodged somewhere in between. “But it’s becau--”

“Save it. Coward. It’s enough that you won’t consider it.” Resentful, Tim again wanted to get his hands on him because of course he’d refuse. There wasn’t a more selfish man in the archives. “So this is it then? We go the way of Sasha?”

“I--”

“Because you didn’t help her either. Didn’t even notice.” It was his turn to hide because he’d be damned if Jon saw him cry. “Maybe if she’d been the Archivist, it would have been you.”

Jon didn’t, couldn’t fight this time and was more lifeless than any time before when they secured him which seemed to please Nikola and she praised him, dragging fingers through his messy hair, pulling sharply on the tangles.

“Ah, you’ve finally learned, Jon." And she tapped his cheek, sickeningly tender, before finally leaving him alone.

“Giving up so soon?” Tim scoffed; ‘so soon’ being weeks into their capture when Jon was clearly exhausted, sleeping more and more in between waking enough to hack up a lung. He could hear the wheeze on his breath from where he was across the room. “Figures.”

“Jus’… m'head hurts.” Laughing bitterly, Tim told him to keep it to himself. Dealing with Jon when he was in a mood or whining for the sake of it hadn’t made it onto his agenda. But the part that cared, that he’d tried to stamp out and fill with hate, reminded him that they were both dehydrated and hungry.

Reminded him that Jon was getting quieter and quieter, going long stretches between speaking and this time when he was carried away, he was frighteningly lax and loose, head thrown back and gasping, overbright eyes half lidded. This time, when they dragged him back and tied him up, he was crying openly, shaking fit to fly apart and eerily quiet. But the tears were there, streaming down his face and gathering on his chin before his trembling got the better of them.

“Jon?” If anything, he sobbed harder, the sound choked off as he tried so, so hard to be quiet.

“Please s’stop, Tim.” And his whisper was so broken, so small and sad, that Tim shut his mouth, because Jon was at his breaking point and he’d helped push him to it.

Now Tim couldn't stop looking at Jon and it made the other man self conscious when he was awake enough to notice, trying to keep his head turned away when he had the strength and it wasn't thrown back over the chair while he gasped like a fish out of water.

The few times Tim caught him looking his way were fraught with weariness. Jon's red rimmed eyes, bruised and ringed with shadow, held a constant question and reminded him too much of his paranoia. Truthfully, the stare was heavy and he was uncomfortable with the weight of it leveled across his shoulders.

"What're you staring at?" But it was a half-hearted attempt at inflicting hurt and Jon shrugged, blinking and a few times as if to clear his vision.

"You okay?" It sounded like he'd been swallowing gravel, rough and low and painful.

"What do you think?" And Tim couldn't stop responding in anger, swearing to himself that Jon's defeated expression meant less than nothing.

Jon wasn’t well.

He’d been unconscious for the better part of a day and Tim hadn’t been able to rouse him; shouting at him from the other side of the room wasn't enough but he tried once more out of desperation.

“Jon, buddy. Jon!”

“Mmwha'Tim?” Cracked right in the middle, it was forced through a deep wet cough that sounded bad. Really bad. The effort left his narrow chest heaving with every difficult pull for air, like he was breathing through a straw.

“Oh, thank god.” Even with the distance between them Tim could see his face twist up in confusion. “You weren't answering me.”

“Talkin t'me?” Panting and pale in the weird light, Jon’s features seemed carved from shadow and sweat.

“Yes, who else??” More than used to Tim’s frustration and annoyance, Jon just let his chin tip forward on his chest. “Jon, what's wrong.”

“Head hur's.” Slurring badly, Jon gave up words altogether in favor of letting his dark lashes flutter closed.

“You've said! What else?” Yelling and angry and helpless, the guilt rose in him like a slow and deadly tide when he saw tears slipping down his face. Tim was scared and he was mean, shouting and demanding, because of it. Because he thought he was done caring about this paranoid menace who had posed as his friend and gotten them into this mess. And he wasn't, oh he wasn't and something was seriously, seriously wrong and he was tied to a chair two meters away and couldn’t do anything about it. “Jon! Don’t, hey! Don’t go to sleep!” But it didn’t matter, he was already gone.

“Well, don’t you look tetchy.” Tim ignored Nikola’s jab the next time she and her clowns came to visit and through a surge of protectiveness he hadn’t felt in so long for anybody, he spoke on his behalf.

“Please. Jon, he. Something’s wrong.” She didn’t look impressed.

“He’s stopped his fighting.”

“Let me check on him. Whatever you need him for, he won’t be any use if he’s dead, right?” Nikola laughed, cruel smile striking fear into Tim’s heart for the first time.

“It wouldn’t matter, truly. But. Well," grabbing a fistful of hair, she forced his head back and forth to get a good look at him. "I just don’t think he’s done yet. And that would be a shame--I do so wish to look my best.” Tim was no closer to figuring out what was happening but it didn’t matter anymore. “I assure you, if you try to run.”

“I won’t.” Swiftly promised, they’d escape another time. Somehow, someway. “Untie us?”

“Us?” She chuckled and in the end, only released Tim but it would have to do, and once he was sure she was well and truly gone, he stumbled on numb legs to stand over him.

“Jon?” Gently, like he might break under the weight of his hand, Tim laid it over his forehead, brushing back through his tangled hair when the heat of it met his palm. He was a furnace, burning away to nothing and very sick. “Jon?” He tore a strip off the bottom of his shirt, wiping away the sweat because there was nothing else he could do until he finally came around. “Hey, Jon.” Jerking away with enough force that Tim had to catch the chair, he coughed with his shoulders hunched around his ears like--

Like Tim was going to strike him.

“Oh, no, no.” What a mess they’d made. “Hey, none of that.” When he went to apply the compress again, Jon flinched, shaking, muttering breathlessly:

“Don’touch, please, don’touch me any’anymore. Pl’please.” So now he was free, free to see up close the terror and fear, faced with it plainly enough to question that Jon wanted any of this at all, or if he was just as caught in it’s spiraling web. He wore himself out, body slumped uncomfortably where he was tied as he lost consciousness and Tim was at a loss as to what to do. He wasn’t able to pick apart the knots, didn’t have anything to slice through his bonds. No medicine, no water. Nothing, and so he finally relegated himself to pounding on the door, shouting, pleading for water because Jon was out of his mind with fever and wouldn't let Tim touch him. Of course it went unanswered, and instead he found himself sitting crisscross at Jon’s feet. “Don’...don’touch…”

“I won’t, I promise. Not, not until you say I can.” Wringing his hands, remembering every time they'd helped each other through a sick day at the institute. Remembering when he was free to touch and free to comfort. Jon ruined that. But it shouldn't mean he was afraid of him.

“T’tim?” The whimper of recognition made the fist around his heart squeeze. “They...they’re. My skin. Take it. G’g’gonna take it.”

“Calm down, you’re not making sense.” And shaking so hard with chills his teeth were chattering.

“It’s going to, to hurt. She, Ni-she.” Worked up, Jon was hyperventilating, barely getting any air between his coughing and rambling but he wouldn’t listen to Tim. “It’s, it’s. I, I, I don’wan’to h’hurt anymore…” Delirious, he had to be, paranoid and ill and delusional and he said as much.

“Okay, Jon? That’s not going to happen.”

“Why Tim!” Nikola’s delighted voice rose up behind him and he startled. “He didn’t tell you? This ritual requires a special ingredient, a costume! Of special power and distinction and you,” she tapped his forehead sharply, “just don’t fit the bill!”

“Costume?”

“Of course!” When she clapped her hands together it made a sharp plastic clatter. “Our Archivist here will have the most lovely skin when we’re through with him.” Tim felt sick to his stomach. Jon. He’d. He’d called him a coward. Wished awful things on him and maybe it would be impossible to be friends again but, but they’d been friends once. Been close once. And.

“Please. He, he needs water.” His voice shook. “His--” skin “It’ll be better if he’s had enough water.”

“A wonderful idea!” She turned away from where she was tracing lines over his body, “to think I wanted to kill you upon arrival, when you’ve been so useful in keeping our mutual friend in line!”

“Slow, slow Jon.” He pulled the cup away when it seemed he’d try for the whole of it at once, “you’ll make yourself sick.”

��T’Tim...need.”

“I know, be patient.” Jon’s brown eyes were piercing even glassed with fever, all his limited focus directed at Tim.

“N’no.” He paused to get enough breath to speak. “Run. You n’need to run.” Days ago, Tim would have done so in a heartbeat but the thought of abandoning him now. He couldn’t.

“I cant.”

“Tim”

“No, not without you.” His gaze was devastating and he dropped his head.

“Why?” He didn’t have an answer and thankfully didn’t need one because at that very moment a yellow door appeared where one had never been before and through it stepped a man who both was and wasn’t, face ever changing, limbs elongating in strange intervals and he had to look away.

“I’ve come to kill you, Archivist.” A distorted echo that was also not an echo filled up the room.

“Get in line, you’re not the only one who wants a piece.” The being seemed taken aback, tickled that a human would even dare, and Jon used the gap in their conversation to draw its attention.

“Michael.” The thing that was Not What It Is shifted focus, oil on water. “Tell me.” And while Jon couldn’t say anything more than that, he did and instead of killing the archivist, Helen saved him, using sharp fingers that warped and writhed to slice the bonds and send him sprawling to the ground. Or would have, if Tim hadn’t caught him. He wouldn’t respond to Tim’s shaking and shouting and when Helen offered to grant them both safe passage as a favor to her favorite Sims (her only Sims, Tim figured) he lifted him into his arms and stepped through the door.

And into his own flat.

“Do tell him I say hello, would you?”

“Uh, yeah. ‘Course.” Awkwardly, he waved with his arms still full of Jon. “Thanks.” When he was sure his flat had only the same number of doors it came with, he laid his burden down on the couch, heading to the medicine cabinet for any fever reducer he could find and filling a glass with water on the way. It took too much time to wake him and he wasn’t aware enough to parse the instructions Tim was trying to explain, that dreadful whistling almost deafening this close and the crackling in his lungs like dry leaves in autumn. So he propped him up against his shoulder, body blazing through their clothes, and slipped the pills onto his tongue one at a time so he could swallow them with small sips. Replacing himself with several pillows shoved behind him, Tim wrung out a cool flannel and smoothed it over his forehead, ignoring the sluggish, enquiring gaze until it disappeared behind heavy lids and his face relaxed into sleep.

There wasn’t anything in the fridge that survived his absence save for the bicarbonate of soda and beyond that, Tim didn’t want to take a chance opening anything. The bread was moldy, but a packet of biscuits with peanut butter helped dull the hunger and, though he would never admit it, gave him a reason to stay up to watch over Jon. Flushed and fevered, he mumbled nonsense in his sleep, and Tim recognized enough that he soon decided not to listen, the horror of it too much to bear just yet. He fell into his own bed, relaxing sore muscles and glanced at the clock blaring too bright numbers that he didn’t want to read, his last conscious decision that they’d been gone this long, what was one more night before telling everyone else they weren’t dead.

The sun, blessed sun, fell across his face and he let himself have a lie in until he remembered who was passed out on his couch and he dragged himself towards responsibility, a knot of apprehension tight in his throat, relaxing when Jon looked, well, not well, but better. Apparently sensitive to being watched, their eyes collided briefly before ricocheting away and Tim was irritated by it and the way Jon was avoiding him again.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were that sick?” Though Tim stood over him, Jon continued to look at his hands, tracing a finger over the rough scar spanning his whole palm. He took his time, thinking, so long that when Tim shouted “well?!” he jumped, eyes wide, breath catching.

“You. You said.” Coughing into his elbow, he needed a moment to recover. “Said t’to keep it to myself.”

“When you were complaining about a headache!” Jon shrugged with one shoulder, curling into himself small and fragile, somehow more so in the late morning light.

“Didn’t think--”

“No, you didn’t, you never do, Jon!”

“--you’d want to know.”

“Jon.” But would he have wanted to know? Would he have ignored it like he had his anguish? What reason had Tim given him when he’d used everything he experienced in that room and out of it as a weapon against him? Jon was looking up at him, wan and pallid, waiting for whatever Tim had to say and he knew he would take it like he’d taken it in their captivity. He sat on the low table in front of the couch. “Jon. I’m. You know I’m angry with you.” He nodded. “I’m sorry for, I took it too far. But, I’d still have wanted to know.” He pressed the next dose of medicine into his unblemished hand and made sure the water glass was within reach. “Take those.” Before he slipped into the kitchen and away from their shared mistakes, but he could still hear.

“Thank you, Tim.”

“Oh,” he popped his head back into the sitting room. “Helen says hello.” And chuckled when Jon threw an arm over his eyes with a groan.

[alexandenigtscreations]

Summary:

Tim Stoker stumbled into the archives, bloody and hurt. Demanding to talk to Jon. Having just escaped the clutches of the circus.

Jon dropped his pen, sitting back in his office chair rubbing itchy eyes.  Another day done, another statement recorded.  Another step closer to bringing down the circus- the Unknowing-

Hopefully-

He sighed.  Sending a silent curse towards Elias and his cryptic messages.  Why couldn’t he just give Jon Gertrude’s notes on the Unknowing?.  He was tired of feeling like a naughty child being led around by an ear.  His eyes prickled again and he stared blankly at the computer screen.  It would be best to call it a night.

He began to pack up, tucking papers into a briefcase, pulling on his coat and giving a fond pat to the lucky cat figurine on his bookshelf.  

“Here’s to hoping no one’s interested in the Archivist tonight, eay?”

The lucky cat cheerfully waved a paw.

“Right.”  

The only thing Jon hated more than coming into the Archives was leaving them.  The number of times he’d been snatched bordered on comical, if it hadn’t hurt so much.  Time had really gotten away from him today, then again, that wasn’t exactly new.  He considered calling a cab.  There hadn’t been any statements concerning cabs or cabbies that he knew of.  The underground, delivery vans and walking home felt perilous this late, but a cab- Of course, he knew just because a statement wasn’t in the archives, that there weren’t entity tied cabbies; but it provided the illusion of safety all the same

Jon opened the door and came face to face with-

“T-Tim!”

“We need to talk-boss.” he said, sagging against the door jam, teetering forwards in an unbalanced fashion.  

Jon hurriedly put a bracing hand on his chest, “E-easy now.  What on-”

“Don’t touch me!” he exploded, shoving Jon back, so that he nearly tripped over the spare chair, briefcase and folders sent flying.  Then, softer “don’ t-touch-me.” He was shaking now.

It hurt.  Course it hurt, but Jon couldn’t help feel that it was deserved.  Jon couldn’t remember the last time Tim had willingly sought him out, yet alone used the old nickname of ‘boss’.  Every inch of him screamed that something was wrong.  

“Right.” he said, holding his hands placatingly in front “I’m not touching you-” something damp and sticky on his fingers caught his attention. 

Blood.

There was blood on his hand, Tim’s blood.  He was hurt!

“Y-you’re bleeding.”

“It doesn’t matter!” he was shouting again “God, why can’t you just-just Listen!  T-The Circus-  Christ!” he stopped abruptly, clutching at his front.

Jon froze.  “The circus?” breath hitching as the ghost of calliope music echoed through his skull.  Hands, hard and plastic, grabbing him, holding him down, while he…he…lord  “Tim!  What happened-what-”

“Stop with the Questions!” Tim shook with the force of his voice, visibly distressed.  Jon snapped his mouth shut in horror.  The compulsion- he hadn’t meant too-

“Sorry, sorry Tim- I-I didn’t mean-”

“Shut up.” He was swaying dangerously, the door no longer sufficient in keeping him upright.  Resisting the compulsion had taken what little strength he had left.  

Tim tipped forwards, swearing, Jon rushed to catch him as his legs caved.  Never known as a strong man, Jon nearly buckled under the weight of his assistant.  A confused tangle of arms and clothing.  This close, the scent of blood was overwhelming.  Tim made a pathetic sound, clinging to Jon with surprising force.  For his part, Jon willed himself to get the man to a chair.  He could do that much.  He had too.  

It was less than graceful.  He jostled the taller man something fierce.  What little color there was, fled his face and his eyes started to flutter.  

“Tim.” Jon said, carefully holding his head, keeping him steady.  “Tim, I need you to breath.  Are you with me?”  He blinked blearily, until he focused on Jon’s face.  

“Unfortunately.” 

“Good.”  Jon’s eyes drifted down to the dark stain spreading across the hawaiian shirt, the cream flowers shaded red.  He slid the coat open wider, finding Tim’s entire front was covered.  He started at the buttons, wanting to get a clear picture of what they were dealing with. Tim grabbed his wrist.  “We need to stop the bleeding.”  Jon explained.  

Tim shook his head belligerent.  “We need to talk-” 

“And we will.  Just, let me help- first.” 

Tim held him a moment longer before relenting with a surly “Fine.”  Jon eased the coat off his shoulders and started at the buttons once more.  Each fastening undone revealed more of the goary scape of Tim’s chest.  That’s when he caught sight of- Christ- lettors! 

There were letters crudely carved into Tim’s flesh.  Jon felt sick reading the message.

COME DANCE~

N.O.

Nikola Orsinov had…

“Oh- Tim-” Jon felt a sharp pang lance through him as he stared at the ragged skin.  “I-we-” he took a breath, his stomach churning “I’ll be back, we need the first aid kit.”  He got as far as the door before turning “Just… stay put.” then took off towards the employee lounge.  

Jon braced himself on the sink, feeling as though he was going to be sick.  The Circus and-and skin-

“Christ Tim.”  he caught sight of the blood streaked cross his hands.  He had to wash it off, just had to.  He scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed them under hot water.  Wanting to wash away the dirt, the grime the-the grease-

It had looked so… bad.  He scrubbed, hoping the cuts were not too deep, hoping the muscles would be untouched, hoping that there wouldn’t be any-lasting-damage.  The memory of plastic across his skin made him shudder.  Stupid of course there would be lasting damage, they’d cut into his skin.

Skin-

Jon shuddered.  The Circus was toying with them!  And Tim!  He was his boss, he was supposed to protect his assistants!  

A nasty little voice in his head quirried “Like Sasha?”

More guilt twisted his insides.  

This was not alright.  

Tim needed looking after-  Jon swore, wishing Martin hadn’t left for the day- wondering if it would be okay to call him back.  He quickly dismissed the idea in favor of imagining how Martin may treat the wounds.  The first aid kit- he needed to start there.

Martin always seemed to know where it was.  Now that Jon needed it, it was nowhere to be found.  He searched the lower shelves first.  No first aid kit.  Did find a large bowl and a few flannels.  He remembered Martin washing him up with such things and decided they were useful.  It wasn’t in the cupboard by the fridge, or the one over the microwave, wasn’t in the tea cabinet either, damn- Martin would already be back with Tim by now, helping-

He glanced at his phone, wondering if he should call him after all.  That wouldn’t be fair though.  Martin deserved time away from this place.  They all did.  

At last he found it on the top shelf above the electric kettle.  Of course it would be there.  The Archival staff were the ones who used it the most these days, Martin wouldn’t have trouble accessing it there.  

“Right.” Jon sighed and hopped up on the counter, pulling himself upright with the cabinet frames until he could wriggle the kit out of it’s lofty position.  Before he left with his burden, Jon tucked a water bottle under his arm.  The Circus consisted of beings of plastic and stuffing, they never thought about the needs of human bodies.  

“Didn’t run away then?” Tim quipped, hunched over Jon’s desk.  

“And miss your cheery face?” Jon shot back, words lacking any true bite.  Jon sighed “Was trying to remember what Martin would do.” he cleared a space on the desk, carefully arranging the items.  

“You didn’t call-”

“He’s gone home for today.” Jon said simply, offering the water to Tim who took it gingerly.  “Didn’t think it would be fair to call him back.” 

Jon repositioned Tim so that they were facing each other and started to dab away at the bloody mess.  Tim hissed and twiched under his attention, but remained quiet, for once.  

In truth, Jon was much more adept at this sort of care than his assistance would have believed.  He just never had patience for his own care.  It was all so….tedious and easy to forget.  But when it came to other people, Jonathan Sims was perfectly capable of providing treatment.  It was just that he lacked Martin’s comforting presence, Sasha’s wit or Tim’s charm.  In short, he lacked people skills.  He chose to leave such tasks to others.

“So” Jon said, continuing to clean the mess, “You said we needed to talk.” No compulsion this time.

“Yep.”

“Will this talk explain what happened here?” 

“Yep”

“Right.” he paused over the discoloration along Tim’s ribs, sure something had been damaged.  “Whenever you’re ready.”

“What, no tape recorder?  No statement.”

“Do we need a tape recorder for a talk?” In truth, Jon was itching to turn it on, to compel Tim to tell him what happened, take his statement.  But the last time he’d turned it on around Tim, things had gotten….difficult.  Given the state of the man, Jon decided it could wait.  

Tim nodded, eyes closing and Jon resumed his work.  

“I- I went back, to where it began.” he was speaking so softly Jon almost couldn’t hear, almost.  

“Back where?” A small stroke down, over his ribs sent a shiver through him.

“C-Covent Garden Theater-” he admonished.

“The Royal Opera House?”  Jon’s mouth went dry.  Martin had sent him the tape, express mail.  It was the place Tim’s little brother had been taken by the Circus.  Danny.  

“One in the same.”

“Thought you said you didn’t expect they’d let you go a second time.”

“Welp, they nearly didn’t, did they?” he was shaking again, “We needed leads.  And with you galavanting cross the globe and Martin strung out on Statements, that left the follow up to me, didn’t it?” 

“You shouldn’t have gone alone, you could at least of taken Martin, Melonly, Basira even or-”

“Don’t pretend to care.” Tim burst out “You thought I’d murdered someone!  Followed me to my home!  I can’t believe y- ugh!” he doubled over.  The pain giving way to a choked sob.  

Jon floundered, wondering what on earth to do.  He had to get used to so many different Tims- the cheerful one that gave good hugs and annoying practical jokes, the angry one Jon had pushed into a corner and now, this- this defeated one.  

“W-We’re in the same boat, you and me.” he said softly “There’s no one in this p-place to trust. Heh- Maybe t-trust was an illusion all along-  Last time I saw Sasha, he was already dead.  With something else wearing his skin.  Didn’t even notice.”He hiccuped “I was supposed to protect him- they trusted me to protect him.  And he’s dead.”

Jon was deeply unsettled by the broken quality to his voice “Tim, who are you talking about?”

“You listen to all the tapes, don’t you.  You said as much.”

“Tim-”

“How many people are already dead, with something else wearing their skin.” he seemed to be spiraling, this was why Jon didn’t do this kind of thing!  He didn’t know what to do or say in this situation “They wanted to wear you too, didn’t they?” 

It was like a punch to the gut.  Jon didn’t know what was going to be said next, all he knew was that he didn’t want to hear….or did he?

“They wanted to wear you more than they wanted me- And you know what?  It sang to me as it cut me open, put a m-mirror above- made sure I could see the whole show-” Tim was crying now, rocking back and forth.  “Sang to me about the archivist- about how it wanted its skin.  Your skin.”  another sob racked through him “H-h-how c-come- how come it didn’t finish me off?  How come it didn’t take me like it did Danny?!  Or Sasha!  Jesus!”

Jon didn't know what to say. Perhaps there would have been a time before all of this started, back in research- Tim had been diffrent then,they all had been.

The silence stretched on while Jon resumed the treatment.

[avellanas-nutty-empire]

Silent Love Part 4

Aldidjdbdj it's been a while huh? I got a lot more asks than I was expecting so hopefully that filled yall up while waiting for this

Fandom: the umbrella academy

Pairing: axel x Irish!OC

Time and place: Spring 1990 San Patricio

Summary: over 1200 words of kelly, axel, and Nikolas just at the pub

Last chapter was really short, so plz enjoy this longer one! I hope it was worth the wait.

Plz rememebr that the only character who's first language is english is Dick from part 1, so the dialog is spoken all wich accents and doesnt have a wide variety of vocab if its english (aka black colored) especialy for Axel cause he knows the least of them

Green dialog is Irish

Blue dialog is Swedish

A small bell chimes with the opening door, notifying nearby people of the new person. Axel looks around the pub to see people drinking, talking quietly, and clapping and stomping their feet to the beat of the music while people dance in a cleared out area. This place is so warm. He thinks to himself. Almost a little suffocating, if I think about it. Axel decides to take a seat at the bar closest to the door.

“Welcome to the irish pub! My name is Sean, and I'll be the bartender this evening. What can I help you with?” A man says, cleaning a glass in his hands.

“Waiting” Axel responds simply, while Sean gives a nod of acknowledgment. The pub is not going to stay open forever. Most people have already left for the night.

“Very well then, please feel free to ask for help. I'll come by later” The bartender sets down the glass behind him and walks off towards the other end of the bar. The music ends, and the dancers bow. Another song starts up as the door opens again with another chime. 

"Thank you Again for agreeing to meet with me" Nikolas says, taking a seat next to Axel. "I know swedes prefer to stay out of other people's business, so I'm sorry if any of this has been an inconvenience for you. Were you waiting long?"

"No" he responds curtly. The bartender comes over again at the new man's appearance.

"Welcome to the irish pub! My name is Sean, are you ready for something?" The lad jots down Nikolas's order on a notepad then turns to Axel. "Anything for you?"

"Same" he says.

"Good choice gentlemen, I'll get right on that" Sean walks over to prep the drinks on the back counter.

"...So, do you know the woman who helped at all, or was it a factor of chance?" Nik says, deciding to start the conversation once their drinks arrived.

"No. I was walking nearby and heard Adela call out...." I thought it was my family. "...I thought..." Axel trails off, sipping his drink in between pauses.

"This country isn't all it's Cooked up to be" Nik says with a sigh, taking reign for the poor lad. "You have to be a pure american to fit in. Walk, talk, and look like them. What they seem to forget is that this country is made almost entirely of immigrants. They pushed back, suppressed, stole, and killed the natives of this land to claim it as their own. People like us... who are different... have it rough, we need to look out for each other. No one else will" Axel nods solemnly. Discrimination is everywhere. “That's why I like places like these...” Nik says, gesturing to the entire pub with glass in hand.

Glancing around, most every person there is Irish or some other immigrant. In the corner behind the bar, Axel spots your head of red hair as you prep something on the back counter. The front door opens with another chime of the bell, and a small boy darts right though the door, smacking straight into Axel. The boy falls down with a thud and a gasp, making your head swivel over to the 3 boys' location. You throw your hands up and mumble something under your breath, walking towards them.

"That's her. The one with the red hair" Axel points out to the man.

"Levi, what did I tell you!" You scold him, briefly checking for injuries. After concluding there aren't any, you turn to the 2 men at the bar. "I am so sorry, gentlemen-" your eyes meet Axel’s, and your face lights up with recognition. She does remember. And she's speaking slowly for us to understand better.

"Don't worry about us, is the lad alright?" Nik asks.

"I'm fine, thank you. Sorry for running into you" Levy answers him, speaking softly enough for only them to hear.

"Why don't you go upstairs. And use your walking feet!" You suggest, a hand on Levi's shoulder. “I am so sorry, again-” You start, interrupted by the elder man.

“It's alright, he's just a boy and will learn with time” You smile kindly at him, thanking god he’s not upset. “You're a kind lass for helping my granddaughter last week” He says, this time sending you a kind smile. 

“You’re her grandfather? Oh, I’m so glad she found her family” You turn your attention to Axel this time “I’m sorry I couldn't help more. Is your arm doing good? I could rebandage it for you” You offer, motioning where he was wounded on your own limb.

“Arm is good” How does her face just.... Relax like that?

“Thank god, I'm glad”

“My name is Nikolas, but you can call me Nik. It's very nice to meet you” He extends his hand for a shake, and you lean in to take it.

“Please call me by my last name, Kelly”

“Don't like your first one?” The old man questions.

“...something like that” Nik nods his head in acknowledgement.

“How long have you been in the country?”

“Well, my parents moved here with me after I finished schooling... but they moved back after 15 years. I have a job here because it's run by my best friends family, and that's what I've been doing ever since”

“I see... it must have been rough when you first moved here” Nik comments.

“Yes, it always is. That's why immigrants help immigrants, right? We all have it tough”

“That is exactly why I like places like these” Nik continues his earlier topic with a smile. “You’re much more likely to find kindness here than with a ‘real’ american - as they like to call themselves” You smile with a small laugh.

“Well, what's your name? How long you been here?” You say, directing your attention to the Swede.

“Axel. 1 year” Technically it's been a little less than a year, but I don't know how to say that in English. You nod your head sympathetically.

“It is a hard language to learn, my parents had the most difficulty. Part of the reason they moved back”

“In my experience, it's easier when surrounded by the language” Axel zones out of their conversation momentarily, not very interested in their business. Why are they both so friendly? He ponders, glancing around the pub again to see that the population has dwindled.

“...You dance?” He asks you finally, gesturing to the dancers up front who have all stopped for water. You turn your head to glance over at the girls, before responding and turning back.

“Not a lot anymore. I teach and help make new dances though. In the morning before the pub opens we let local dancers practice here”

“My, that's so cool! Adela was always interested in dancing” Nik responds with enthusiasm.

“It's a lot of fun. Levi has a lot of energy, so I'm trying to make him like it more”

“Maybe if he and Adela met they could like it together?” The older man suggests, your face springs with an idea.

“There's a big show soon. They could meet then?” You propose, emphasizing the size with your hands.

“Yes!” Across the room, a clock chimes for the hour and the excitement from your face deflates.

“Pub closes soon” You say, sadness tinging your accented voice. “Time to go home. But next time?”

“Yes, I can not wait!” Nik stands up with a newfound happiness. “Thank you for talking to me, I am sorry if I was interrupting your job”

“Of course. Good night, be safe!” You pat his shoulder eagerly as he heads towards and out the door.

“Arm... bandage?” Axel questions, motining to his injured arm. You look back to him suddenly, eyes widening in recognition yet again.

“Yes. Wait please” You then make your way behind the bar and trek up the stairs with vigor. As he waits, Sean comes up to take his empty glass.

“Done?” He questions before picking it up. Axel simply nods and the cup is taken to be cleaned. Soon enough you return down the steps, glidings over to him with supplies. Setting the small jar of slave down, you start unwrapping his bandages with such delicacy it almost scares him. It's as if she's afraid something will shatter with her touch. Revealing the wound, you are relieved to see it truly has gotten better - if even a little.

“Not big” You say, applying the same salve as last time. “Will heal fast. Thank you” That's almost exactly what she said last time too. You quickly wrap the new bandage around his arm, satisfied with your work. But... “Done!” You quip with a smile. Every cat has claws... and I don't plan on being fooled again.

[heart-of-flames]

Any sinnamon rolls fun facts about E, S, and Lauren you're willing to share? 👀

“You here that?” Silas asks, a wide grin spreading across his lips. “We’re cinnamon rolls.”

Frowning Lauren glances up from her work. Only speaking after she shoves Silas off of her desk, which earned her a pout. “Isn’t that a pastry?”

“Yes, but it must be the sexy kind. I mean it has to be if I’m one,” he responds as he hops back up onto Lauren’s desk completely ignoring her pointed glare. “Right Elaria?”

The princess pauses mid stride as she glances at Silas. Not knowing whether or not to agree with him but deciding that it wouldn’t hurt. Plus he was in her way when she needed to speak with Lauren. “Sure.”

Grinning Silas leans back and brushes his hand against Lauren’s. His eyes turning soft when her own finally meet his. “I think you’d make a pretty sexy pastry too.”

His words earned a hard slap on the back of his head from the healer, but he couldn’t help but notice the heated quality to her face. Looking very much like Nikolas when he stole his clothes. “Ow, doc, I think I have an owie.” Putting an extra large pout on his face earns him another smack, this time on his arms.

“For once I’m not going to treat you,” she says, her gaze already moving towards Elaria. “Is there something you need your grace?”

“Only if you have the time Lauren,” Elaria replies, setting the package she was holding onto the corner of Lauren’s desk. “I wouldn’t want to impose on you. I know how busy you get during this time of year.”

Waving her off Lauren picks up the package. “No, it’s quite alright. I would be more than happy to help.”

Nodding in thanks Elaria turns her gaze back towards Silas. “Now why are you comparing yourself to pastries?”

“Sexy pastries,” Silas corrects as he pops one of the candies Lauren has on her desk in his mouth. “And someone asked me, well us, if we could tell them anything about ourselves, and they called us cinnamon rolls when doing so.”

“Why?”

“I have no idea but I quite like the fact that I’m a delectable pastry to some,” Silas says with a grin on his face.

“And a nuisance to others,” Lauren mutters as she pulls one of her papers out from under Silas. Thanking the gods that it hadn’t ripped.

Smiling Elaria couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped her lips. “So what did you tell them?”

Tilting his head Silas frowns at the question. “What do you mean?”

“Well they asked for information about you, right?” She asks, waiting for Silas’s nod to confirm. “Then what did you tell them?”

“Oh I didn’t tell them anything because there are too many awesome things to condense into one list. So I told them to come back later if they had anything specific. Wouldn’t want to waste their time in hearing me drone on and on.”

“You can be chivalrous?” Lauren asks, her voice holding an incredulous tone.

“Yes, dear doctor of mine, I can be quite charming when I want to.”

“That’s a surprise.”

“So Lauren,” Elaria prompts gently, watching as the healer glances up at her. “What did you tell them?”

“I didn’t tell them anything either. I’m not interesting enough to be able to tell anyone anything besides what they should already know. Nor am I, in anyway, a baked good.”

Frowning Elaria opens her mouth to refute Lauren’s words, but Silas quickly butts in to change the subject. “They asked about you too, you know?”

“Really?”

“Yeah, they want to know all about our resident heir. So what will you tell them, oh great ruler?”

Rolling her eyes Elaria crosses her arms and stares at Silas. Her face showing him that she wasn’t amused. “I guess I couldn’t answer either, because I would have to know what they specifically would like to know too. If not they would have to be subjected to my presence for hours, and no one wants that.”

——

I was just going to put if you wanted anything specific, but I decided to have a little fun with it. I hope that doesn’t bother you.

[haberdashing]

Like Emptiness In Harmony

TMA AU of 160. When Jon wakes up after that statement, he finds that he’s changed just as the world around him has.

on AO3

Jon came back to himself... no, that wasn’t right; Jon’s self was far too nebulous a concept for that. How many weeks, months, years had passed since he’d truly been himself, free of influence by eldritch powers? Had he even truly been himself before he’d joined the Magnus Institute, or had he been controlled by the Web back then, too? Would he even recognize his true self, his human self, anymore? (Were his true self and his human self even the same thing these days?)

Jon came back to consciousness on the floor of the safehouse, with Martin standing over him, and for a brief second things seemed alright, seemed as normal as they ever were, before he saw the terror in Martin’s eyes and remembered what he’d read out loud before passing out and knew (lower-case) that something had gone terribly wrong.

The details were still fuzzy in Jon’s mind, though, and as Jon struggled to put the pieces together, to wake up more fully and figure out exactly what kind of trouble he was in this time, he was only able to say a single word.

“Martin.”

But... but it didn’t sound right, somehow. The word was clear enough, luckily, it wasn’t like he was trying to spit it out through a gagged mouth (which was a sensation Jon unfortunately knew all too well thanks to Nikola), but the tone was off. Jon was confused and curious and scared, but when he called out Martin’s name, none of that came through. Instead, his voice sounded... smug, smug and vaguely condescending, much closer to the sort of tone he would have used to dismiss Martin before Prentiss’ attack than the one he’d meant to adopt now.

“Jon?” Jon wasn’t sure how much of the uncertainty he heard in Martin’s voice just then was real and how much of it was just his mind projecting. Probably some of both there.

Jon cleared his throat and tried again.

“Martin.”

It came out the same as before--exactly the same as before, actually, his tone and enunciation both identical to when he’d said Martin’s name before, as much so as if he’d recorded it before and simply played it back again instead of actually speaking anew.

An analogy that, when Jon examined it more closely, seemed entirely too on the nose.

“My god.”

He said the words only partially because they were what he actually wanted to say; if Jon were free to speak his mind, his speech would probably be significantly less coherent right now, and filled with half-formed questions. But this would have to do at short notice, combining actual meaning with a way to test his current theory.

Sure enough, he was able to say those words just fine, just as he had... how long ago was it, now? Minutes, hours, an eternity ago? And with them came that same smug, self-congratulatory tone, one that almost made Jon want to punch himself in the face for sounding like that. But it wasn’t really himself that he wanted to punch in the face at the moment, just as it hadn’t been himself, exactly, who had first said those words. It was his voice, sure, but the words themselves, the mind behind them, were not his own.

Jon opened his mouth to say Fuck Jonah Magnus, but was far from surprised to find that the words refused to cross the gap between his mind and the world around him.

It was all starting to come together, now. It didn’t click, per se, just continued on the progression from lazy analogy to hunch to theory to something just shy of a dark certainty.

Why did nobody ever swear in the statements, goddammit?

Though that- that wasn’t quite true, was it, there were one or two instances in there where-

And then it clicked. Jon Knew, then, what he could and couldn’t say, the exact limits of his strange new vocabulary. (Or... not new, really. None of these words were new to him. Perhaps he would never say anything new again.)

“Jon, are you alright?”

Even Knowing what he could say didn’t mean controlling his speech was easy, though. It was a little like trying to conduct a conversation by flipping through a dictionary, having to find just the right word in its pages every time a new one was needed.

“No. No, of course not.” The words were right, or close enough at any rate, but the tone was all wrong, and it wasn’t even Jon’s own voice this time, the voice and words of a now-dead man leaving his lips instead.

Jon laughed, then, and that at least sounded normal enough... well, for a certain definition of normal, at any rate. It sounded sharp and cold and full of fear, without a hint of humor to be found, and that wasn’t normal for a laugh, no, but it was what Jon had intended at any rate, a sound that was still all his own.

“Jon, you’re, you’re scaring me a bit, something about your voice seems weird...” Oh, good, he noticed that much at least. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know... and it makes me very afraid.” At least it was his voice again, now, not that of... well. Jon wanted to call Mike Crew a killer, a monster, but those weren’t exactly distinguishing features, were they? Martin probably didn’t even recognize the voice that Jon had adopted a moment ago; it’s not as if he’d had the chance to chat up Mike before Daisy killed him.

“Right. Alright. Well then, er... is, is there anything I can do to help?”

Jon laughed, and this time there was humor to it, or at least levity, despite the world having gone wrong, despite his voice no longer being entirely his own, because no matter what Martin was still Martin, trying to help, putting Jon’s well-being above all else, even when the world was quite possibly falling to pieces around them.

“I am unsure if I will... be able to stand myself up again.” Between the words and the hand extended in Martin’s direction, Jon hoped that the instruction would be clear enough.

Evidently it was, as Martin took his hand, helping pull Jon off of the floor and back onto his feet. It took more effort than it should have, Jon thought, Martin grunting and breathing heavily by the end of it despite past jokes about how easy it was to pick Jon up, but it worked, though Martin’s whole body was shaking by the end of it. (Jon wasn’t sure whether said shaking was even entirely physical in nature, truth be told.)

Jon half-walked, half-stumbled his way forward.

“No, no, no--don’t, don’t go outside. It’s--it’s real bad.”

Outside had never been Jon’s destination, however, though Martin seemed to believe otherwise. Jon didn’t want to go outside, to experience the horrors that had now been unleashed upon the world outside their cabin. He simply wanted to... Jon had to suppress a bout of hysterical laughter as it occurred to him that he simply wanted to see what had happened, to watch the chaos unfold, and wasn’t that all too fitting...

The view outside the nearest window was enough to confirm all of Jon’s worst suspicions. The world had been torn apart, all the fears unleashed upon it to wreak havoc, all because of what he’d just read out loud (all because of him).

“My god.” It felt wrong, somehow, using the words of the man who had orchestrated this apocalypse to describe it, but Jon didn’t have much in the way of alternatives at his disposal.

“I don’t know if it’s just here, or-”

“No. No...” Between trying to put the world’s destruction into words and trying to translate what words he could come up with into something said in the statements, Jon struggled to speak, though it didn’t show in his voice when he did manage to string a few more words together. “...the populated world... edged with a strange, creeping fear... far, far away...”

“Is that Peter’s voice? Jon, don’t... just, please don’t.” Martin laughed briefly, though Jon could see that his eyes were filling with tears. “I, I think I’ve heard enough from him already, thanks.”

Jon nodded enthusiastically, went to apologize, realized that even a simple “I’m sorry” was beyond his reach now, settled for “I was an idiot.” instead.

“Don’t say that. You’re not an idiot for not thinking of it, it’s just...” Martin let out a long sigh. “Jon, I’m scared.”

“...fear can just become as routine as hunger... I felt every feeling... They overwhelmed me... my impact on the world... my failure...” Jon switched between different statements, different voices, desperate to find the words to explain what had happened, what the world had become and how it was all his own fault. The end result felt like almost as great a failure as what it was purporting to describe, but it was an attempt, at least. It would have to do.

Martin wrapped one arm around Jon’s shoulder; Jon briefly considered pushing it off because he was about the last person who deserved to be comforted now, when he was the one who had caused so much pain and suffering, but decided against it because that would hurt Martin’s feelings more than it would appease his own, and he couldn’t exactly explain his own thought process to Martin at the moment.

“You’re not a failure, Jon. No matter what this is, no matter what else happens, you’re not a failure.”

Jon laughed and shook his head and laughed some more, a laugh that kept threatening to turn into a sob as he looked out at the ruins of the world he had wrecked entirely.

“And with each act of glorious, hateful destruction, I felt my god’s love embrace me, consume me... ”

Jon pointed to the sky, to the giant eye that now engulfed it.

“It’s still there, still watching me.”

The laugh that kept threatening to turn into a sob finally did so after a long minute, and as it did the tears that had been building in Martin’s eyes began to flow, and the two men threw their arms around each other, holding one another for comfort as they cried over the loss of their world.

[nialltlynch]

oh neat! thank you! i was tagged by @aurumdalseni to name 10 characters i love from 10 things:

Nice Holystone from Baccano! she keeps a BOMB in her EYEPATCH and LEADS a GANG like please i love her she's amazing she's goals

Michael Tate from Greater Boston. i have a post sitting in my drafts that's just me going feral over michael and i add to it everytime i think about him - which yes, happens at least once a day. he's also where my bio quote comes from

Nikola Orsinov from The Magnus Archives. look i know they had the whole unhinged avatar of distilled chaos thing goin on but like vibes??? aesthetic??? it's a yes from me!

Azula from Avatar: The Last Airbender. even as a kid i was like wtf she deserved better

Joseph Kavinsky from The Raven Cycle. speaking of characters who deserved better!!! i will die on this hill!!

Damien from The Bright Sessions. he basically has the same character arc as kavinsky but with like yknow a satisfying resolution. im absolutely going to read A Neon Darkness and so should you

Callum Nova from The Atlas Six. clearly i have a type......

Kiki from Kiki's Delivery Service. basically i spent my whole childhood trying to be her and still am if we're being honest

Klaus from Mother 3. might be because im replaying it right now but oh my god i love this boy so much.........

Jolyne Cujoh from Stone Ocean. best jojo and you can fight me!!

okay so i know your supposed to like tag other people, but i'm just gonna say if anyone else wants to do it feel free and say i tagged you! i enjoy reading other people's responses ❤

[georgipopovich-voiceblog]

Anywhere but Here: Pt. 2

Sneaking into the rink was hardly quiet enough to qualify as sneaking, as for once, each and every person and their mother was greeting him through the doorways, which was already strange to begin with. Georgi wasn’t even popular. Hockey players winked at him, the staff working at the rink laughed in his direction, some even whistled his way and tried to give him high fives.  He was confused.

After waking up in a match with his old sweetheart, both having a morning breath fueled argument through thundering hangovers, he couldn’t imagine what they were laughing at.

Walking into the lunchroom for the Russian Skaters, the first of his rinkmates to see him is Yuri, who glances up from his packed lunch.  An annoyed expression appears on his food covered maw.  “Well....well.... You’re late as fuck. Yakov is pissed you didn’t even ca-......” His eyes widen, and eyebrows cross.  “Georgi, ew, you have lipstick all over your neck, what the shit?”

Gasp

Looking panicked, he yanks a towel out of his bag and starts rubbing furiously at his skin, not even knowing where the smears were. Yuri looks confused, but his green eyes study his colleague, recognizing features he hadn’t seen in a while... Red eyes with dark circles surrounding them, hair unkempt, the smell of cigarettes, a corrupt shudder that trembles in his hands.... The teen glances over to Mila, who is across the room and watching.

She takes the hint, walking over urgently and looking to the older friend.  “Georgi Porgi, what’s going on ov-...” Her face scrunches up, having sniffed the air around him. “Ugh... You smell like cheap perfume and cigarettes, what the hell? Have you showered today?” He gulps, bowing his head, only looking at their shoes, he can hear the realization hit Mila. “...... wait a minute, I know this smell..... Georgi, this smells like...... Anya.”

Panting, he can feel his eyes welling up with hot tears, but he can’t let them see that, they could find out about his potential relapse. He could set a horrible example for his young friends. “I...... I......”  Oh, there was no hiding the tears, the sounds his voice made was enough to show it.  The two pairs of eyes that his eyes were focused on seemed to step back from his view, and some big shiny ones take their place; it shatters him. “..... C-Coach.... I’m .... I’m sorry...” He whimpers.

“What happened?” The confrontation was unbearable, he can feel the panic in his lungs, tightening and making it hard to speak. “Georgi...” His coach’s voice grows softer, “Take a deep breath, just nod or shake your head....Did you have a relapse?”

He can’t nod or shake his head, he doesn’t even remember last night, he’s spent all morning trying to play alcoholic Nancy Drew to the events of the night before. “I-I...d-don��t know...” He makes out, shivering now, he hadn’t realized how this has shaken him.  Georgi drops his bag and nearly comes down with it, if it weren’t for the arms of skaters around him to help him.

It took a half hour of laying down in the coach’s office on the couch, it was a long waste of time, but Georgi was finally breathing again, finally able to put words together.  Looking up to Yakov’s face, he can see the gruff wrinkles filled with a stern gaze, looking protectively as he sits on the edge of the desk.  Georgi hadn’t had a panic attack in months, but his father figure knew what to do when it was time to calm him down. “Georgi....” He begins, causing the skater to sit up, hugging his knees to his chest.  “Out of all my students.... you’re the one most willing to follow instructions... this is why I’m so hard on you when instances like this happen... what did she do to you?”

Georgi almost needs to look away, but there is no avoiding t his further.  Reaching into his own patience, courage, and deep breathing, he leans back against the couch.  “....Do you remember one of your old students, Nikolas, the old skater who retired about five years ago?”

“..... Oh? Yes, the one you all called Dedushka..... why?” 

“He called me last night in the middle of one of my migraines... he was drunk and he needed a ride home.”  Yakov looks disapproving, knowing how his old student was almost as unruly as the whole bunch today, and how that man knew about Georgi trying to quit drinking.  “I went out to get him, because I didn’t want to have him drive himself... and he was in his huge bar and I had to go inside to go find him.”

His coach rubs his eyes with a grunt, hating this already. 

“When I found him, he saw that I was in pain from the loud music and said he had something to help, I told him I could only have water, and he gave me his and some pills and..... I don’t remember the rest of the evening.”

Now Yakov was angry, there was no reason his students should ever be clubbing like that, and he hated knowing they did it anyway.  “Georgi, you couldn’t have just left and taken them when you got ho-.... wait... what did your ex girlfriend have to do with any of this?”

His heart sank further. “The only reason I know what happened at all... is because she was there at the club and took me home last night..... and while she and I were wasted, we tried to get back together.... this morning when we woke up together, she was furious that I told her that wasn’t happening.”

“Oh, thank god.” Finally, some good news out of all this.  “Georgi, that is the best thing out of everything you just said is that you two aren’t going to get back together. My heart cannot take it, and neither can yours.” He walks over and sits beside him on the couch, where a relieved Georgi looks up to him. “But regardless, you took mystery pills and you look frazzled to hell, you need to spend the rest of the day getting it out of your system or see a doctor or something.”

Georgi had never thought he’d cry at the words so simple as those, and he leans his head over to give his coach a hug. “.... You aren’t disappointed in me?”

“I’m just glad you’re alright, Georgi... I’ll give you a ride home, I don’t want you to drive like this.”

[piero217]

Be Careful with the Blue Filter on FB

I usually don’t use social networks to write comments and/or ideas of my own. Instead, I merely use it to share things that I agree with and that I feel will encourage others, or in any case, things that I consider healthy entertainment. However, given the ease with which certain things—and “trends”—move in social networks, today I’ll break with that habit, because I think it’s important for all of us to be properly informed.

It's 99.99% sure that, throughout April you will see that at least one of your FB contacts is using a blue filter on their profile picture. I’m almost certain as well that you already know it’s related to “supporting autism” if you live in the USA or some other English-speaking country. Then, you may think, “Oh, that seems like a noble cause,” and you’ll use the same filter a few days to support that same cause… until you get bored and revert to your original profile pic or add a new one. But before you decide to use that filter, I want you to know exactly what’s behind it.

Two days ago, on April 2nd, several landmarks all around the globe were lit up blue in “celebration” of the World Autism Awareness Day, whose apparent goal is to “raise public awareness of autism”. But one day just doesn’t seem enough to support this cause, which is why we have an “Autism Awareness Month”.

Hey, that’s just cool, isn’t it? After all, in a world where there is more and more talk about overcoming discrimination and promoting acceptance of all individuals, isn’t it a great thing to seek ways to better understand and support people on the autistic spectrum? Except that this isn’t what actually happens.

The blue color, usually accompanied by the image of a puzzle piece, is characteristic of the “Light It Up Blue” campaign, spearheaded by a non-governmental organization called AUTISM SPEAKS. This organization claims to support people with autism—which, by the way, is the wrong term; I’ll tell you why in a moment—and their families, as well as promote scientific research in that field.

However, if you pay attention to the “fine print” of their manifesto, so to speak, what these people really seek is to eradicate autism, as if it were an epidemic. Their scientific research doesn’t focus on how to improve the lives of autistics but how to ensure that, in the future, they cease to exist altogether. Their advertising campaigns, rather than promote understanding towards autistic people, present them as a burden and an evil that shouldn’t exist. Scared yet? You should be.

As a friend to autistics—and a potential candidate to be on the spectrum, according to them—I can assure you that they are all wonderful people, and even though they’re hard to understand sometimes, they have so much to contribute to this world.

I’ve learned from them that autism is not a disease—although it is medically classified as a disorder, and yes, there is a difference; you can investigate if you like—but a condition that makes them perceive the world surrounding them in a unique way. That is why talking about “people with autism” instead of “autistic people” is offensive, both for them and for those who really love them and seek to support them.

But you know? Because of this way in which they perceive the world, they also suffer. And it’s not their fault or even the fault of autism itself, but the fault of the people around them who don’t know how to take care of them; who don’t have the patience to attend to their particular needs or aren’t interested in knowing more about them; and who prefer to play the role of victims rather than having the courage to defend them. (By the way, this doesn’t apply exclusively to autistic children, since the vast majority of the autistic population is actually comprised of young people and adults!)

Now, it is not my intention to start a debate against AUTISM SPEAKS, nor to judge or criticize people who don’t know/don’t want to deal with people on the autistic spectrum. If it were, I could simply share other people’s posts that provide fairly solid arguments in that regard. What I really want is to give you my point of view as a Christian; that is, as someone who has learned how to treat others from the best possible example: JESUS.

You see, Jesus was a friend to those rejected by most of the people of His time. He sought to spend time with them and listen to them, showing them a love they did not receive from anyone else. Was it tough? Surely. Did it cost him some of His other friends? Definitely. Time and effort? A lot, maybe. But He didn’t care about it. He knew to put the needs of others above His own. He would be the last to reject someone just because that person’s mind works differently from that of others. That is love in action.

What Jesus wanted to accomplish by doing this was for others to learn to do the same, to live a practical love. He expects you and me to know how to love in that same way. 1 Corinthians 13 says clearly true love “is patient and kind. Love is not jealous or boastful or proud or rude. It does not demand its own way. It is not irritable… Love never gives up, never loses faith, is always hopeful, and endures through every circumstance.”

You may think that it’s hard to be kind to someone who doesn’t stand the human touch or who cannot socialize with others. You may think that it’s not possible to be patient with someone who often has a sensory overload and needs certain stimuli to relax. You may say that it’s just natural to get irritated or to be rude to people who understand things differently than you. You may boast saying that you’re better than someone who has difficulty speaking or expressing him/herself; or, on the other hand, you may be jealous because that person actually proves to be smarter than you. But true love overcomes all that, and that kind of love is precisely what the autistic person needs more than anything in this world.

Dear friend, if you are a Christian, or if you at least believe in God, show the same love that He showed! If you know someone on the autistic spectrum, don’t just use a filter on FB to support him/her. Don’t try to be good to them because you pity them either. Show them a true love! Be the friend or family that they’ve never had! And beyond that, motivate and teach others to love them in the same way. Only you can help put an end to the rejection they feel and give them the acceptance they deserve.

Finally, I would like you to understand something vital. Autistics are not a mistake of God. Autistics are not a problem that needs to be solved or eradicated. Autistics are not sick people who have to be cured. On the contrary, as is true with every precious human being who comes to this world, autistic people have a very special purpose! If you don’t believe me, take a look at the following list of scientists, artists and influential people who made history and who are believed to have been in the autistic spectrum: Albert Einstein, Amadeus Mozart, Lewis Carroll, Sir Isaac Newton, Michelangelo, Nikola Tesla—whose work Edison stole, by the way, but that’s a topic for another occasion—Thomas Jefferson, Hans Christian Andersen, to name a few.

If you’ve reached the end of this text, I thank you immensely for taking the time to read all of it. If you still want to show your support to autistic people through social networks, I recommend that, instead of using the blue filter, you use a golden filter to support the "Light It Up Gold" campaign, created specifically by the autistic community and for the autistic community. But remember that the most important thing is not what you live on Facebook, but what you live out in your daily life. If you really want to support an autistic friend/family member, remember that your practical love towards them is the best way to do it.

Fae, Max, this is for you. You have no idea of just how much I love you guys, and God loves you too. I will never cease to be grateful for the opportunity I’ve had to know you. I hope that I’ve been a good friend to you so far, and I long to be friends with you always. You guys rock!

[dreadnought-despair]

[CHAPTER 1 - Cafeteria - 004]

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I could smell something delicious in the air, even before I opened the door to Sector 1-- apparently Jurou had been hard at work! Something with chicken in it, it smelled like… I hadn't even thought about being hungry till just now, but my stomach was definitely growling.

On entering the cafeteria, I found several other students that had been drawn out by the scent. My presence did not go unnoticed for long...

“Hi Tim!!” Nikola piped up almost immediately, prompting the rest of the table to turn and look at me. I generally tried to avoid drawing attention to myself... I must have looked like a deer caught in headlights.

“A-ah, um, hi!” I waved nervously and shuffled over to the edge of the table.

“Hehe. Did you find, uh... whatever it was you were looking for earlier?”

“Oh! Yes I did! And Ishi’s doing better now, she’s just gotta stay resting in her room, aha. I’m here to get her some supper.”

“That’s great, I--I’m glad she’s, um, that it’s not too bad...” Vasundhara let out a small sigh of relief as she twiddled her thumbs.

"Man, speaking of… when's the food gonna get done already?"

"Be patient!” Honoka barked, thwapping him on the shoulder with her ever-present cane. “It’s extremely nice of Jurou to cook for all of us tonight, so don’t rush him!”

“Geez, I was just asking...” Michi rubbed his shoulder gingerly.

“JUST A FEW MORE MINUTES, AMIGOS!” Gugalanna bellowed as she waddled out of the kitchen, as if on cue. I guess she’d been helping Jurou cook? Or just offering him very, very loud encouragement.

“Must you always be yelling, Fräulein?” Siegfried grumbled as she shoved past him. Looks like he did decide to change clothes after all-- he now wore a decidedly less extravagant blue sweater.

“I’M NOT YELLING!!” she yelled up at him. None of us were really sure what to say to that. “...WHAT?”

“I-I’m just glad someone here knows how to cook!” I interrupted. “The most I can do is like... grilled cheese.” And even that I've burnt every once in a while, but I wasn’t going to admit the full extent of my culinary failures to the entire group.

“Hmm... Who else here can cook?” Honoka raised her own hand, and looked around at the others expectantly.

A few others raised their hands-- Kapono, Nikola, Gugalanna, Yusra... Siegfried, too, after a little hesitation.

“Seven! That works out nicely! One for each day of the week!” She clapped her hands together decisively. “I can cook supper tomorrow, and I’ll go find some paper for a sign-up sheet for the rest of the days~” She left the room with a bounce in her step before anyone could object to the decision, her tap shoes click-clacking against the metal floor.

The unwitting volunteers glanced around at each other, a little confused.

“Was? I did not sign up for anything...”

“She probably should’ve asked properly first, but... Jurou shouldn’t have to cook every day, though!” Yusra smiled thoughtfully. “And it’ll give us something to do while we’re stuck up here, besides moping around.”

“A-and the rest of us can help too! Just gotta tell us what to do, aha.”

It didn’t take long to decide on a cooking order-- Jurou, Honoka, Nikola, Gugalanna, Kapono, Yusra, Siegfried. We’d all be on our own for breakfast and lunch, but then each volunteer would make supper on their designated day.

Siegfried might’ve been a little wary, but the others were pretty excited about the idea!

“This’ll be fun!! I’ve never cooked for such a big crowd before I wonder what kinds of stuff there’ll be to work with in the pantry I’ll have to hop in there once Jurou’s done!”

“...I hope there’s, um... a grill!”

“HELL YEAH THERE IS! YA BETTER BELIEVE I’LL BE MAKIN’ SOME TLAYUDAS! WAHAHAHAHA!!”

“I...d-don’t know what that is, but um, I’m sure it’s great!”

“Tlayudas! They’re kinda like pizzas, right? I think I had ‘em at a festival once...”

“We are all from pretty different parts of the world, huh? I wonder what everyone’s gonna make! I’ve never had Swedish food... Or German!”

“Then you are in for a TREAT! Nothing like a gen-u-ine Swedish cinnamon bun!”

“...It is, um... not German food. Es tut mir lied.”

“Huh? But I thought... Where are you from, then?”

“I am German-born, but, um... meine Mutter, she is Indonesian. From, ah, Jakarta. That is the cooking I know.”

“Really? That’s awesome! Indonesian food sounds good too!” He glanced at me with a brief smile before turning away again. Why was he so embarrassed to admit he knew how to cook? Maybe it was a personal thing... Ah well, I wouldn’t bug him about it right now.

Everyone began to list off the recipes they knew-- some familiar, some I’d never heard of, Mexican, Swedish, Emirati, Indonesian, Hawaiian... I was just about to ask them to stop because it was making me even hungrier, when Jurou popped his head through the doorway.

“It’s ready! Sorry for the wait, y’all! Guga can ya help me carry this pot?”

Gugalanna darted inside and emerged with a massive steel kettle, filled to the brim with some sort of ...soup? It wasn’t quite what I would’ve expected from Jurou, but it was definitely the source of that wonderful smell! She sat it down on the buffet bar as if it weighed less than a feather.

“Now I ain’t had time to go through and proper lookit all the stuff in the pantry, so’s just a quick soup wid some chicken an’ noodles an’ whate’er veggies was on the counter, hahaw. Hope it tastes alright!”

The others began to show up as we gathered around to try Jurou’s culinary invention.

“What’s everybody looking at? Human food?~”

“I don’t know but oh my god it smells AMAZING!”

“Mm. I suppose the hick is good for something after all...”

--THWAP! Honoka’s cane barely reached her shoulder, but it landed solidly enough for Riko to whirl around in disbelief.

“He has a name you know! Go thank him properly or make your own supper if you’re gonna be like that about it!” Honoka stood her ground against the girl despite her towering height and aura of icy imperiousness.

Any semblance of Riko’s good mood evaporated instantly. “I don’t have to do a thing you tell me--”

“Yo izzalright Honoka, there ain’t nuthin’ wrong with bein’ a hick, yeah?" Jurou grinned up at Riko as he poured her a bowl of the soup. “But y’ain’t gonna wanna bite the hand that feeds ya or yer gonna wind up wid a few extra tablespoons o’ cayenne in that there bowl!”

“There’s cayenne in th--? That’s like, some weapons-grade shit!”

"Dude it’s not that spicy, you’re just white.”

“I mean... yeah? Sorry I don’t stuff napalm in my mouth on a regular basis.”

Tiffani accepted the food regardless, and sniffed a spoonful of it warily-- which made me realize I’d gotten distracted people-watching and hadn’t tried any of my own bowl. And wow, did it taste every bit as good as it smelled! The pepper did sting, though...

“A-ah, it is a little spicy! But I guess I am half white, ehe. B-but still, it’s--”

The reviews quickly started pouring in, overlapping mine.

“Jurou, this is wonderful!”

“...!” Kapono nodded brightly.

“Ja, it is... sehr gut.” He still seemed a bit out of things...

“It’s not just good, it’s absolutely DELIGHTFUL! Delicious! De-lec-table!”

“I don’t know what kinda crack you put in this stuff but I am in l-o-v-e~” Salvatore evidently was more of a food enthusiast than I’d thought-- he fawned over this soup like it was a Chippendale dancers calendar.

“And you said you just made up the recipe on the spot?? If I didn’t know I’d say you were the SHSL Chef! You people and your talents...”

“Well gawsh, I’m glad y’all like it, hahaw!” Jurou seemed pretty flustered by the compliments, but he tried to brush them off. “There’s plenty fer seconds so help yerselves!”

“Ishi’s going to love this! Is there some tupperware or something in the kitchen so I can--”

“Oh yeah! Already made some! Uh... One mo’!” He ran back into the kitchen for a moment and returned with two plastic tubs that he practically tossed at me-- it was a miracle I didn’t drop them. “Now y’tell Ishi, u-um, that I says howdy, and I hope she gets t’ feelin’ better soon... yeah? An’ here’s one fer Aoi, too.”

“Yeah, sure, I’ll tell her. Thanks so much!” Hmmmm, did my eyes deceive me or did somebody have a little crush? Poor guy, he’s much too nice for Ishi’s awful taste in men.

Armed with two bowls of the best chicken noodle soup I’d ever had in my life, I waved goodbye to Jurou and the others and decided to call it a night.

[PREVIOUS] [NEXT]

[aaronmascoll]

Chapter 89 - Colt

Colt Spent all day sitting next to Alice in the back seat of a flying limousine. I looked almost exactly like a stretch hummer from earth except it flew. Tony, the elf security guard drove them to, and from, each island house. The island houses were just islands with farms on them that provided food to the house. The families that worked the farms, and lived in the houses were sworn in service to Samael. Just like Tony and her sisters.

For the first hour of the trip, Mariah and Tony kept arguing about what they were wearing. When Colt mentioned the shadows speaking to eachother, Alice said she couldn't hear it. Colt starred out his window as they headed back to the house after visiting the last island house. Alice took a nap in preparation for tonight's party. Samael apparently had this party every year, so it wasn't much of a "house party" like Mariah claimed it would be.

When they reached the house, Samael was waiting for them in the greeting room. He handed Colt and Alice a bag and told them, "Go upstairs, and put those on. And Alice, do something about your hair."

Tony switched places with Maria, and she led them upstairs to their room. It was the only room in the house that currently ready, so Maria said they had to share till she could prepare another one. Inside their room, Alice flopped down on the bed and groaned. "I don't wanna go," She whined.

"Why not?" Colt asked, pulling the black case out of the bag.

"It's gonna take me hours to get ready."

Colt summoned Rhonda from her shop in Demolax. "Al, this is Rhonda. She's the best hair dresser in the shadow realm."

Alice looked up at the woman with green skin, pointed ears, spiked teeth, and groaned. "Fine," She said, sitting up. "I don't do bangs, or braids. And I could use a manicure if that's possible."

Rhonda looked back at Colt and said, "I could use some help."

Colt summoned a few more Goblin beauticians, and they all went to work. While they worked on Alice, Colt looked at the case he had pulled out of the bag. The name "Basko Louis" was written on the case in gold letters. Colt recognized the name. There was a fashion designer back on earth with the same name. Colt wondered if he was somehow still alive, or if he was a God. Colt opened the case and found a black suit. The suit's jacket was a deep black similar to the dress of the goddess he had met. Tiny stars moved across the surface of the jacket, and a tiny pink nebula moved from the shoulder down to the wrist. "Fancy," Colt said, putting the jacket.

Colt figured if he was going to be attending a party for gods he should shave. Colt summoned another goblin beautician and she cut his hair and gave him a shave. After, Colt put on the suit, including the shoes he found at the bottom of the case. At first everything a size too big, then the clothes started to shrink till they were a perfect fit. "Magic suit? awesome," Colt said, straightening his tie.

Since he was done, Colt thought he'd take a look around the house. "Don't take too long," Colt said to Alice, Exiting the room.

"You can't rush perfection!" Alice shouted.

Colt walked up and down the halls and found ten master bedrooms on the top floor, twenty smaller rooms on the fourth and fifth, something that looked like a makeshift ocean on the third, and a hundred tiny one person bedrooms on the second. There was was even what looked like a spa and massage parlor in the basement. Colt was looking at one of the saunas when he heard someone coming up from behind him. He turned and found Samael smiling at him. "Come on," He said. "Some guests are already here."

Colt followed Samael out of the spa and towards the staircase. "Why do I have to go to this party?" Colt asked.

"Because you're my son," Samael said, continuing onward. "Family sticks together."

"What about about Tamriel and Nikolas?"

"Nikolas can't come because of his aura, and some of the gods attending have issues with Tamriel. So she's not coming either."

"Your nothing like they make you out to be on earth. 'Master of lies. The beast. The fallen one.' You haven't told a single lie since I've been here. You also stuck up for me with Vera."

When they reached the staircase, Samael stopped. "All the stories about me are true," Samael said, putting a hand on Colt's shoulder. "They're just drastically exaggerated. I stuck up for you and Alice, because you're my kin, and I don't have to lie for you to do what I want."

Samael gave Colt and a pat on the shoulder. "Come on, they're are some gods I want you to meet."

Samael continued up the stairs, and Colt followed behind. He kept thinking about why he even listened to Samael. "He's the devil," Colt thought to himself. "He's supposed to be the bad guy. Why am I listening to him?"

Colt put his thoughts away and followed Samael upstairs and into the greeting room. There were three men standing around the fountain, wearing the same black suit that Colt was wearing. As he got closer Colt could see they weren't human, they were rats. Large rats with bodies like humans. One didn't have any ears, the second didn't have a mouth, and the third was wearing sunglasses but Colt was sure he didn't have any eyes. "Chuck! E! Cheese! Come mee my son, Colt!" Samael said excitedly.

The three large rats walked over. The one with the sunglasses spoke first. "Morningstar!" He said in a smooth voice. "This your kid? You sure he ain't one of mine?"

The rat wearing sunglasses held out his hand. "Chuck," He said, introducing himself. "These are my brothers, E, and Cheese."

Colt shook all of their hands and went through a brief moment of confusion. "Your names are Chuck, E, and Cheese?" Colt asked. "Like the family fun center?"

"Yeah," Chuck said, laughing. "Some mortals forget you exist after a million years."

Chuck put his hands in his pockets. "So where can we set our equipment?"

Colt thought for a minute and then he realized that this was supposed to be his house. "In the dining room, through those doors," He said. "I'm gonna have some orcs move those tables."

"Cool," Chuck said, walking towards the doors. "Nice place you got here."

After they were gone, Colt looked at Samael and started laughing. "I had no idea they ever existed," He said

"Oh yeah, there are a lot of gods from your earth," Samael said.

Samael nodded behind Colt and said, "Oh, look, you already know them."

Colt looked behind him to see who was coming through the door. Colt couldn't tell how long it had been since he last saw them. It could have been five years, or it could have been a hundred. But they still looked the same. Trent wore his usual outfit which consisted of a polo shirt, black cargo pants, and black timberland boots. Trent also had more tattoos, some of them seemed to move around as if they were alive. Kyle wore a suit similar to Colt's, and he was happy to see he was still slightly overweight.