#and now I can’t stop imagining the archive people as doctors

[filthytheodeckerkinnie]

TMA au that’s just a medical drama

[quietwings-fics]

i was not taught forgiveness

Rating: General Audiences Archive Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Fandom: Doctor Who Ship: Gen (OC & Twelve) Additional Tags: Angst, Friendship, Complicated Relationships, Regret, Nonbinary Character, Friendship Bracelets Wordcount: 100 Part 14 of 11089/Even Fics Summary:

Be careful with second chances. You may not recognize who they’re for. You may lose them if you think you know better.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Even says, softly. They won’t cross his TARDIS, won’t come closer to him. He doesn’t notice until he takes the first step, and they mirror him, keeping the console and the humming engine between them. He can only just see half of their face around it. “You don’t get to be disappointed in me.”

“How can you tell it’s a disappointed face? It’s a new face. Could mean anything.” He keeps walking, as though they’ll give up and stop and let him near. He catches them touch the console gently as they circle it, then snap their hand away like they’ve been burned, up to their chest to squeeze at- Nothing. They find empty air, and for a moment, they do freeze in place long enough for him to see the whole of them before they press their hand down and seem comforted by whatever they feel through the fabric of their shirt.

“It’s your face,” they answer. They sound uncertain.

They also aren’t wrong.

“What happened to you?” he asks, in lieu of saying something worse when they’re finally not trying to retreat from him. He dares a step closer and watches them tense like a frightened animal, shoulders drawn tight to make themselves smaller. He’s pictured finding Even, if they were alive, a thousand times over. When he was kinder to himself, he used to imagine that they’d grab his hands, overexcited and begging permission to touch more without being able to ask. (A regeneration ago, and he knows he would have pulled them in tight, buried his nose in their hair and held on until someone else interrupted him. Now, he’s not so sure, but he knows he wouldn’t let go of their hand.)

“I followed the Master,” they say. Their eyes cast away from him.

“You seem to be doing that a lot these days.” Even crosses their arms. 

“Where else could I go?” they ask, standing in the middle of his TARDIS. Somewhere within her, their room is still waiting, untouched since they left.

They left. 

“Home,” he intones, seriously, “where you’re supposed to be.” 

Their mouth opens slightly in surprise before it curls around a sudden, “I can’t go home! You broke me!”  The Doctor stops. All of him, from mind to body. Even one of his hearts misses a beat and leaves him with an aftermath of vertigo before it falls back in line. Even hadn’t raised their voice, but what tore through the air between them had been so angry- And had they ever been angry with him before? Just once in all their time together?   He watches their brief outburst crumple back inwards. Even blinks rapidly, pawing at whatever is beneath their shirt like it can steady them.

“Back with Donna,” he says, much quieter than he intends. Even blinks again, eyes clearly watering despite their attempts to stop it. “Making sure she’s safe.” He hasn’t let himself say her name in a long time. As though locking away the names of the people he cares about could keep them with him. 

“Oh,” Even says, “you meant-” 

Pettily, he adds, “You promised.” Whatever vulnerable thing had lighted on Even’s face when they heard Donna’s name evaporates, and that, he knows, is his fault. The brief vindication of their guilt isn’t worth it.

“What did you want me to do?” they beg. “Lie to her forever? Live my whole life with my best friend without being able to talk about any of the things that made us friends?” 

“Did anyone tell you it would be easy?” he snaps. “Yes! She would have been safe!” You would have been safe, he couldn’t bring himself to say. He wants to believe, has to believe, that Even had ended up somewhere okay. Their present choice in company said otherwise, but more than that… He wonders if they know he can tell that some of their fingers are the wrong length. He’d almost thought he was misremembering, but they’re more incongruent upon further inspection — the shade of their skin slightly changed and the way they move. And that’s the part of them that he’s noticed has been modified. If there are others, he’s starting to think he just hasn’t seen them yet, not that they aren’t there.

They did a good job not answering his question earlier.

“I couldn’t live like that!” Even cries, cheeks finally stained with their first escaped tears. They flinch from the feeling of them, scrunching their eyes shut and failing to stop more. “Not with people I- I-“ Even makes a terrible noise, choked. The Doctor takes an unconscious step towards them, though he can’t make himself reach out to help. Their hesitation is too familiar to him, and his mind fills with a horrible litany of, don’t stop there, say you didn’t learn to stop there from me, that can’t be the one thing you learned from me you didn’t forget. “With people I-“ Even makes a valiant second attempt. They fail. “People I cared about,” they finish, their failure obvious to themself and weighing heavily. “Care,” they correct, “care about.”

The TARDIS gives a warning hum as she nears her destination. He and Even both look up with recognition when they hear it.

He looks back at them before they do him. They gaze up at the TARDIS, towards the followable source of the noise — though the true source is somewhere else, much deeper within her. Their cheeks are still wet and their eyes are slightly red and puffy, but for those few seconds, their expression is one he’s missed so much that his hearts ache seeing it again: all wonder and delight at the TARDIS bringing them somewhere new. 

And then their smile falls into a confused frown. They look at the Doctor, and then, gaze jumping to focus just over his shoulder instead, ask, “Doctor. Where are you taking me?”

He doesn’t have to answer. It was obvious where he thought they were supposed to be. 

He’s going to say something, though. Maybe about the rarity of second chances. 

Even’s expression goes blank. Against the contrast of their continuing tears, it’s unnerving. Without a word, they scan the TARDIS console. He doesn’t realize they actually know what they’re looking for until they’ve found it and dragged one lever into place with a protesting squeak. The TARDIS groans as she brakes in time.

The Doctor’s vision narrows to Even’s hand on the console. He doesn’t realize what he’s doing until his own hand is outstretched, and he hears the smack like a gunshot. Even jumps back, their eyes wide before they duck their head and brought their hand up against their lips. His palm stings slightly. On the tip of his tongue is a reprimand that dies before escaping. He’s standing as close to Even as they’ve allowed him to this entire time, and they’re cradling the hand he’d slapped away from the TARDIS’s controls. 

They’d drawn the TARDIS to a halt properly, too. Not a guess or a reckless grab at any random button to throw them off-course.

They let their hand fall. There was a little red mark on it where he’d made contact. 

“No,” they say.

“Even-“

“No,” they repeat. It scrapes out like a sob from the back of their throat. 

“Then come with me.” He reaches out to touch their shoulder, and they move it inches from the tips of his fingers. “There’s room for you. You’ll meet Clara. You’d like Clara.” He has to say something to fill the air, or he’s going to keep staring at that fading red mark on their hand, feeling the skin on his palm slowly stop tingling. “You do the same thing with your eyes when you’re upset. You’ll have me outnumbered.” He wants Even’s eyes to go wide again and their lip to tremble, if only so he can point it out, just how similar they look and how well Even would get along with Clara if they were ever in the same room. 

But Even doesn’t. They look exhausted instead. 

“I already have a TARDIS to live in,” they say. 

“Yes. Mine,” he insists, like he can make them stop before they say what he knows is coming. He’s still trying, though. He has to try.

“Mine.” He chooses to believe they’re just echoing what he said. (He misses when they did that, their voice catching the last words of his sentences and chirping them back again. He misses being caught in the loop himself, tossing a phrase back and forth until they couldn’t keep from laughing too hard to continue.) He chooses to believe that up until they say, voice strangely light compared to the rest of this conversation, “Missy will kill me if I’m late.”

He does not let his face fall. He does not let anything cross it, not anger or bitterness or grief.

Nonetheless, Even tilts their head slightly, brows knit, and adds, “I really can’t stay here. Your TARDIS bites,” almost like an apology. 

“And hers doesn’t?” He grips the TARDIS console, the contact with her controls calming him from the cool metal beneath his palms to the brushes of her consciousness against his own. He watches the stalled engine vibrate.

Even eyes him for a moment and cautiously steps closer into the space beside him. When he doesn’t move, they lay their hands on the console as well, mirroring his own. They twitch, once, a preemptive flinch and then, rest. He can feel every inch between their shoulders. Ghosts of laughter muffled against his coat or surprised grabs at his arm for reassurance haunt him. Even’s fingers curl, and they bring their hands together rather than keeping them outstretched and flat.

“No, actually,” they answer. “I think she’s too grateful for when we found and fixed her.” The Doctor chances turning his head to peer down at them.

His eyes catch on a shock of color amid their more subdued attire. They shift, and the color is swallowed up, melting into metallic grey, and revealing itself again the next time they adjust their stance. It’s a necklace, he realizes, chain interlaced with… something else. He finds the other spots of color easily, neon greens and yellows and blues. They look familiar.

“She does sometimes land us too close to walls, though,” Even continues. He can hear them smiling. “Most of the time, Missy stops before she runs into them. Most of the time.” He smiles despite himself, only half-listening as he studies their necklace or what he can see of it before it disappears beneath their shirt.

They’re beads. The pieces soldered into the chain are cheap, plastic beads. 

The Doctor’s wrist feels suddenly bare, despite this wrist never having worn what it misses.

Even meets his eyes. They worry their lip between their teeth as they do, their effort to maintain it clear, and for that reason, he doesn’t look away for their sake like he might have otherwise.

“Would you really let me come back?” they say, slowly and carefully.

The Doctor doesn’t answer.

And he doesn’t answer.

And he doesn’t answer.

And finally, he says, “Yes.”

Even exhales and looks away. They squeeze their eyes shut. 

When they extend their hand, it’s the Doctor’s turn to try not to flinch. He thinks he does an okay job of it, and if not, they aren’t looking anyway. The feel of their fingers wrapping loosely around his wrist is both new and familiar. Their adjust their grip as they bring his hand towards them, getting used to the changes they should have been expecting but that he knows they still weren’t, despite hearing his new voice and looking at his new face and knowing it wasn’t even the first he’d had since they’d last touched him. 

Even draws his hand close to their chest and hesitates. They squeeze it once and continue. They hold it to their chest. He finds the outline of something beneath their shirt. They press his hand closer, eyes shut. The Doctor feels out the edges of the hidden object, round and hard, with no give but its own heat, its own energy pulsing with a steady rhythm that Even must feel in their chest constantly with it so near their skin. He runs his thumb over it again.

“I can’t stay with you.” Another apology. Their other hand comes up to cover what’s left of his that the first didn’t.

The Doctor finally knows how he could convince them. He can read it in the way they hold on. He knows exactly what he has to say to make it impossible for them to leave.

“Keep me close,” he says instead. Even huffs a little laugh.

“I try.” They release his hand, and with his invitation gone, he doesn’t try to take more than they’ve allowed. They aren’t running from him anymore. He knows how hard that is.

When he puts the TARDIS in motion again, he does everything he can not to think of Even’s intended destination, where or what or who it is, and to exist in the few moments they have together. 

(He finds the box tucked into a corner of his own room, though he knows he didn’t leave it there. The TARDIS wants him to have it back. He takes out cheap, stretchy plastic bands and multicolored beads and lays them in a dozen rows of different shades before he makes anything from them. It goes much slower when he’s the only one sorting them out.

He strings them together, one by one. He tries to remember the colors he saw. He remembers their original order, but some were lost along the way and what’s the point in a friendship bracelet that doesn’t match?

Clara comments on it when she sees it. She says it’s cute, with a quirk to her mouth and eyebrows that says she’s confused but humoring him.

The Doctor tries not to take it off again, for however long that might last. He hopes it’s at least until Even sees it.)

(Enjoyed it? Any interaction is welcomed. You can even support me on Ko-Fi <3)

[regina-del-cielo]

I was thinking about Copley’s Murder Conspirancy Board (mostly to deal with the absolute rage that the scene with Andy Copley and Booker gives me because ‘UGH THESE MEN ARE SO S T U P I D’), and... I may have a Theory about it - which mostly delves into how much Booker and Copley were in actual contact with each other before the events of the movie.

TL;DR: the Murder Conspirancy Board was built with a contribution of Booker’s information, and Copley was Very Confused on the workings of the Guard’s immortality

(the Essay(TM) is under the cut)

This excellent post expounds on how these two Grieving Dumbasses Definitely Did Not Think Their Plan Through, but still what little they did plan was not done in two days. And I would like to think that Booker would have required more than One (1) Persuasive Speech to get him to potentially get his family outed and put in danger for the (tiny) chance of getting a cure for their immortality.

So they’d been in contact for a while, possibly for almost the whole ‘break year’. Copley has lost his wife two years before the movie, so when he and Booker met again he’s one year into mourning. If Andy needed a break from their jobs, I can’t imagine in what mental state Booker must have been.

Copley probably started looking into the Guard because man, that Surabaya mission was a masterpiece, and how come these guys aren’t mercenary superstars? But they’re like ghosts, and the IDs don’t really match their supposed ages... and dealing with his wife’s death made him go into a Nerd Spiral. And then he finds Booker.

So this is how I think it went: they meet again. They talk. Copley is a grieving widower, Booker goes ‘man don’t I relate’. Booker is probably drunk a lot of the time (maybe so is Copley, misery loves company and all that). They enter a positive feedback loop of sharing grief over lost loved ones. Copley probably spills that he knows something, that they’ve done great things and they have a gift obviously. Booker probably answers along the lines of ‘fuck the gift, it sucks. Didn’t save my children when they needed it’. Copley goes ‘well, medicine is much better today. What if you could do it now?’ And the rest is history.

A) Booker ‘helped’ with the Murder Conspirancy Board

We know for a fact that the Conspirancy Board contains information about the Guard ‘from the last 150 years’ which is, approximately, the time photography’s been around. And it makes sense - photos are pretty easily accessible, and Copley knows their faces. He probably scanned them from one of those fake IDs and then used a facial recognition software to find them in historical photographic archives. But we know (and by the end of the movie so does he) that the last 150 years is a nothing in their lifespan. And while going backwards Copley may have found Booker’s original birth and/or marriage records, nothing of the sort would exist for Joe, Nicky and Andy.

Despite how much we joke about the Guard’s faces being Everywhere in museums and art galleries around the world, we can assume that they wouldn’t leave so many traces of them behind. The two known art pieces representing Andy in an obviously recognizable manner, her portrait with Achilles and the Rodin, are in the cave in Val d’Argent. I don’t believe Nicky and Joe wouldn’t have similar storage places, especially for Joe’s own art. Without photographic evidence and before newspapers, trying to pinpoint the three of them across history would be harder than finding a specific needle in a haystack of needles... unless someone tells you where to look. 

When Andy enters Copley’s living room, he calls her ‘Andromache the Scythian, the eternal warrior’. But how could Copley have known that Andy’s ��real” name was Andromache? It’s not on her IDs, and it’s not the top choice for a full name that has Andy as a nickname. It’s a literary name, of course it would appear through history in poems or plays or novels. And how could he have associated Nicky and Joe precisely to the Crusades with what he knows of them from the last 150 years alone? For all he knew, they could have been as old as the Punic Wars, or as young as the Battle of Lepanto. Assuming he’d actually caught on on them being together together.

Well, I think Booker told him. Maybe just a thing here or there, while Commiserating on How It Sucks being an Immortal, like ‘Andy’s been around for so long she doesn’t even remember her true age, that’s exhausting’ or ‘Joe and Nicky are ridiculous for two people whose first meeting consisted of killing each other during the fucking Crusades’. And Copley fell into another Nerd Spiral that brought him to understand that holy shit these people are much older than I thought what the fuck.

B) Copley is Very Confused on How Immortality Actually Works

Copley talks to Andy by calling her ‘eternal warrior’ and talking of her immortality as if it was some kind of gift that can somehow be transferred from one body to another (debatable, but... ok). But he’s also flabbergasted by her not healing from Booker’s shot, and later with Nile he says ‘but then why would the immortality leave?’, which is... well, it makes it sound like he thinks the immortals are some sort of Chosen Ones.

Which means that Copley knows nothing about Lykon. He had no idea that at some point the Guard will stop healing.

But why would he not know, since I just conjectured that Booker told him enough about immortality for him to pinpoint the origins of the eldest members of the Guard? Why would Booker not have told him such a central detail of their “power”? (Booker obviously knows about Lykon. We see Andy telling Nile, and you can bet that ‘is this thing permanent?’ is probably the third question Booker ever asked when he met the others. He can’t not know)

I think it’s because despite having bonded over their grief, they are approaching this ‘discovering what the fuck is up with immortality’ from two extremely different sides. 

Copley wants to know if there is some biological aspect to their immortality that may be ‘transferred’ or ‘activated’ in any random human being. He’s gotten into his head that their regenerative powers can end all diseases. Which. I could probably write another entire separate post on how this is far-fetched at best. Point being, Copley never thought his endeavour as taking the immortality from the Guard to give it to someone else. He thinks Andy and the others are going to live forever and ever.

Booker knows their immortality is not forever and ever, theoretically. He knows that at some point, in the future, he’s going to stop healing and die. But he Wants to Talk to the Manager about it, damn it. He wants his death to be a certainty he can quantify, not something that may happen in another five thousand years based on the data he’s got at his disposal. He wants to have the choice to end it tomorrow or in fifty years - if discovering what causes his immortality saves other people, well that’s an undeniable bonus, but it’s not the focus of his motivation.

Just like Booker and Copley didn’t cover all the potential ways in which Their Plan Could Go Wrong (and honestly, has Booker not learned yet just how fast they revive on average? He tells Nile that ‘big wounds take longer’, and still he revived from the grenade in three/four minutes!), I think they also didn’t Delve into their motivations for seeking that knowledge. Booker probably thought that Copley knowing of their immortality being relative was irrelevant, because of course the doctors will find something (the thing that makes them stop healing), and then he’ll die anyway, so who cares? 

And Copley... Copley was probably Convinced that the Guard was a group of superheroes that just needed to be suggested a new investment plan for using their powers, because saving individuals during wars and natural disasters is very noble and good, but come on, it’s inefficient as hell, they can do much better!

(It absolutely sends me that Copley saw the kind of accomplishments reached by the people that the Guard saved, or by their direct descendants, and STILL it didn’t occur to him that there was a pretty decent chance that sometime in the future they would save someone that would find the cure for ALS and/or other shitty diseases! HE’S LITERALLY HINDERING THEM!!!) 

[roo-sketch]

Since people have asked about the Ducktales Bushroot idea I’ve been cooking up, I figured I’d gush the entire thing here. And look! It comes with pictures! Blame the lateness of this on my two jobs, they run me ragged I tell you what

So seeing as how Darkwing Duck is technically a tv show in the Ducktales universe, that’d mean the villains would end up with vastly different backstories too (as did Drake Mallard and Jim Starling in “The Duck Knight Returns”).

So for Bushroot, or in this case Tino Moss, why not make him the only child to the part time actor/script writer Pete Moss - who played the Bushroot character on the TV show.

Ever since he could remember, Tino would tag along with his dad to the studio (since Peter was a single father and had no one else to look after his son while he worked). It’s here he got to meet the cast and crew to the show, all of which, save for one, were super nice to a shy little boy always hiding behind his fathers legs. Because of this, Tino grew to love watching the finished episodes and even began to idolize the main character a little, saying how he’d one day grow up to be a super hero too! But upon meeting Jim, and being rudely brushed aside, he soon realized it’s best not to meet your idols (I imagine Jim was just as self absorbed like in the Duck Knight Returns and wouldn’t pay a small fan any mind during the height of his popularity).

After being coldly rebuffed, it was then Tino turned his sights on being a super hero in a completely different way, deciding to become a doctor instead. Pete would often joke he should become a botonist like the Bushroot character (that he’d low-key based on his sons personality), but Tino shrugged it off with a laugh and aimed to be a traditional one instead, preferring to become a family physician.

Years passed and in his final stages of his clinical’s, it’s then he received the devastating news that his father had fallen terminally ill. It was a heavy blow to see the once exuberant duck he loved so much slowly fade into a shell of his former self. At this point Tino took time off from his career to tend to his father, despite the loans and bills quickly piling up, the two spent a majority of their time watching old episodes of Darkwing Duck and reminiscing about a time when things were happier.

Eventually the inevitable day came when his father passed, destroying Tino emotionally. He’d been the only remaining family he had left, and after his death he was left with no one. The time spent tending to his father had become his whole life, and any other relationships outside of that he’d sadly neglected to the point his friends had moved on or away.

It took him a while to get back into the medical field, having to retake his clinical’s all over again and even though the work was fulfilling in a way (distracting him enough not to think about the loss) he still wasn’t entirely happy with his life, struggling with the mounting bills and loneliness that’d started to creep in. It’s then Jim Starling practically materialized out of the clear blue, having had tracked down his address and wondered if he would like to meet and catch up.

Tino is hesitant at first, remembering the blowhard from his childhood and didn’t know if he wanted to revisit that chapter of his life again, but when Jim makes mention of his dad, of all the good times they had on and off camera, the former star eventually brings the other duck around enough the two sit down for a good, long chat.

They reminisce about the show, the actors, where everyone is at the moment. Jim mentions on several occasions how he’d been trying to reboot the Darkwing Duck series and asks if he’d be interested in reprising his fathers role as the mutated plant monster.

Tino laughs it off, admitting he isn’t much of an actor, or a writer for that matter, but if he ever wanted some pointers for the episodes he still had his dads old scripts archived in the attic.

After that Jim comes and goes infrequently, usually to ask scientific mumbo jumbo about the whole “mutating a Duck into a plant” thing, which Tino does some research between work and sleep just to appease what he considers a friend at this point (going so far as to getting ahold of a scientist in the Saint Canard University’s agricultural department for some additional insight). He passes the information off to Jim and thinks nothing else of it until the former star makes a surprise visit one day.

He tells him he has it all set up for the big shoot, inviting Tino down to see the studio for himself. Curiosity gets the better of him, and despite needing to get some rest for work tomorrow, he joins the other duck on the long car ride, a bit unnerved to see it’s in an abandoned factory on the outskirts of the city.

Any questions he poses regarding safety - or why anyone in their right mind would want to set up a shoot here - is quickly brushed aside, Jim telling him he was aiming for a darker, grittier Darkwing Duck, hence the change in scenery. They head inside to find what appears to be a fully functioning lab, Tino excitedly looking over all the instruments, commenting about how realistic it was. As he stands beside the operating table, it’s then he is suddenly whacked upside the head, knocked out cold for who knows how long.

By the time he comes to, he’s strapped down, wires running over and through him. He pleads to know what’s going on, gasping to see Jim in an off color version of the Darkwing costume leering over him. The former actor explains that after he saw the news of what went down in Saint Canard, the ram rod incident and the other dimensions villains running amuck on the streets, he realized he needed his own Fearsome Five by his side if he ever planned to rule the city.

Seeing as how Pete had passed away and the other actors were far to old or out of reach to reprise their “roles”, he’d set out to replace them with newer, younger versions, starting with Tino.

Panicking, and realizing what exactly he planned to do to him as the liquids start to pump into his body, Tino breaks free before Negaduck can fully flip the conversion switch.

He manages to run a good distance from the factory, picking his way through the unfamiliar streets of Saint Canard as his body begins to grow more and more sluggish the further he walks. It almost feels like he’s going through every stage of sickness all at once. Chills, hot flashes, nausea, dehydration. He asks for help several times to passerby’s only to have people take one look at his green complexion and lurch away in fright. Some even out right flee, especially when near by trees or other plants spring to life around them. They, along with Tino, run in fear, he finally stopping long enough to catch his breath and get a good, hard look at his reflection through a shop window. Horror spreads across his face. A face that is his own but not in so many ways. It almost resembles the make-up his father used to wear during shoots but oh so different, oh so wrong! Deep in the pit of his stomach he knows this isn’t fake, this isn't a dream, it’s real. The mutation is real, and with people gasping, crying and running, this will be his new reality if he can’t find a way to reverse it!

Through several more mishaps and misunderstandings, dodging both panicking citizens and Darkwing Duck, he eventually finds himself cornered in a building by the Saint Canard police force (who mistakenly believe he’s just as dangerous as the other dimensions Bushroot).

It’s here Tino is once again confronted by Negaduck, and though he yells at the one behind all this, for forcibly mutating him into a monster and how he won’t get away with it, his words are cut short when Negaduck laughs, pointing out he shouldn’t be angry at the only person willing to embrace him now. He offers one last time for Tino to join the Fearsome Five, sneering that if he refused, he’d never be a normal duck again.

When Tino asks what he means, Negaduck explains that he’d kept all the notes, all the formulas, everything he did to turn him into a mutant plant duck was written in a journal, stashed away for safe keeping. If he ever planned on reverse engineering a formula to turn himself back, he’d need that journal. But if he refused to cooperate, than he’d have no problem destroying it and leaving Tino as he was.

A monster.

With no other choice, Tino finally agrees, reluctantly starting down the path of villainy.

And that’s how I figured you could have a sympathetic Bushroot character that stayed in line with the “he’s not technically a villain per say,” category while having him justified as to WHY he’s a villain at all.

[snarkythewoecrow]

Guess what? I wrote a chapter two to Repeat After Me, the story about Peter Parker facing Adderall addiction with Tony and May for support. I hope you like it.

Trigger Warning: Addiction

--

Peter stared at the TV, listening to Tony in the other room, talking to his aunt about what they’d do with him—how they’d handle him. Because that’s what he’d become, a problem to be dealt with, and Peter had brought it all on himself.

If he could go back and change things, not take the first pills, he would, but regrets were just wishes in ugly wrappers, and everyone knew wishes never came true.

He’d have to deal with the mess he’d made, and from what he could overhear, it sounded like he might be staying with Tony for the next few days. It made sense. His aunt had been working double shifts while Peter had been spending his college savings on drugs.

Just thinking about how he’d treated the people who cared about him made his skin feel slimy and gross. He’d lied to people that cared about him most, and honestly, if he could lie again right now to get his pills back, he probably would. And wasn’t that the crux of the problem.

He’d become dependent on them—in every way that mattered. He didn’t feel like he could study or think clearly without them while his skin crawled, itching for the drug.

Sitting there, his body felt weighted and his mind too slow. Every so often, he had to fight the urge to yawn, and despite his aunt and Tony talking in the other room, discussing his immediate future, he was struggling not to curl up on the couch and nap—because that felt like the only thing he had the energy to do. There was a deep, aching tiredness in his bones—a feeling of resignation. Whatever happened, he wasn’t sure he could care—not if it didn’t give him the buzz of his pills.

“We can’t just send him back there—what’s going to stop him from buying more?” That was May, very pragmatic of her, really. And if he was in her shoes, he would wonder the same thing.

There was a sigh from Tony, and Peter could just picture his tired expression. “He’s not going back until he gives up his sources and starts seeing a counselor.”

Peter glowered at the TV, giving up his sources he could do—he could always find more—but he didn’t want a therapist. He’d never needed one before, and he didn’t think he needed to start now. And really, it wasn’t like this was that big of a problem. Why couldn’t they just take him to the doctor and get them prescribed? Then no one would be getting hurt.

May scoffed, laughing dryly. “Good luck with that. Honestly, Tony, if Peter hadn’t looked me in the eye and confessed, I wouldn’t believe it—if I hadn’t seen the pills. He’s still my baby.”

“Well, he can still be your baby, but we can’t hide our heads in the sand. I’m sure you’ve seen some of my earlier exploits. So I’ve got some experience with this—more than I’d like to admit.”

“I know. It’s just—I can’t help but wonder what happened—that maybe this is my fault. I let him dupe me into believing he had things handled. I think sometimes I just forget he isn’t an adult.”

The sadness in his aunt’s voice cut into Peter’s ribs, making each breath a little more painful. It felt like he was being dissected, listening to them, though it wasn’t their fault. They tended to forget how good Peter’s hearing was, and he didn’t remind them either.

“Hey, don’t do that to yourself,” Tony said. “He hid it well, and he’s still the same kid—he’s still our Peter. We’ve just got to help him get through this little rough patch.”

Peter sank back against the cushions, looking at the ceiling. He imagined that Tony had Friday watching him—not that he would blame him. The man probably thought Peter would try going out a window.

This whole thing had just spun out of control.

As he blinked at the ceiling, he heard May say she’d call the school, agreeing with Tony that Peter should stay at the tower for the immediate future. It was hard for his aunt to get off work, and they both seemed to expect Peter to struggle the next few days with withdrawals.

And if Peter thought about it, he could feel how depressed his body and mind already felt, how slow his thinking had become, and how his skin had started to itch, his head aching faintly, threatening to get worse at the slightest movement. He didn’t need a doctor or therapist to tell him it was the start of withdrawals, though he didn’t think they’d be too bad.

He’d stopped taking the pills before and only had a few days of feeling lethargic and a little sick, but he had been taking them more than usual lately, so he might have more of a crash, though it was hard to predict. At times, his mutation seemed to do funny things—not quite reacting to stuff like a baseline human.

May said goodbye to Tony, and Peter sucked in a breath, letting it out in a huff. No matter how much he wanted to hide, this was something he’d need to face—Tony and May weren’t the types to let him get away with this.

And really, if he were honest, he didn’t like the person the pills had made him become. They’d turned him into someone that would lie, someone that would steal from their college fund. There was no doubt that May’s disappointed face would haunt his dreams tonight. She’d looked crushed when he’d stuttered out the truth under Tony’s encouraging gaze.

He didn’t want to be like this—and he knew that if he wanted to get better, he’d have to face the music. No more lying. And it meant suffering through feeling like crap while his body adjusted to going without the pills. It wouldn’t be easy—and maybe he was a coward—but the idea of doing it terrified him.

Tony walked into the room, and Peter rolled his head against the back of the couch to look at him. The man’s lips were thinned, but there was warmth, sympathy in his eyes—though it could have been pity.

Peter chewed his lip, taking in Tony’s faux casual stance—hands in his pockets, shoulders sloped. His head was inclined to the side, and the lines around his eyes looked more profound than before, making him look more tired, older.

Clearing his throat, Tony’s lips pursed, then he said, “So, did you hear the plans?”

He swallowed, his throat feeling thick, clogged. “Yeah, I can, um, give you the names—if that’s what you want.”

Sucking in a noisy breath, Tony nodded, glancing at the TV. Silence drummed on for a moment, then he looked back at Peter. “I got the rundown from online—plus, I made some calls. Apparently, you’re going to be more gremlin than Gizmo for the next few days.”

Peter worked his jaw, then nodded tightly. “I know. I can—I can already feel it a little, I think? Just I really want them, you know? Like, a lot. It’s freaking me out. I keep thinking really shitty—sorry, crappy—things.”

Tony took his hands from his pockets and sat on the chair. “Wanna talk about it? We have plenty of time—I’ve got nowhere else to be. Nothing more important, kid.”

Peter huffed, then looked back at the ceiling. It was easier than looking at Tony. “It’s just—never mind.”

“Pete…”

Sighing, he ground his teeth. “I just—can’t I have one? Just for now.”

“No.”

His face contorted. “I don’t think I can do this, Mr. Stark. I mean, look at me. It’s barely been a day, and I’m already thinking about how to get more.”

Tony dragged a hand over his mouth, throat bobbing. “I wish I could have kept you from this—this isn’t something I wanted for you, kid, but if you believe me about anything, believe me when I say that you can make it through this. I know you, Peter—you’re stronger than you think, stronger than me.”

Tears started to prick at Peter’s eyes, and he rubbed his nose. “I let everyone down.”

“Everyone makes mistakes,” Tony said, then groaned as he pushed to his feet, his knees creaking. He walked over to the couch, motioning to the spot beside Peter. “May I?”

Peter nodded, wiping his eyes.

Tony sat next to him, twisted, so he was facing Peter, their legs bumping together. “Kid, Pete, you need to hear me about something—it’s important you listen.”

Vision blurring from unshed tears, Peter looked at Tony. “What?”

“You probably don’t know much about my dad, but he—he fucked me up pretty good, and because of that, I don’t always know how to say things. I struggle with being honest about my feelings, but I think you need to hear this.” He took a trembling breath, his eyes growing glossy with tears as he spoke to a point just past Peter’s shoulder, “You can’t ever disappoint me, Peter, because I love you, kid, and no matter what happens”—he met Peter’s gaze—“I’ll always be proud of you.”

Emotion overwhelmed him, and Peter had to clamp his jaw tight to keep it inside, trying to swallow it down. That didn’t stop the tears, though. They rolled down his cheeks and dripped from his jaw, wetting his shirt.

Tony reached out and swiped his calloused thumb through the tracks, a sad smile on his face. “Hey, we’re gonna figure this out,” he promised, then Peter went to answer, but a sob broke free instead. Lifting his arm, Tony made room for Peter against his chest, and all Peter could do was fall into him, clutching at his shirt and letting the pain escape in deep, ugly sobs.

The next few days weren’t easy. Peter had a headache that lingered just beneath his skull, made worse by light and sound. His temper was short, and he’d snapped at Tony more than once, especially when the first day of therapy started, though it wasn’t as bad as he’d thought it would be.

The cravings never really went away—and he didn’t think they ever really would. So there was no forgetting, no pretending he’d never tried them. And he worried that for the rest of his life, he’d always measure his experiences against the high—by what he could have done if he’d had the pills to fuel him.

And some days, it took everything not to hit someone up—even just for a single pill—but he knew that would only set him back to the start, though his therapist said that sometimes happened.

All in all, he knew the road ahead wouldn’t be easy, but at least he wouldn’t need to be alone. For as much as he didn’t always want Tony or May hovering, they both loved and supported him no matter what—a fact he was just starting to fully accept. He struggled to be as forgiving and accepting with himself.

“You ready to show me what you got?” Tony said, nodding to the sea of metal parts on the floor. He had the engine to his Roadster in pieces again, determined to make a mechanic out of Peter.

Peter eyed the chaos with a grin. Putting things back together—making things right—felt good after being in pieces himself for so long. “What happens if I mess it up?”

The corners of Tony’s eyes crinkled when he smiled. “Well, for the record, I think you got this, but if you don’t—if you need a little help, you got me by your side for a reason.”

[physicalturian]

[18+] Words of pleasure - Law x F!Reader - Part 3

[No spoilers] [Modern AU - College AU] [She/her pronouns used for the reader, no physical description; Everyone +18] Words : 5860 Archive of our own

Warning : Exhibitionism / Power play / Dom/sub Dynamics / Control/ Stranger / Flirting / Edging / Orgasm denial / Orgasm delay / Oral innuendo … If you feel like I should add more warnings, send me a dm or and ask

– Part 1 - Part 2 -

Once I made my way to the living room, I stopped behind the couch and observed the scene unfolding in front of me, unsure of how to start the conversation with the intimidating man on my couch. If he’s Luffy’s friend, he must be alright, right? Giving him a once over, from what I could see, I saw he was tattooed all over his arms and hands. His ears were decorated with a few golden earrings which only added to the charm. Maybe I could start with that?

Walking around the couch, I could feel the vibration inside me at every step and had to keep a straight face until I slumped on the couch next to the stranger. Crossing my legs, I was going to lean my head on the back of the couch but felt his arm and straightened my back before saying, “So you’re the mysterious food benefactor of the night?” He turned around and raised a brow, smirking.

 “And you’re the free loader?” Why was the way he said it so hot? I pondered internally. I was taken aback and suddenly wanted to yell at Nami for telling me it’d be ok. With a huff, and slightly warm cheeks, I quickly answered, with composure, “Tell me what I owe you, and I’ll pay my part. And, take the cap off inside. You look shady.” I huffed the last part as I glanced at the white hat on his head.

 With the hand that was next to my shoulder, he slowly removed his hat and was going to place it on my head, but I grabbed it and dropped it next to him. “How much?” I repeated again, talking about the food.

“Nothing, at least now she’ll stop telling me I owe her. Which I don’t, by the way.” He explained, his gaze turned to Nami with a slight scowl. I mumbled a thank you.

 There was something intimidating in his demeanor, even if you ignored the tattoos all over his arms. Sure, he was dressed casually, a simple black t-shirt and blue jeans but the way he carried himself threw me off. “Right, so, if you don’t owe her, why is she mad then?” I asked. I was going to sit tailor-style while waiting for the three others to finish preparing everything, when I felt the egg move inside and arched my back suddenly.

 I quickly got hold of myself, I cleared my throat and looked at the man with an apologetic smile. He seemed curious, but did not say anything. Instead, his eyes observed me intently. “I won a bet. She does not like losing money, and she’s still mad about it.”

“It makes sense,” I hummed, this time crossing my arms over my chest. The conversation was probably over, I did not know what else to ask.

 I still did not know his name, but I felt like it was a bit too late to ask. He does not seem too arrogant for now, I thought, very hot, and domineering but not annoying. Lost deep in thought, I suddenly felt something touch my shoulder and look at it to see the man’s hand nudging me. Startled, I contracted my abdomen, which only made me even more aware of what I had started before coming here.

 “You look tensed, are you good?” He asked in a, surprisingly, caring tone. I laughed nervously and nodded, uncrossing my leg to look more relaxed than I actually was. A very very bad choice, whenever I’d move, I could feel the toy inside me and the knot in my stomach grow. “I’m great, great. So uh-“ I pointed at his hands, “Bold choice.”

“I suppose it is.” He hummed, not convinced with my answer.

 “It’s hot, don’t get me wrong but I don’t think employers are fond of it. Doesn’t it make it harder to find a job?” We were interrupted when Robin handed us our plates, asking us if this was our order. I nodded and took it from her hand before putting the plate on my lap and thanked the black-haired friend for paying then waited for him to take his plate. I thought we’d eat in silence, observing the people in front of us, when he spoke up.

 “That’s where wearing gloves come in handy.” He chuckled, taking of forkful of his food before continuing. My mind reacted at the mention of gloves, I remembered the picture HandSurgeon sent this morning and it only make the throbbing between my leg, stronger. “But patients don’t really care about the tattoos, they can’t be picky with who’s cutting them open, can they?” He stated dryly.

 I looked back at him with wide eyes, not expecting such a dry reply. Then let out a nervous laugh, before genuinely laughing. “I was definitely not expecting that answer. But you’re not wrong.” I said with a small smile, “I suppose the pretty face balances the threatening aura, and the tattoos.” God why did I say that. I played it off and looked at the three people at the low table, shoving as much food as I could to stop myself from spurting embarrassing shit.

 But it did not deter my tongue who seemed to have a will on its own, the man and I spoke at the same time. “So, you’re a doctor?” “Threatening aura?”

I choked on some small bite of food that stuck in my throat and grabbed the glass of water the man handed me. I was going to chug it down but he made a gesture for me to calm down, and drink slowly. While I did, he chuckled, “I work in the medical field, yes. But Nami forbids me to talk about it, maybe another time-“

 “That’s right!” She ruffled his hair as she stood up with her empty plate, “No work-talk under my roof! Find yourself someone to spend time with instead of spending all your time at the hospital-“ Nami, who had interrupted the man, got interrupted in return when he told her he got it, that he’d stop mentioning his work but in return she’ll have to stop saying he had to find a partner. She just grumbled and returned to her conversation with Luffy and Robin.

 Once I had calmed down, I handed him his glass back and watched him take a sip from it while looking at me straight in the eyes. His already messy hair looked worse after Nami had ruffled it, but he looked good. Perhaps it was because I was aroused, but I felt a certain tension when he did so. He may not have done it on purpose, but I couldn’t find the strength to look away. I stared right back at him, my hand gripping my fork tight when I clenched my wall around the egg, feeling a sudden pleasure. Fuck, this is not how I thought the night would go. But you asked for it, echoed my made-up voice of HandSurgeon in my head.

 I masked the gasp that left my mouth by voicing a “Ahhh” of understanding then continued, “Very hot of you to, I assume, have graduated medical school.” Why couldn’t I just say it was great, or awesome? Why did I have to say it was hot? I had to take a deep breath and calm down.

 “Glad to know hot and threatening can coexist.” He said with a lighter tone as he put his now empty plate on the arm of the couch before leaning ever so lightly towards me. “Tell me, do you often flirt with stranger you find threatening?”

The speed at which my brain reminded me of HandSurgeon surprised me, I did a lot of things with strangers, so, why not flirt? But I hadn’t really flirt with Luffy’s friend, right?

 “Did I flirt, now? Haha. Sorry for the unsolicited advances, but you’re right, I should have asked your name first.” I said half-jokingly, meeting his intense gaze for the first time since he leaned over a bit too much now. To push him to introduce himself, I set my plate down and put my hand in front of me, for him to shake, and told him my name.

 It’s with reluctance that he wrapped his large hand around mine and shook it, the ghost of a smile on his face. “Doctor Trafalgar Law.” He did not let go right away. Instead, he observed my reaction. I rolled my eyes but smiled nonetheless, “The title is a bit too much, isn’t it? I mean… you did put the effort of studying a few years, I suppose, but I won’t address you as Doctor. Doc, at best, but-“

He seemed ticked off for a second but masked it and said, “Law is fine, but I put a lot more than a few years into that degree.”

 “True, money too, and from what I gathered you also put in the price of a romantic life, am I right?” I blinked a few times, realizing that I either flirted or said something not appropriate. No in between. And it was the result of his pretty face, it made me nervous.

 He looked at me up and down a few times then smirked, “That doesn’t mean I don’t fuck.” My breath hitched and I look anywhere but at him, instead choosing to focus on the way his tattooed fingers were splayed over his jeans, tapping from time to time. For a moment, I could imagine those hands gripping me tight, the blue color of his jeans being too close to the color of HandSurgeon’s scrubs only made it worse. I was starting to feel hot all over, I had to calm down and keep things casual.

 The fuck am I averting my eyes for? Reminding myself to not be a little bitch, I looked at him once more. My stomach churned when I saw he was still staring at me. He must have seen my intent glare at his hands, hopefully he did not think I was judging him. The exact opposite was going in my head, I wanted those hands to work their way on my skin, gently gliding on my inner thighs. For fuck sake, clear your thoughts, I reprimanded myself the best I could but staying next to Law only worsened things.

 “Good for you, good for you. A good fuck’s always nice, right?” I laughed nervously, “But since you’re so keen on bringing such a topic, I have a serious question here,” Was it really serious? No, it was definitely to satiate my curiosity but the way his brows quirked at my words made me feel things.

“Go ahead.”

“Do doctors have doctor kink, like- the whole nurse outfit, or… being called Doctor in a very very sexy way?” I did not expect the laugh that came from his throat. It surprised the rest of the people around who turned around and looked at us surprised.

 Law did not pay them any mind; he placed his hands on his knee and made a pensive face. “That’s the first question that comes in your mind when someone tells you they work in the medical field?” He inquired, his tone a lot lower than before.

 “I said no work-talk Traff’!” Nami said from her spot. Law groaned and threw her a deadly glare, “Stop with the nickname, and we’re not talking about work. Mind your own business.” I’ll never admit it out loud, but I thoroughly enjoyed his bossy tone, or was it annoyed? When he returned his attention to me, he sighed.

 “Hey I’m sure it’s everyone’s first thought, right?” I was trying to lighten the tension, to make it more fun, but he was keen on keeping it the way it was. Moving his hand back on the back of the couch, there was a smug smile on his face as his hand graze my neck. I tensed but did not move, it was probably not done on purpose.

 “It’s not. I get ask a lot of things, not this. I’d like to know what else you’re thinking about right now.” He breathed the last part in what I could only describe as seductive. This was too much, with his hand brushing the nape of my neck, his flirty attitude and the constant vibration inside me I quickly stood up. “Be right back, I uh- I need to do something- I’ll share my train of thought after! Promised!” He was startled and looked at me confused, but I did not care, I rushed back to my room and pulled out my phone.

 Edelweiss: Still alive and I really need to get off. I did not expect there to be certain people and it has some effect. Clearly.

Edelweiss: Are you still busy?

Edelweiss: sir.

 I paced the room, covering my mouth when a gasp escaped my throat from the sensation. I hated this, why did I suggest this, this is not fun. I want to touch myself; I want to get this tension out of my body. No, I need to. But this was clearly not happening. I considered doing it, even though HandSurgeon had told me not to, but reconsidered when I imagined the fun it would be tonight. Luckily, I did not have time to think more as my phone vibrated.

 HandSurgeon: Some effect?

Edelweiss: don’t play dumb, he’s like… he kind of has your vibe, the hot vibe and it does not help at all with my predicament…

HandSurgeon: Check the attitude first. Now, we’re talking about the same predicament you asked to be in, right? The one you desperately begged to be in? The one you are clearly enjoying more than you thought you would, that same one? I think you put yourself in that situation, and you’ll get through it like the good girl I know you want to be.

HandSurgeon: It would be a shame to go back home, and see a message from you, telling me you caved and touched yourself. I’d be disappointed.

 Groaning, I let myself fall on my bed and brought my phone close to my face. I read his words a few more times before replying.

 Edelweiss: so you’ll be here tonight… sir?

HandSurgeon: If my evening does not stretch out, I’ll be sure to have fun with you.

HandSurgeon: If you’re good, of course. I like my fucktoy obedient and eager. Which you are, correct?

 I had to take a second look at the name he gave me, I had yet to decide if I enjoyed it or not. But as I read it again, I was leaning towards it being positive. But should I make it easy?

 Edelweiss: I’m not your fucktoy though, sir.

HandSurgeon: Hold onto that thought, we’ll see what you’ll say after tonight. I’ll ask again, and I’m fairly certain the answer will be different, dear.

HandSurgeon: Now, I have to leave, don’t force yourself if you feel like it’s too much.

HandSurgeon: But imagine how sensitive you’ll be tonight; how good it’ll feel when you’ll fuck yourself just for me. Your toy filling you just right, the burning sensation of your walls stretching… Putting on a show just for me…

Edelweiss: I get it, I get it… don’t make me imagine it too much or I won’t hold on until the end of the evening 😔

HandSurgeon: You will. See you tonight.

 Seeing as the conversation had ended, I sat back up and shoved my phone in my back pocket. Talking to him had not help, at all. The pressure in my lower stomach had only grown, but I had to make do and keep socializing at least until Luffy and Law left.

 Now standing up, I checked in the mirror if I had any darker spot from how wet I was and was relieved to see nothing. I had to hype myself to join everyone again, and once I did, they were all sitting around the low table, Law included. They did not pay any mind to my return, except Robin who patted the spot between her and Law, smiling. Returning the smile, I shuffled their way and sat down. I made sure to sit on my foot to get more comfortable.

 Maybe to get some friction too from time to time. Or to make sure the egg did not slip out, could it even? Shaking my thoughts away, I focused back on the conversation happening and realized I was being talked to. “I’m sorry, could you repeat?” I said softly.

 “Where did you hurry off to?” Robin asked gently, Nami followed with more snark, “Yeah, you had Traff’ here worried. I’d run too if he was making some adv-“ Seeing how annoyed Law seemed to become when Nami teased him like that, I interrupted her with a polite smile.

“I remembered I had to send an assignment, but it’s done now! I’m single and ready to mingle- or like just, to party. I’m not- yeah I’ll…” I made a zipping motion with my hand over my mouth and poured myself a drink when the conversation resumed without a hitch.

 Law who was leaning back, his hands on the ground behind his back, observed all my actions without a word. At this point it was clear he wasn’t listening to the conversation right in front of him. I turned his way with a scowl and hissed in a hushed tone, “What do you want?”

 It seemed to put a smile on his face as he leaned forward, his elbows on his knees now. “Still curious of your thoughts, and even more curious of why you lied. But you’re not going to tell me the latter.” He huffed a laugh, “Not yet, at least.” His confidence could now be qualified as arrogance, I had a hard time distinguishing them from one another. Turning around to face him, I discretely moved my heel to get some friction and took a rapid breath.

 Choosing to ignore the fact that he assumed, correctly so, that I lied, I mimicked his posture. Resting my chin on my hand. “Then ask me what you want to know, I live to satiate your curiosity doc.” I said sarcastically. For some reason, he made a weird face for the span of a few seconds. He was quick to get a hold of himself and smirked. “Careful, I might just use that eagerness of yours.”

 I held back from widening my eyes in surprise, maybe even smile. I liked it, it was strange how easy it was for him to make my stomach churn in need, but I enjoyed it a lot. Giving him a half-smile, I hummed inquisitively, “What if I say I’d like that?” I regretted my words instantly, and was about to lean back when Law said in a low tone, “Then I’d be sure to give you my number to settle a date.”

 Looking at him with wide eyes, I couldn’t help but be flattered and smiled stupidly. “We barely know each other, sir. I believe buying someone dinner first is the tradition.” I said humorously. I was trying to back out of this, I don’t know why but the fact that he met all my expectations frightened me for a moment.

 He scoffed in response and leaned back, putting his hand forward, palm up. I quirked a brow and put my hand on his, only for him wrap it around mine and pull me towards him, “I was asking for your phone.” He whispered before letting go. I quickly pulled my hand back and frowned, masking my embarrassment by saying, “Well, you could have been clearer. Maybe use your words? That’d be interesting too, it does avoid me doing looking like an idiot.”

 Smirking, he huffed a laugh once more and said, “I could have, but then you wouldn’t have done that.” He then pulled out his phone and handed it to me, a new contact ready to be filled. “And you looked kind of cute.” Law continued, his brows raised as he glanced down at his phone for me to take. I took it with a grumble, not knowing what to answer. So, I typed in my number and let my thumbs hover over the name. “I’m really thinking of a joke here, for my name.”

 With my fingers tapping the back of the phone, I hummed in thought. “It’ll be the thing that appears on your phone when you’re working, so…” After saying that, he gently snatched it from my hand and shook his head. “You’re right, I’d rather you did not do something childish.”

I had to put my drink down to give him an incredulous look, “Funny, not childish. But I suppose my full name makes just as much sense.” I rolled my eyes with a smile.

 Maybe it was happening too fast, but we could get to know one another on those dates. If that’s what he had in mind. If not, I was not against having him as booty call, not when he looked this hot. When I felt my phone vibrate, I suddenly felt all excited. My brain thought for a second it was HandSurgeon, then the penny dropped and I saw an unknown number had texted me “Trafalgar Law.” Looking up at him, I quirked a brow.

 “Very uncreative for a first text. I’ll send a better one, then you can call me childish.” I then proceeded to send him an eggplant, a droplet and the two eyes emojis. The disappointment in his eyes was priceless, I snorted ungracefully which earned me another raised brow from the handsome doctor. “Because that is better? If you want something, I’m sure you can use words instead of emojis, try again.” He told me with a smug smile. My walls clenched around the toy inside me, his demeanor having a pleasing yet unwanted effect on me.

 It felt wrong. We were just discussing, our friends around us, and I was getting off. I was finding pleasure in all of this, my skin being more and more sensitive as time went on. “You’re the one who had questions, I don’t have much to say, really.” I shrugged, focusing on saving his number under the name The fuckable doctor friend. Proud of it, I showed him and he rolled his eyes, telling me to change it to his full name. “Hey, you say ‘use my words’. I say ‘it speaks for itself’.”

 Making a gesture to come close, he brough his hand between our face in a way people do when they exchange a secret. Then he said, “I thought you wanted to go on a date first, but you seem to clearly be needing a fuck to clear your thoughts.” I suddenly turn to face him, he was looking down at me with half-lidded eyes and a cocky smile. Our faces were very close, if I wanted to, I could lean in and press our lips together, I could push him down and-

 “Hey, hey, hey guys, how about you keep that for like- let’s say, a time when we’re not all here? I could almost cut the tension with a knife!!” Nami said as she put a hand on both our chest, separating us with a nervous laugh. She then looked at me with a frown and hissed, “I thought you had better taste than that-“ “I wouldn’t know, you didn’t even let me get a taste.” I shrugged.

Looking to the side, I saw a surprised look on Law’s face quickly followed by a proud smile and a short laugh. “He’s no good,”

 “I think a lot of people would say differently, they often thank me for not being able to walk the next day which says a lot.” He said casually, giving Nami the cockiest look ever.

I was turned on so bad from what he had said, from the attitude too, while Nami just looked at him with an unfazed expression. “Right, you hardly get free time Traff. I don’t think your conquests list is that long, but it’s great you believe it.”

 His laugh was enough to cut the conversation short. He was not going to argue back, there was no need to, but he was still slightly annoyed. “Damn Nami, you seem pretty invested in his sex life. Maybe you should find someone-“ She interrupted me with bright cheeks, “Shut up! I’m taking things slow with Vivi!!” I rarely see her flustered, but it felt nice because I was able to make Law genuinely smile.

 Letting us go, Nami stood up and pulled Luffy and Robin with her to the kitchen when Luffy asked about Vivi. Watching them go, I let my back hit the ground as I sighed. I was this close to kiss him, and fuck was it, “Hot…” I mumbled. I was quick to get up when I heard Law’s voice asking me “What is?”

 “Fuck, I had completely forgotten you were there- I don’t know how I did that but-“ Sitting back up, I covered my mouth and leaned on my hand in faux-casual, trying to cover the sudden wave of pleasure when I moved. I moved my hand to my cheek and tried to smile normally. “Sorry about Nami, she is very… Protective? Which I don’t understand why-“ my last word was said in a higher tone when I tried to scoot closer to the doctor but only made my situation worse.

 Still, I continued and cleared my throat. “I badly moved and uh, my muscles…” I tried to justify my sudden outburst, “Anyway, I don’t understand why she’s protective, you don’t seem like a bad guy.” I continued, “And if you’re Luffy’s friend, by default you’re actually a nice guy.” Law stared at me, deep in thought. He pondered my words for a moment, it gave me time to take in his features. His facial hair wasn’t too much, sure it probably would feel a bit itchy if we kissed but…

 At the same time, my brain sent me an image of him going down on me. His hair tickling down and making me squirm, then when he’d look back at me, his beard glistening with- “I don’t think that’s how it works; you don’t know what I do when behind closed doors. Maybe I’m a criminal.” He trailed off, giving me what was supposed to be a mysterious smile.

 “I suppose we all have secrets, it’s not that bad. I have mine; you have yours. It doesn’t mean you’re a bad person.” I stated, “Plus you save life, you literally studied around… a lot of years? To save people, it’d be counterproductive to kill them. At best you’d be a conman, and you know…. Eat the rich.” I hummed, thinking of something else to add. I thought the tension from before had dissipated, then I felt his hand touched mine that was splayed on the floor to keep me balanced. I was startled but did not move. Instead, I slowly looked at him, he was gazing down at me with a mischievous smile.

 “It’s cute, you think I dropped our previous topic. But tell me, you were curious about something.” His eyes trailed from our hands to then look me up and down, his lips pulled in a lazy smile. I was taken aback and dug my nails deeper into the ground, but since it was hard it only showed my fingers bent. “Was it a general curiosity, or were you wondering about someone in particular?” He asked.

 Laughing nervously, I thought I had to act cool, maybe cocky in return even. “Maybe I did not mean anything from that? Or maybe I am wondering if I have to invest in a nurse outfit for our first date- but then again, you’d have to pay it since you can afford it-“ He cut me off with a long sigh, “Avoiding the topic I see. Are you that embarrassed to admit you’re the one who fantasies abou being fucked by someone in a long white coat?” He said it in a dismissive way, but the glare he was throwing me from the side only lit a fire inside me.

 I wanted to tell him I did not, but my mouth wouldn’t let me. I stared once again at his hand and watched it make its way to my thigh. He did not go high, barely above my knee and squeezed it before brushing his thumb over it. “Cat got your tongue? No witty remark? Maybe I struck a chord.” I wanted to close my eyes, and let myself get overwhelmed by his touch. It was barely anything, but with how much stimulation I had been getting the entire evening, I was so close to cave.

 His hand traveled a bit higher on my thigh, I did not say anything. “Would you prefer I wear the coat, or you do? I’d have you completely naked, wearing nothing but that, splayed on my bed…“ He leaned over, his breath caressing my ear, “Tell me to stop.” He breathed, his hand slithering higher. “Looking straight ahead instead of facing me? Why not,” He gripped my chin and turned me his way, “look at me? That’s it, those eyes. So needy and-“

 “Traff! Let’s go!! It’s getting late,” Luffy called from the kitchen as he hopped off the isle.

I let out a breath I did not know I was holding when Law removed his hand from my thigh, sighing in disappointment. When I finally dared to meet his gaze, I saw how satisfied he looked. “I’ll send you a message when I am free. But send me a creative text if you feel like it, I’ll be sure to match the mood.” He said cockily as he stood up.

 Before he could go, I grabbed his hand to stop him, and craned my neck up to look at him, “Date first, then-“

“Then I’ll be sure to enjoy the sight of you from this angle,” He place his hand under my chin to get a good look, the way he was looking down at me was hungry and desire. If I did not have principles, I would have taken him right now, “It’s quite enjoyable to have you at this height. Just perfect, really-“ “Traff! Come on!!”

 I’ll give you a call when my schedule allows it-“ He started, but I got a hold of myself and scrambled to my sense, stumbling a bit when I stood up, I gripped his hand and took it off my chin, “If I’m free sure,”

He chuckled lowly and stepped closer once more, a knowing grin adorning his features, “You will be.” Then he walked away without saying anything more.

 They both put their coats on and stepped outside, Nami accompanied them outside while Robin stood by the door until they were out of sight. Once they were gone, Robin locked the door and turned around to give me a huge grin. “Law’s dropping Luffy back to his place and offered to drive Nami to Vivi’s house… That means we can talk about what happened- no what’s been happening the entire evening.”

 She seemed too invested, the way she leaned her elbows on her knees once she sat down on the couch showed it, that along with her huge smile. “Hey, Nami sold the product wrong, alright?” I started when I slumped next to her. The vibrations inside me were a constant reminder that I should satiate her curiosity fast, for something was waiting for me in my own room. Something a lot different than a casual dinner with friends.

 “Is that so?” She inquired, her grin only widening. “How come you never talked about him? He’s super hot, and those tattoos? Does he not ooze ‘fuckable’? I don’t have time to date but-“ I was cut off when she quipped in, “Neither does he, but I’m sure you both could make an exception.”

I rolled my eyes, but couldn’t help my lips from curling into a smile. “I just want to fuck right now, so does he. That’s a common understanding between that gorgeous man, and me.” I hummed, thinking of something to add. But Robin beat me to it.

 “He did say you were going on a date, I believe?”

I had to do a double take and raised by brows, “He- when?”

“Before leaving, he said we’d see each other soon when he’d pick you up for your date.” She explained in her usual gentle tone. She seemed to ponder a bit longer, trying to remember the moment more.

“Well it’s not even settled, and it’s just to get to know one another-“ “It often is, yes. First step to a beautiful romance.” I snorted at her words, then shook my head.

 “Maybe, just maybe. But I barely know him, and right now I’m more interested in knowing if I’ll be able to walk afterwards or not.” It made my friend laugh, she then grabbed my hands in hers and nodded.

“If it’s any help, you definitely caught his eye. Making him laugh is hard, but you did, so many times. I wonder what you were talking about…” She trailed off, quirking a brow inquisitively. It was indeed a subtle way to see if I’d give her the gossip, but I was not going to tell her we were basically eye-fucking each other the entire time and talked about sex most of it too.

 Although they must have noticed the eye-fucking, god the discretion is lacking tonight. I was still buzzing with excitement thinking of tonight, hoping the HandSurgeon would be online.

 “He was mocking me, but I’m glad it made him laugh.” I huffed jokingly. The conversation ended shortly afterwards, Robin had to work on something and told me to text her if I needed something because she was going to put her headphone on to not annoy me with her music. It was pretty fortunate, but I’d still try my best to be silent on my part, considering what I was about to do.

 We bid each other good night and I tried to go back to my room as calmly as possible. I wanted to rush there, take off all my clothes and check if I had a message from the HandSurgeon. I felt uncomfortable in my clothes, when I moved, they’d brush against my skin and I hated how sensitive it had become from the overstimulation.

 I made a detour by the bathroom to grab a towel then locked the door behind myself when I stepped inside my bedroom. Taking off my clothes took but a few seconds however made sure to keep my underwear. Plugging my phone in, I grabbed my laptop and placed in on my bed. I made sure to angle it right, so that we couldn’t see my face, then placed the towel on my bed along my vibrator.

 Once I knelt on it and opened Discord, I noticed the messages from the HandSurgeon and the fire inside me was lit ablaze once more.

[Part 4]

[theres-no-protocol-for-this]

A Shared Meal

Mensah cooks dinner, and MB admits that it likes how food smells. This is a sweet little one-shot based on a Discord conversation about MB and cooking.

The kitchen area in Mensah's farmhouse has been created with an extended family in mind.

There was enough space for at least three different people to comfortably move about and room enough in the pantry to feed a dozen human beings. That afternoon, through some miracle of scheduling, the house stood silent.

Mensah was alone in the kitchen, nursing a cup of tangy-smelling hot liquid while pacing and reading reports on her display surface. The doctor was technically on vacation, but that didn't stop her from fussing over whatever work she brought home.

I sat on a couch in the next room over, re-watching Sanctuary Moon episodes in preparation for a live performance that evening. I'd come down to the planet to spend the day with Mensah and see a play, and hadn't been paying attention to the human until her pacing brought her into the living area. A couple of my drones captured her entrance, but I looked up when she approached.

"It's going to be another extended council session when I get back," she said, long fingers wrapped around her mug. Steam slowly rose from the concoction inside. "I understand the necessity, of course, but it's... frustrating."

I checked my logs and then said, "You should eat something."

The human rolled her eyes at me. "Mothering's the last thing I want right now. But... you're not wrong. Come sit in the kitchen?"

I didn't see any reason not to, so I got up and settled on a tall barstool in front of a chest-high stone counter. Mensah's house was largely Murderbot-proof, so I didn't have to worry about destroying the furniture if I sat on it. This isn't always the case, and I appreciated Dr. Mensah's thoughtfulness.

Through a drone, I watched her remove fresh ingredients from a crisper and lay them out on the counter. She pulled out a cutting board and began deftly chopping at vegetables I couldn't name.

"What do you think about all of this?" She gestured at the display surface, now face down on the counter.

I had no opinions on the inner workings of the Preservation Alliance's governing body. As far as SecUnits went, I was a terrible example, and she would've had better luck discussing policy with Three. Unfortunately, it was currently on a trip with its family and out of easy communication range, but I suspected she had talked with it before its departure.

Meanwhile, Mensah chuckled. "Have you even looked at the news?"

"Enough to know that I don't care."

"Fair."

She tossed something onto a hot skillet, and the ingredient sizzled satisfyingly when it encountered the heat. Whatever it was smelled great. I don't eat and have no digestive system — which hasn't always stopped humans from forcing me to consume food — but the smells of human cooking are nonetheless pleasant.

"That's ghee," Mensah told me when she noticed me looking. "It's clarified butter."

The ingredient. Right. I still couldn't care less about its name, but now it had a name. On a whim, I pulled the terms for all of the other ingredients on the counter from the local feed archives. I doubted the conversation would veer toward food since the human knew I didn't eat, but having the names made the process appear less mysterious.

"I've never seen you pay attention to any of us cooking," Mensah admitted while tossing vegetables into the heated pan, followed by more sizzling and delightful smells.

Usually, I didn't hang out in her kitchen while the family cooked or ate dinner, and on those rare occasions when I couldn't avoid it, the process looked boring. Food appeared, humans consumed it, and then seemed more cheerful and relaxed afterward. The side effects were nice.

"It smells good," I admitted.

I liked the smells of humans food courts and cooking areas, especially once I'd returned to Preservation Station with Mensah and could walk around the station without triggering every alarm in the mall.

"Which parts?" Now Mensah was looking curiously at me. Well, she was looking past my right shoulder, but she was good at not making eye contact. I still knew she was intrigued, and I could easily see her expression through the drones' cameras.

"All of it?" This was hard to explain to a human. "I like the way food smells. I just don't want to eat it."

She frowned in that thoughtful way where her brow creased. "Huh. I never knew that. Want me to teach you some recipes?"

"I can look it up."

"It's not the same, SecUnit," Mensah told me. "I've been teaching Amena recently when she's home between semesters. I could show you a few tricks."

Well, that explained the younger Mensah's middle-of-the-night exploits. Maybe. I wanted to remind the doctor that I didn't actually need to eat and would have no practical application for the skill, but before I could, she went on. She peered at my face and judged whatever she found there worthy of further explanation.

"Sometimes, making food isn't about eating at all, if that's what you're thinking," Mensah mused, her gaze on the sizzling vegetables. "Sometimes, it's about community and connection — words you're probably allergic to. But think of it as an experience or an art. It's like going to see a play that's only performed once. No two meals are going to be exactly alike."

That made sense to me. At least here on the farm with ingredients cultivated in the family gardens, freshly-cooked food had distinctive smells and tastes. I imagined that rations all tasted pretty much equally terrible given the sheer number of complaints I'd heard about them over the cycles.

Mensah took a sip of her cooling drink and leaned back against a counter. "I love the smell of coffee. It reminds me of home, honestly. You can't get decent coffee on a station, so when I want the good stuff, I have to come back here."

I sat at the counter, watching Mensah cook with my own two eyes and the companionable silence felt comfortable. I didn't want to stare at a wall for a change, and no one asked me to talk about my feelings.

I still hate planets, but I could get used to moments like this, occasionally. I cropped together a recording of the preparation ritual and sent it to ART, who was scheduled to visit in the next dozen cycles or so. It would get my message sometime before docking at Preservation Station.

Sharing one family with another maybe wasn't so terrible, even if it meant I didn't get through all episodes of Sanctuary Moon I wanted.

[inkandpen22]

Time is Irrelevant (1/?): The Mystery of Psychology

Pairing: Eleventh Doctor x Female!Reader 

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1.7k 

Part Summary: Y/N is an undergraduate student double majoring in history and English. While she’s cramming away at her research paper she’s approached by a rather peculiar man. 

Masterlist

“History, like love, is so apt to surround her heroes with an atmosphere of imaginary brightness.” 

                                            - James Fenimore Cooper, The Last of the Mohicans

I’ve never imagined myself as one of the greats. They’ve lived before my time and their legacies will outlive me long after I’m gone. The greatest task I can accomplish is do them justice by telling their stories. I must immerse myself in their lives and hope to influence others with their work. I’m merely the surface that the puzzle of history rests upon. Over time, I’ve collected facts from as many historical periods as possible and have memorized them.

I’ve always found history easy to retain. I believe it to be a blessing. Once I’ve heard, read, or watched any kind of information about history I’ll remember it for the rest of my life. My gift made the subject easy for me in school. I also excelled in English. Words resonate with people for generations, they’re needed to retell history. A simple sentence or everyday speech may end up in every history book across the country. Words are equally as influential to our history as our actions. Hence why I’m a history and English double-major. With history comes life lessons, valuable lessons that can only be learned from past experiences. English, words, can impact an entire generation or many, thus influencing history. By telling the stories of the past, I hope to better the future.

___________________________________________________ 

As I review the archives on the Crusades in front of me, my fingers tap against the table to the beat of the music coming from my earbuds in the otherwise silent archives. Many of my friends have never understood how I’m able to read and listen to music at the same time. What can I say? I’m talented. Disregard the fact that I’ve read this book fifty times over so I could practically recite it from memory. I’m kinda mixing wars here by listening to Hamilton while reading about the French and Indian War. Oh well, there are no rules against the action. 

Suddenly, there is a tap on my shoulder. I assume someone must be able to hear my music and is asking for me to turn it down. I close my book as I remove one of my earbuds and peer over my shoulder. I lift my eyes and meet the gaze of a rather handsome individual. 

“I’m sorry is it too loud?” I apologize. 

“Not at all,” he assures me with a gentle smile and I take note of his accent. “I was wondering if you could point me in the direction of information on the French Revolution?” 

The gentleman is lucky, an average person wouldn’t know the archives by heart. I’ve spent nearly every day up here since the early days of freshman year. 

“You’re on the right floor so good job.” I joke and point my finger towards the proper section in the middle of the room near me. “Most of the books on the French Revolution that I’ve been able to find are over there but there are more throughout the library upstairs. Nonetheless, those should be a good start.” 

He grins, pausing for a moment as he stares me in the eye.  “Thank you.” His focus travels to my book sitting on the table. “The Last of The Mohicans, good choice.” 

He leaves, as quickly as he appeared, towards the section I suggested. That man is something else entirely. He’s likely a professor considering he’s down here and his considerably formal attire. Only a professor would wear a bow tie. Then again, he appears awfully young. A TA perhaps? That wouldn’t explain his accent though. He could be a visiting professor. Plus, oddly enough, he knows of my book, not many people I know do. 

I pop my earbud back in and dive back into reading. The whole interaction was short but interesting nonetheless. I’m not sure what it was about him but he was different than most. It could be that he had this awkward charm and I’m not used to people being so polite. For a young man, he seemed old fashioned. His wording was more articulate, could be because he’s British. Normally a guy would say ‘uh hey so like, could you…. um…  show me where the books are for the French Revolution or whatever it’s called? If they have an audiobook or DVD that’s cool too!’ 

Okay, that’s it, I can’t focus after that guy talked to me. I’ve read the same sentence five times over. It’s best just head home, it’s getting late anyway. 

The sun is setting as I make my way back to the apartment. I take the more scenic route by the original brick buildings from the colonial era. Mainly because I like the brick path, especially now that it’s fall and the leaves coat the ground. I’m not surprised to see some boys playing football on the lawn in the center of campus. My first thought is how American they appear, with the crisp leaves scattering the ground, everyone in their duck boots, and playing football. I feel as if I’m in a Lands End catalog.

On the way home, I stop by the student union to fetch a late dinner to take home. I shuffle through the music on my phone, trying to find the perfect playlist for the walk back. I approach the door to the building and the person ahead of me holds it for me as I stare down at my phone. 

“Thank you” I mumble absentmindedly. 

“Oh well hello again!” 

I look up and believe it or not it’s the same man from before. I take notice of his exquisite eyes, their long lashes, and his multicolored uniqueness. I’ve never seen anything like them before. They’re like marbles. A warm chestnut shade toward the cornea but then fades into a ring of emerald that transitions into a deep ocean blue. He has every possibility in one. 

“Oh hey!” I respond politely, “did you find the book you were looking for?” 

He shows me the hardcover book in his hand. “Yeah, thank you so much for your help earlier!” He holds out his hand for me to shake, “it’s nice to meet you...” 

“Y/N,” I answer, accepting his hand. “It’s nice to meet you too!” 

I’m not the kind for such formal introductions. In this day and age, there are rarely introductions just frequent run-ins until everyone becomes acquainted. 

The gentleman stares at me for a second, visibly deep in thought. He continues to hold my hand, but I’m too awkward to remove it. Then, snaps himself out of it, parting from my hand. “Beautiful name,” he compliments, charmingly.

Normally, I would imagine girls swoon over a compliment from a man with his foreign accent. American girls love a pretty English accent. Yet, his attention makes me feel on display. I’ve never been fond of physical compliments. I never know how to respond to them. 

“Are you meeting someone?” I ask.

He looks confused but realizes I’m referring to the building. “Oh! No, no I’m here to get something to eat.” 

 This was nice, but now I’m over being polite because I’m starving. Plus, I’ve been in the archives practically all day working on my research paper for Medieval History for I’m beyond tired. 

“Oh okay…” I stumble over my words, “well, it was nice to you!” I nod, preparing to walk away.

“Would you like to join me?” He asks abruptly before I’m able to escape. 

It’s ironic, I’m a mess and he’s wanting my company. The image of me schlepping around this ten-pound backpack wasn’t off-putting to him, really? 

 “Awesome!” He declares, not giving me the chance to decline his offer before he ushers me inside. “I’ll meet you over there after you get your food!” He adds, pointing over to a specific table. 

I was really looking forward to eating in my bed at home, but I can’t decline anyone and risk hurting their feelings. Sticking to my word, I head over to where he instructed after I grab my usual sushi order. Sure enough, he’s already seated at the table. I notice the fact we’re in the far back corner separated from the workers or the other few eaters this time of night. I place my bag next to me on the floor as I get situated. 

“You like sushi?” He inquires. 

I sway my head from side to side, “Americanized sushi. The traditional raw fish I’ve never tried.” 

He chuckles lightly, “one day you’ll have to try it. It’s surprisingly not as bad as one might assume.”He speaks so smoothly. Does it come naturally or does he have to work at it? 

“One day,” I sigh with a smile. I would love to see the world and experience everything it has to offer. Yet, I’m a poor college student with responsibilities. 

“What’s your major?” He asks, creating casual conversation. 

“I’m a double major, English, and history,” I nod. 

He raises his eyebrows, appearing amazed. “Impressive!” 

“What about you? What do you do?” I’m purposefully vague enough with my questions because I still don’t know whether he’s a student or a professor. He could pass as a graduate student and that’s what has me stumped. 

“Oh uh...” he stammers, rubbing his hands together in his lap. “I’m a doctor.” 

He’s a professor then. I’m having a social dinner with a professor... is this allowed? “Oh okay,” I try to remain unfazed. “What is it that you teach?” 

I’m assuming he must teach history considering the search for the French Revolution book. Then again, I don’t know of any English professors in the department. The topic isn’t really one for some light reading. He could be required to take a history course, though I doubt it. 

“Psychology,” he rushes out an answer. 

Do I ask or is that too bold? Then again, I’ve never really cared about superficial social standards. 

I lean forward in my chair, resting my arms on the table as curiosity appears on my face. “If you don’t mind me asking, why were you looking for books on the French Revolution earlier?” 

He hesitates as if he’s evaluating my question. His features go blank then shift to sternness. Did I say something wrong? Was I not being polite when I asked that? 

“I was picking it up for a friend,” he answers plainly, questionably. 

I don’t believe him, not for a second. I’m no expert in psychology but his eyes glanced to his right while his voice went up a little at the end of his sentence. He’s lying. My heart quickens and I do everything in my power to remain calm. I’m going to play along and act oblivious. Perhaps, he has a good reason for lying.

“I was just wondering because you said you were in Psychology,” I say light-heartedly, waving my hand to dismiss the matter. 

He sighs deeply, placing his napkin on the table. “They said you’d be hard to fool.” His eyes meet mine with a smirk as he leans back in his chair. “You don’t miss a thing do you?” He snickers. 

His words are so ominous they make my breathing hitch as I drop my chopsticks. 

“What?” I calmly question, reaching for my back slowly. 

In a swift movement, he grabs my hand on the table and points a metal shiny thing at my face. I attempt to yank myself free, but he just squeezes tighter. I look into the light radiating from the buzzing object. Then, suddenly, my sight goes dark. This can’t be good.

_____________________________

Masterlist

[phoebenavarro]

rest assured, the night will come

realized I haven’t posted this here! a continuation of my “Jon trusts Tim” s2 AU, but this is first chronologically so reading the other parts isn’t necessary

After the Prentiss attack, Jon finds himself exhausted, in pain, and dreading having to be alone, so that’s how he finds himself outside of Tim’s flat propping himself up on the cane the doctors gave him with two containers of curry takeaway in his free hand. Together, Jon and Tim grapple with the events of the day, and Jon makes a decision on who he can trust.

the magnus archives, jontim, 2500 words

on ao3 here

When Jon finally leaves the Institute, statements taken and pain meds all but worn off, exhausted and bone-weary, the last thing he wants to do is to be alone in his flat. He wants nothing more than to sleep, but even as tired as he is, the nightmares that are sure to come turn him off the concept. His stomach clenches, and he realizes that it’s from hunger, not fear or anxiety or disgust like he’d been assuming since he woke up. He’s not sure if he’ll be able to keep any food down, but he figures he’s got to  at least try. And he really doesn’t want to be alone, so that’s how he finds himself outside of Tim’s flat propping himself up on the cane the doctors gave him with two containers of curry takeaway in his free hand.

I should have texted, he thinks, rather belatedly, after he’s knocked on the door.

Tim answers the door after a few moments, and he looks slightly better than he did the last time Jon saw him. Maybe he took a nap. He looks surprised to see Jon.

“Sorry, I should’ve let you know I was coming,” Jon says before Tim gets a chance to say anything, “But I really didn’t want to be alone, so.” He holds up the food. “Curry?”

Tim smiles the first genuine smile Jon’s seen from him since they both woke up in the ECDC tent.

“God, yeah, you read my mind,” Tim says, “Come in.”

Jon’s been to Tim’s flat a few times, so he makes a bee line for the coffee table and sets the food down. A nature documentary of some sort is playing on the TV, volume low. He smiles a bit; Tim always needs his background noise. Jon carefully sits down on the sofa, wincing as the movement pulls on his wounds, and leans the cane against the armrest.  

Tim looks at him with concern. “Boss, did you just now leave the Institute?”

“Yes,” Jon sighs. The pain medication has now worn off entirely, he thinks, and his entire body aches. The worst is in his hip, where the worms dug particularly deep. The doctors gave him a prescription for more, but he didn’t think to go pick it up before the pharmacies closed, something he is now seriously regretting.

“Jon,” Tim says, exasperated.

“I know, I know…”

Tim turns on his heel and rummages around in the kitchen, returning with some napkins and a pill bottle, which he holds out to Jon.

“I’m assuming you didn’t get a chance to get these then,” he says, giving the bottle a shake, “Good thing I did, huh?” Jon wordlessly takes the bottle. “Food first, though.”

“Oh! Right,” Jon says, “Thank you, Tim. You’re a life saver.” Tim hums. “Quite literally.”

“Yeah. Guess there are some perks of getting eaten by worms together, huh? Sharing food and drugs.” He stands up. “Want something to drink? Alcohol is a big no no on the medication, otherwise I would be getting wasted.”

“Water’s fine,” Jon says. Tim goes back to the kitchen, and Jon starts unpacking the containers of food. Tim returns with two glasses of water, and they eat mostly in silence, too exhausted for the animated banter they usually share. Jon doesn’t mind, the quiet companionship is comforting, so they just sit and watch the documentary. Jon doesn’t really absorb any of it, but the soothing voice of the narrator is also comforting.

After they finish eating, Tim starts cleaning up, taking the empty containers to the kitchen. Jon takes a moment to read the directions on the pill bottle before taking one, very much looking forward to the pain easing up. Tim returns, settling next to Jon on the couch, sitting close enough that Jon can lean against him. They finish up the documentary, and Jon finally lets himself relax as the pain medication kicks in.

“What now?” Tim asks. Jon shrugs.

“I don’t care. Put on whatever you want.” “Alright,” Tim says, “A comfort movie then.” Jon nods, letting himself zone out while Tim scrolls through menus on the TV. Tim selects something, and Jon rouses himself from his thoughts.

“What are we watching?” Jon asks.

“Stand By Me.”

“Oh, I’ve never seen it.”

“Boss,” Tim sighs, shaking his head in disappointment, but he’s still grinning, “You’ve got to watch more movies. It’s a classic!”

Tim talks throughout the movie, but Jon doesn’t mind, because he has the subtitles on and everything he mentions is related to the movie, little tidbits and trivia. (“It’s based on a short story by Stephen King called The Body, and Stephen King actually saw a friend of his get killed by a train, but he doesn’t remember it because he repressed it so thoroughly,” Tim says. Jon admits he hasn’t read much Stephen King, and he is treated to a mini lecture about how “Stephen King is one of the most prolific authors of our time and you can’t discount him just because he is known for horror.”)

Tim is… remarkably normal, considering the day they had. Jon knows he copes with humor, so it’s not all that surprising, but Jon can’t muster up the energy to pretend to be annoyed by Tim’s quips. His mind keeps wandering back to Gertrude, murdered and then left in the tunnels for months, no one caring enough to truly look for her, not even the police.

That could happen to you, a horrible part of his mind whispers, and he shivers.

“Jon, what’s wrong?” Tim asks, gently, very sincerely, and he pauses the movie, turning to face Jon, “I mean, other than the obvious. I can practically hear you thinking.” Jon hesitates. It’s never been his nature to share his feelings with anyone, not even the people he’s closest with, but as he looks at Tim, at the bandages covering his skin that Jon can’t help but feel responsible for, he finds himself wanting to tell Tim. Tim suffered the worst right along him, he can trust Tim, especially when he’s looking at Jon like he is.

“You heard about Gertrude?” Jon asks quietly.

“Yeah, Martin told me, after I finally got him to stop apologizing for losing us in the tunnels.”

“Did he…” Jon swallows, “Did he tell you how she died?”

“No, but I’m guessing it wasn’t natural causes.”

“She ah, she was shot.”

“Fuck’s sake,” Tim breathes, “Seriously?” Jon nods. “Christ, who would want to kill Gertrude?”

“I don’t know, but it scares me,” Jon admits, “Even more than if she was killed by some… Monster. Because…”

“Because this was a person,” Tim finishes, “And they could do it again.” Jon nods again. “Yeah, I get it.” Tim cocks his head, makes the face he always makes when he’s about to make a joke to try to lighten the mood, “Although, it could have been a monster with a gun. We don’t know that they can’t use guns.” And Jon can’t help it, he does grin a little.

“Yes, well, somehow I don’t think that’s likely,” he says.

“No,” Tim sighs mournfully, “But that would be pretty cool. I mean, bad for us, Jane Prentiss managed to fuck us up pretty badly with just the worms, I’m glad we didn’t have to worry about being shot—“

“Tim,” Jon says, stopping him, because this topic of conversation is not good for his anxiety.

“Sorry,” Tim says, picking up on Jon’s discomfort, “Uh, do the police have any leads?”

“Not that I’m aware of,” Jon says, “I’d imagine the trail is pretty cold by now. I mean, it was probably someone at the Institute, to be able to get into the tunnels, but we have no idea if there are other entrances outside the Institute… So it really could’ve been anyone.”

“But why would someone kill Gertrude?” Tim wonders, “I mean, other than for gross incompetence at actual archiving. Unless she was a secret badass or something.”

“At this point, I wouldn’t even be all that surprised,” Jon mutters, “I don’t want to believe that there’s a murderer at the Institute, but that’s what makes the most sense.”

“Yeah,” Tim agrees, “Probably.”

“I— It feels like I’m being watched, when I’m in the Archives. And with the tunnels— there’s more to the Institute than I thought. There’s something off. And I think Gertrude’s death has something to do with that. And…” Jon bites his lip.

“And?” Tim prompts.

“And what if whoever killed her comes after me as well?”

“Jon…”

“I know, I know, it’s stupid, but I can’t shake the feeling.”

“After the day we’ve had, I don’t think that’s stupid. A bit paranoid, maybe, but not stupid.”

“Oh,” Jon says. He hadn’t expected Tim to take him seriously.

“Considering the way Prentiss seemed to single you out, I mean, it kind of makes sense that people— or monsters might have it out for the archivist.” And that’s something Jon’s been trying not to think about, but he definitely agrees.

“And that is a whole other terrifying question,” Jon sighs, “What exactly I’ve gotten us into. But my more immediate concern is whether or not there is a murderer in our midst.”

“Bit more pressing,” Tim agrees, “You think the cops can handle it?”

Jon shrugs, “They weren’t particularly interested in finding her the first time, I don’t think finding her killer is going to be a priority.”

Tim snorts. “No, of course not.”

“It could have been anyone, even Martin, even Sasha. I really hope it wasn’t them, but I’m starting to think that we can’t afford to trust anyone. I know how paranoid that sounds, but—“

“But it makes sense,” Tim says. They lapse into silence for a moment. “What about me?

“What?”

“How can you be sure I didn’t kill Gertrude?”

Jon considers it. He probably shouldn’t trust Tim, if he’s being purely logical. But he does. He knows Tim; he saw Tim, when he first came to the Institute, deeply traumatized and clearly in a bad place (and he’d been curious about what happened, of course he was, but he’s known for a very long time that there are things you don’t ask about.) Jon helped coax him into a better place, watched as Tim found himself again. All that, and what they’d been through today was a hell of a bonding experience, and well, they were alone a lot during the attack. If Tim wanted him dead, he’d had plenty of opportunities.

But really, it all comes down to: Jon is scared, and he doesn’t want to do this alone, and Tim is the safest option. No, not just that, he wants to trust Tim.

“Because you’re my friend and I’m choosing to trust you,” Jon says.

Tim has a bit of a deer-in-the-headlights look to him, like he wasn’t expecting Jon to be sincere.

“Yeah,” Tim says, and he looks away from Jon, and he sounds a bit strained, “Yeah boss, I trust you too.” Jon grins.

“I appreciate it,” Jon says, “Considering you’re allergic to sincerity.” He nudges Tim with his elbow, and Tim laughs, pulling Jon into a loose embrace, careful not to put too much pressure on their wounds. Tim sighs, and he starts gently brushing his fingers through Jon’s hair. Jon melts into the touch, and they settle back against the couch cushions in each other’s arms. It feels right.

“If you want to do your own investigation into Gertrude’s killer, I will help you,” Tim says, “One hundred percent. But right now we can’t really do anything. The Institute’s closed, we’re out on sick leave. The trail’s not gonna get any colder. First we need to focus on healing, okay?” Jon nods. “We can figure out all the suspects and make a murder board later, but I don’t think either of us are up to it right now.” As much as Jon’s skin is buzzing with the need to do something, or else he’s leaving himself open to attack, his more rational side knows that Tim is right. They’re safer together, anyway.

“Yeah,” Jon says, “Right. Let’s finish the movie.” They resume the movie, and Tim is a bit more subdued, content to watch the screen and idly run his fingers through Jon’s hair. As the film draws to a close, Tim starts to doze, breathing softly. Jon looks down at Tim’s peaceful face, covered in bandages, and his heart twists. This is his fault. If Tim hadn’t been helping Jon walk, he probably would’ve kept up with Martin, or if he’d left Jon to his fate, maybe he would have been able to outrun Prentiss and the worms.

This isn’t helpful, Jon chastises himself, but he can’t stop. If he can’t protect his employees, his friends, then what is the point? He tries not to spiral, and he directs his attention to the end of the movie. It’s not the kind of movie he would normally pick for himself, but he can see why Tim likes it. There are few things Tim values more than family, whether that be blood family or found family. Tim doesn’t talk much about his parents, but there are pictures of them and a brother around the place. Tim will talk more about his brother, but it’s always tinged with sadness, like he isn’t around anymore. Jon doesn’t ask; he feels like he hasn’t earned the right.

“I guess I should head back to my flat.” Jon says while the credits are rolling,  because he can feel himself starting to nod off next to Tim. That wakes Tim up, though.

“Jon,” he groans, “It’s midnight. You’re staying here.” He says it with finality, like it’s obvious. “I’m not letting you take the tube in the middle of the night when you can barely walk.” He gestures at Jon’s cane. Jon feels like he needs to object out of politeness, to make sure that it’s really alright, but he is, quite frankly, too tired, and he knows Tim wouldn’t offer if he didn’t mean it. But still, that part within him that won’t allow him to be a burden on anybody squirms. He pushes the feeling down.

Jon nods. “Thank you, Tim.”

“Come on,” Tim says, slowly getting to his feet, “The guest bed is made up, and we’re really gonna regret it in the morning if we sleep on the couch.” He offers a hand to help Jon up, but Jon waves him off, not wanting to hurt him. He uses his cane to help him get to his feet, and Tim leads him to the guest bedroom.

“Bathroom’s across the hall,” Tim says, “Let me know if you need anything.” And then Tim pulls him into a hug, resting his chin on Jon’s shoulder. “I’m really glad we’re alive,” he says into Jon’s hair, “We’ll figure it out, I promise.”

“Okay,” Jon replies, “Thanks Tim.”

That night, at least, they both sleep soundly, too exhausted for nightmares.

[queensdivas]

Peonies Chapter 8

It has been a while since I've posted about Grigor or The Great. Y'all I have been busy with finals and another fic on archive that has been my favorite thing to write. If you've ever watched The Terror from AMC then you'll enjoy this.

But I haven't forgot about one of my favorite fics. Never.

Other than that! Here we go after weeks of not writing.

Previous Chapter

Masterlist

The idea of falling asleep after today just sounds nauseating. Seeing the horrors in front of me then coming back to my apartment for Peter wanting to kill me. Then for Grigor to storm off due to the fact that he thought I would lay with my own cousin by marriage. Yes I’m well aware that’s still a common practice amongst the Monarchs of the world but not in my book!

Turning my head to watch the flames slowly begin to die down before my eyes. The room was beginning to spiral into that infamous Russian cold. I didn’t feel like throwing another log on since part of me thinks I deserve to be in the wintry world that I have chosen to live in.

This plan for making Catherine the ruler of all Russia is becoming stale. What have we done that’s been achievable anyhow! Go to the front to feed a bunch of soldiers! You saw what happened when I alone tried to help Peter! Catherine influenced a new Patriarch yet the women of the court still find Catherine to be an annoyance. There has been absolutely no effort or somewhat change Catherine has done to make things more in her favor. God she is a child thrown into a world that she has no idea what she's doing. Although I should be guiding...but...

What good am I doing here! I feel as if I’m just now a fuck toy for Grigor to feel a womens touch since his wife is with the Emporer on a daily basis! Throwing the blanket off me to march over to the nearest vase and chuck it across the room!

A screech left my body as I cleared everything off the vanity onto the floor. I could feel the blood rushing through me for this anger to spiral out of control! This stupid country! Grabbing a book to throw it against the wall!

THIS STUPID COUNTRY!

HOW CAN ONE FUCKING BELONG TO THIS COURT!

HOW CAN ONE SINGLE HUMAN BE SUCH AN ABSOLUTE MORON! AND YES THAT HUMAN IS ME!

WHY DOESN’T HE TRUST ME!

I’M NOT HIS WIFE!

THIS STUPID GOD DAMN COUNTRY!

IT’S MAKING ME QUESTION EVERY SINGLE THREAD OF INSANITY I HAVE BECAUSE THE MAN I’M BEGINNING TO FALL FOR HAS MAJOR TRUST ISSUES! CAN’T HE SEE THAT I AM A ONE MAN ONE WOMEN SORT OF WOMAN!

YES I’M A WHORE TO A MAR….

Huh...would you look at that Chiara? All because he lit a fire under your own ass because everyone else around you stays clear of it.

I…..

I feel nothing….

Maybe the cold will make me feel something in this empty body. Grabbing the handles of the window to pull them out. They smacked against the walls for the wind to soar through my room. It flew through my hair for the first few seconds for it to stop. The cold swaddled me up but I didn’t move from the window.

I do not deserve the things I have been given in life. For I am a cold hearted bitch with almost no remorse in my actions. I could possibly kill a hundred people and proclaim it to be for the greater good. No sense of remorse or sadness.

How could Grigor want to love someone as vile as me..I am cold..evil. Someone like me doesn’t deserve the warm embrace of what love is. This lust is beginning to form into the most dangerous tool one can have in their life. For it can bring life and destroy it in a matter of seconds.

I miss his touch..the way his fingers would glide across my arm as we snuggled together on the bed. The way he kissed my forehead after a long time of making love. Him showing me his drawings and I know he’s drawing me in my sleep! It hurts to feel this sort of way! I don’t want to feel anything! This feeling is almost heart wrenching and...beautiful.

My breathing began to choke till the only warmth that was on my body was the singular tear that had escaped my eye. I’m not a crier. Though we Italians embrace our emotions and turn it into something beautiful, I think this tear is a sense of relief. If I didn’t feel anything. I wouldn’t be whimpering in front of an open window.

A gentle beat from the door echoed through my room as I didn’t even move. If Peter was sending his soldiers to kill me I get the feeling there would be no knock. Please let it be Grigor. I need to feel his touch and tell him the truth. Not all of it but at least enough that I don’t spoil my plans for Catherine.

I closed the window to hurry over to the fire and toss a log in. If it’s Grigor then he probably would prefer something a little warmer. Please him please. Grabbing my robe to put it on as I opened the door. My eyes expanded from the confusion of who was standing before me in my bed robes.

“Elizabeth?” Well if she was coming to kill me I imagine my room has some sort of secret entrance and would’ve done it in my sleep.

“I hope I didn't disturb you. I think we need to have a little chat.”

“We do?” Dear God if Peter opened his mouth about what he started and what I finished I’m going to go kill him myself!

“Yes. May I come in?” Taking a step back for the door to open. She was in her bed clothes as she noticed the mess I had made in my room.

“The work of Peter no less?” I kept my mouth shut for once waiting for her to say something more. She’s going to defend Peter as much as she can. Probably for his own father who I imagine she secretly loved. From my understanding Peter the Great was also quite promiscuous just like his mother. A family of harlots.

“I heard from Peter what happened here early today. I highly doubt that you called him a bastard since he can be quite over dramatic.” So she’s aware that he’s a sniffling bastard whose inability to rule is quite prominent.

“Not talking much tonight are you? Usually you have a comment to say if I were in here talking about Peter.”

“For once Elizabeth. I could truly give a shit about Peter and his antics. I’m not here to please him and make him happy. I’m here for Catherine and making her more comfortable with her new station.” Try not to think that we might kill her own Nephew in a good amount of time. If not by Catherine then by the military.

“You’re not angry that he was in here and wanted to kill you?” She sat down in front of the fire in the love seat for me to stand before here.

“Your nephew. My cousin by marriage is a harmless little bug in my life Elizabeth. His actions were not even worth a single drop of sweat from my brow.”

“Did the stabbing of a major General not scare you? As an outsider I thought it would have scared you horribly.”

“Not scared. More gasping which then leads to utter annoyance. I am more than capable of handling Peter when he’s in a state of anger trying to kill me. What do you even want because I would like some sort of rest.”

“Be more gentle when it comes..

“Just because his mother was a horrid woman does not excuse his actions Elizabeth! That’s saying Zeus should be considered a kind man even though he raped Leda because of his own mental state. Peter thinks of him as Zeus when in reality he is worse than Hades himself! Life is horrid Elizabeth and constantly blaming his issues on his mother is disgusting and you standing here trying to defend him holds you accountable for his actions.”

“What an interesting comparison. You are a very bright woman and that wicked tongue is able to strike anyone down.”

“I can strike down anyone with tongue and steel.” Taking in a sharp breath to walk over to a full bottle of sweet red wine.

“Would you like a glass?” Asking for her to nod. Popping off the court to grab two glasses then bringing two glasses over for us. Sitting down across from here to begin pouring her a glass. She motioned for me to stop for me to pour myself some as well.

“I apologise dear Aunt Elizabeth. I sometimes forget to catch my tongue before it falls out of my head.” We both took a long drink to the point when we were done I had to pour a little more between us.

“It’s quite alright. I’m just grateful you didn’t kill my beloved Nephew before it was too late.” Before I could answer the doors bursted open.

“Excuse me mam?” Turning to see a serf was standing by the door of my world. Did something happen to Fernanda?

“Zasha? What is it?” Elizabeth stood up from my chair to approach her.

“It’s the Emperor. He’s fallen gravely ill.” Well. That is going to solve our problems much faster than I thought it was going to happen. She wrapped herself around her robe as we began walking out of my bedroom.

“Why are you coming? I thought you despised him” She asked for me to nod but was still walking.

“We’re family by marriage. He is now my cousin whether I like it or not.” Turning the corner to see that Orlo, George...and Grigor were waiting outside the room. Splendid. I imagine his wife was ready to lay in bed yet stumbled into that mess.

“From what I’ve seen and heard it sounds bad. A lot of vomit and blood.” Orlo told us to stand next to Orlo. One of the priests that was in the room came out with the black mask on his face to then take it off before us.

“You may not enter the room. For it might be contagious till the doctor tells you differently. For he’s running a high fever, a lot of vomiting, and has been seeing strange visions. The Archbishop is there with him now. He’ll tell you more once he comes out.” Is...Is that vomit on his mask? Or...dear god. He walked past us heading down the hall towards the apartments.

“How is he?” Catherine came in with a very well detailed look of uneasiness.

“Very ill.” Elizabeth told Catherine for my eyes to drift over to Grigor. He was holding onto George but staring directly at me. Stupid man. Stupid man!

“Can we go in?” Catherine asked Orlo but I’m assuming not.

“Well everyones being kept out here.”

“In fear of contagion.” Finally looking at Grigor again for us to lock eyes for a brief instant till I turned to Catherine.

“He’s been vomiting continuously throughout the night, and he runs a high fever, and he has fits of wild delirium.”

“The Doctor and Archbishop are with him.” I told her to place my hands on her shoulder to give some comfort to this poor wife and my cousin. The door opened for a child to come out with a bowl filled with blood and vomit. Not to mention his entire body was covered head to toe in Peters upchuck...and from the smell..the back door was also used as well.

“Excuse me.” Oh the smell! Covering my nose for Grigor and I to look at one another again. He doesn’t look concerned. Is that a smile?

We all leaned into the doorway to see what was happening in there since we could only hear the sound of Peter vomiting and coughing more and more. I did the sign of the cross to hold onto my cross necklace. I don’t pray for Peter. But I pray for the Doctor inside the room that he stays safe from whatever disease has fallen upon Peter. Peter could go to hell for all I care, but I have to keep up appearances.

The Archbishop popped in the doorway for us to straighten our backs. He came out of his bedroom to close the door behind him. Grigor inched a little closer to me to the point I could sense the warmth radiating off him.

“How is he?” Grigor asked for the Archbishop to stare directly at us.

“Extremely ill. The fear is that it may be Cholera.”

“Cholera?” That’s a rough sickness. Even I wouldn’t wish that sort of death on my enemy.

“Which I suspect he will have caught from a possessed, nocturnal animal. Probably a badger.” If I ever get sick in this country I would rather just endure the ride home and die in a carriage. These doctors are not touching me with a ten foot pole!

“Where would he have come across a possessed badger?” Catherine asked thankfully. That sounds absolutely unrealistic and not how you even got Cholera. Not that I don’t know how you get Cholera but I imagine it’s not from a possessed badger.

“If it is Cholera, he will die, will he not?” Holding her a little tighter as a cue to sound a lot more concerned. You have to make it believable that you’re distraught that he might die!

“It’s a strong possibility that we must face.” Looking at Orlo who kept the same straight face he usually has.

“Oh my little man.” THE POOR BABY! I WILL WEEP WITH A BOTTLE OF WINE AND GLORIOUS MUSIC!

“The Doctor is working hard on cures. It may be something else.”

“Has he said anything? Is he talking?” Why would he be concerned if he’s talking? Grigor might as well give a shit if he truly dies or not.

“He speaks intermittently. Much of it is deranged. Said he was a wolf, and wanted to eat Swedish children for breakfast. And there was some talk of what he’d like to do to Chiara and with various ladies of the court. I’ll spare you the details.” My body ran cold for Catherine to turn and face me. The blood in my body felt as if it dried up as I wanted to vomit. Looking at Grigor as I felt so disgusted with myself.

“Before more bouts of diarrhea and vomiting.” The Archbishop went back in for Grigor to take in a deep breath.

“I will go in to see him.” Say what?

“Do not risk your life.” Elizabeth told him as he stopped in the doorway.

“I want to be there for my friend.” Bullshit! He could give an absolute shit about Peter at this point!

“I had no idea your husband was so brave, Georgina.”

“Oh yes famously so.”

“In more ways than one.” Adding into the conversation for George to turn and face me.

“Just being honest.” An angry snake she is when I add my own little comments. Settle down hypocrites.

Orlo, Catherine, and I huddled into our own group to see the expression of Catherines face change from the fake grieving widow to an excited future ruler. Must admit this is a little exciting for me as well.

“If this is Cholera, he could be dead within the day.” Orlo told us as Catherine was beginning to smile slightly but trying to control herself.

“Right. That means..”

“Yes. Yes it will be yours. You will rule Russia.” By God it’s going to actually happen.

“After all our planning..it just..”

“Falls right into your lap.” Orlo finished as the doors opened back up. The ArchBishop came out of the room to take off his mask. Remember when I said that this planning became stale? I stand corrected and I was completely wrong. This just made everything better.

“In light of this terrible situation, a meeting is being called to deal with the possible transition of power.”

“To me.” Easy Catherine. That’s a little too exciting for someone who's losing their husband.

“Indeed. It seems so. You are the next...should the worst happen.” Seems like the worst is about to happen right before them. If it’s going this quickly then I might be going home soon! Finally an end to this horrid nightmare and cesspool!

“Prepare with prayer, and the senate will be called.”

“I look forward to it.” Damn it Catherine!

“Not him dying. That is bad. And sad. And we hope for the best and a speedy recovery.” If I could slap my own face I would without making this seem like we’re excited that Peter is dying.

“God will be with us. He always is.” The Archbishop left the hall for Catherine and Orlo to talk amongst themselves. I need to talk to Grigor. I can’t stand being apart from him at nights for it is his warmth I believe that is keeping me sane. I don’t think I can tell him that I think I’m starting to love him but atleast telling him I need him is a good start.

*Grigors P.O.V.*

DIE! DIE YOU HORRIBLE HUMAN! YOU THINK YOU CAN SLEEP WITH MY OWN LOVE BECAUSE YOU’RE THE EMPEROR! DIE DIE DIE! I WILL KILL YOU AND WILL LIVE PEACEFULLY IN MY OWN LIFE!

Removing the pillow to see that he was still breathing! Bastard! Slamming the pillow back onto him to push down even further in hopes that I might finish the job! Just die! How hard is it to kill someone who's already dying! Talking about Chiara as if she’s just a common peasant!

“What are you doing!?” George yelled as I continued to push down harder and harder.

“What is right and you know it George! I have to do something!”

“Fuck!” George pulled me back as we stopped to see Peter was still breathing. Dragging me from his bed towards the middle of his room.

“I was given the choice to be a man or a child! I’ve decided to become a man for the sake of my sanity!”

“You poisoned him?”

“Arsenic. From the wall in his borscht!” Feeling the cold slap from George as she was in full rage of my actions.

“What happens to us when he’s dead? Think what Peter provides for us!”

“You...you..”

“You’re a stupid fool Grigor!” She took a deep breath to calm herself down.

“Our situation is complex. Yet also simple! We have a safe life with Peter! Luxury, security, a place in court. Who’s he gonna be replaced by? Catherine!? We’re nothing to her! What happens to us then? Not to mention Chiara is making it much more difficult to handle this situation. No thanks to you!”

“So you may have a lover but I may not!” I love Chiara and this marriage is non-existent!

“Grigor?” Peter called for me as I turned to see him barely awake and moving. Say something George! You hypocritical bitch say something!

“We’re here.” George, like a mother goose, flew to Peter's aid. Well. It’s very clear now on where my life stands now. George has made her bed and it is time for me to make my own with a Duchess who isn’t afraid to get the job done when it needs to be done.

Letting go of the pillow to march out of the room and slamming the doors shut. Taking in a few deep breaths to calm myself before scampering off to Chiara. Chiara? Where is she? Perhaps in her chambers!

It was like seeing a light at the end of the tunnel heading to her apartment! The outline of the room was glowing before my eyes. Chiara..my love. The only woman in this world that can make my knees buckle to bow at her feet. That fire is intoxicating to the point that I might die of happiness.

Slamming the door open to see Chiara was in front of the flames looking directly into them. Her head slowly turned to face me with a somber look. A bottle of wine sitting next to her looked thoroughly used. Oh my precious flame. Closing the door to sit down next to her as she went back into looking into the fire.

“I placed my blade against his neck threatening to take his life away. Why didn’t I slice it open? Tell me why I didn’t Grigor?” She asked for me to place my hand on her cheek.

“What happened before I came in?”

“He was mad that I helped Velementov at the front for strategy. He drew a sword on me and I fought back. I won and threatened him that if he were to ever draw his sword on me that I would win. I...I should’ve sliced his throat open and strung him up as if he was game to place on my wall.” I feel like I should tell her that I’m the one that poisoned him. That he is dying in his own bed because the world would be better without him! She was literally going to kill him before I even came into the room!

“Chiara. I’m the one who caused him to become ill. I poisoned him in the borscht while he was eating dinner.” Her expression was the same as before till it clicked in her mind. Her entire face went from a beautiful red to a ghostly white in a matter of seconds.

“Holy shit..” She whispered to turn her attention to the fire. Is she going to tell Catherine? Not that Catherine might care much but what if she does? Would she tell the court? No...no what have I done!

“I would ask why but that..oh my god.” Turning her head to face me as I gulped.

“If it helps, I did it for you. For us..for everyone in the court that his idiocy will go away.” Her lips were slightly open with her breathing beginning to rise.

That lovely color began returning to her cheek as she climbed on top of me and wrapped herself around me. Those entrancing lips striked against mine as my hands traveled up her back to pull her shirt. She stopped to place her index finger on my lips.

“For you committing such a horrendous act. Allow me.” Removing her finger to place a kiss on my lips, to my cheek, then right underneath my jaw line. I could see the stars from how well she was working those luscious lips. Her hand gripped my cock to start playing it through my pants. God her touch. It’s almost too delicious to even allow. My eyes rolled back for me to lay down on the rug for her kisses to start moving down my body.

I love her...I hope that she knows that I would kill an army for her without regret...

~~~

@mirkwoodshewolf @bonafiderocketqueen @johndeaconshands

@jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels @amethyst-serenade @radio-ha-ha@i-have-a-wonky-eye-too @deck-heart @actuallyanita @the-baby-bookworm @ewanmcgregors​ @panagiasikelia​

[ourladyofomega]

A heads up:

I been noticing a change in trajectory in the past three months. This started when I elected to see a counselor. For months I searched for one and I was going nowhere. By that, I mean other counselors who returned your calls only to leave me high and dry with no callback. One counselor I did see for four weeks rehashed our conversations and asked the same questions over and over with no results, only to show disinterest in me and ultimately abandoned me when I called her out on it. A great help when people are suffering in the era of COVID- and political toxicity. I did find one who stuck with me and she’s pushed me to get stuff done. She understands about the personal turmoil I’ve been going through. And by learning to trust the environment around me and understand what she’s saying, I’ve learned with my own eyes to accept what’s on the surface.

That’s not all. Since my dad passed away, I revamped my diet to the best I could. He’s no longer here to pump me with free burgers, Chinese, sushi, fried chicken, and steak. So why not spend the money on more white meat, fruits, vegetables, and juices? This year I also elected to see a dietitian. Take dairy-free. Take gluten-free. Take hummus. Take almond milk. She has done more for me in two visits than any doctor had done for me in ten years. When you eat like shit, you’ll be it and feel like it. No more.

I’ve also been on a tear at work. Every month it seems that some of our top performers leave the company, so there goes my competition. Now I’ve been obliterating my daily and monthly goals with nothing or no one stopping me. Thanks to sales restructuring, I’m not only selling computers but everything else under the one roof. Four-piece kitchen sets, stackable washer-and-dryer combos-, $4,000 home theater tickets, and I just sold my very first 8K TV to a gamer who wanted to use his graphics card to the fullest potential. Who am I to argue? I’m projected to win the store in revenue, credit card applications, tech support memberships, hours worked, and transactions made if this keeps up. There’s even a very small chance I could cross the $2,000,000 finish line. Holy Godiva on a winged pegasus riding down a crowded Times Square if I do.

I have double or even triple the energy than that of the average person. No caffeine, no hard drugs, no magical force-fields or pixie bestowments. I been feeling unbeatable. My drive to get stuff done is insatiable. Believe it or not, I was fed up dealing with the surprise artists / apologists who sneak up behind me and cut into my sales (they’re not sorry for interrupting you), the adult-children who wave their arms and yell at me from the other end of the store to get my attention (those little ones are ignored anyway), or the Italian Joeys who act like they’ve known me forever (most I never met in my life) who put their arms around me and act buddy-buddy with me to get a discount. No dice. Now I see them coming and quash it  before they irritate me. They’re still a nuisance who need to be swatted away like wasps but no one day or town can do 100%. With the anti-anxiety scripts kicking in, I don’t feel as edgy as I used to.

With this streak I’m having, learning to stay in touch with myself, and still coming off of seeing Uniform in New York City, I ask myself if I ever want to go back to feeling like garbage? Of course not. I had it with waiting for some random to upend my day, to feel constant panic or walking around being ill. I can’t even imagine feeling like that again now that I’ve become more self-aware. There’s still a ways to go, however. I still plan on leaving retail and either do back-end tech support, web-building, or even more graphic design. Working at home would be ideal. With sound editing out of the way, I’ll be able to digitally archive more tapes and finally tackle that backlog of albums I’ve been meaning to listen to.

Off to the gym I go.

[pomrania]

TMA Entities as Normal Horoscopes

(To clarify, the Entities from The Magnus Archives, as represented by horoscopes from @normal-horoscopes. Entities presented in alphabetical order, horoscopes in the order that I found them.)

BEHOLDING

Libra: Your eye for detail is one of your most defining traits! Most people only have two general purpose eyes.

Gemini: Unleash your curiosity upon an unforgiving world and dissect everything you are afraid of with an olive fork until you understand it so well it can’t scare you anymore.

Pisces: You are the last one still awake. What are you still doing up? This late at night, with only one pair of eyes. You might see something you weren’t supposed to.

Gemini: You’ll have to throw out or donate most of your novelty t-shirts when you awake to find several bonus eyes hovering around you in elliptical orbits.

Sagittarius: Careful not to blunt those sharp eyes on an unforgiving task. Passion for learning is all well and good, but you’re venturing into uncharted territory that may contain things that want your eyes.

Gemini: Most of us have spare eyes. You have far too many.

Taurus: I can’t shake the feeling I’m being watched. Wait, watched isn’t the right word. Watched and something else.

Cancer: Quit your peeping. Something is looking back at you.

BURIED

Virgo: The weight of the world will crush you into a diamond.

Virgo: Your horoscope today is just dust. That’s it. Buncha dust.

Libra: Pressure can be an excellent motivator in the right amount. Also, they meant social pressure, doing paperwork in a deep-sea diving bell will not improve the quality of your work.

Gemini: From dust to dust. You came from the earth and she wants you back.

Taurus: Cave buddies.

Capricorn: Spend some time huffing large amounts of dust to make your insides dustier.

Scorpio: As you lay on your back, head tilted to an uncaring sky, the very earth whispered to you. She reached up her hands and fingers and you gave her everything you could. Sleep now. Mother is here.

Taurus: It goes far deeper than you imagine. Talk about it.

Cancer: You’ve come across something you should not have interrupted. Run. Run now. Go, or the very earth will swallow you whole.

Scorpio: Your natural drive and ambition will lead you to some interesting places! Who knew a person could even fit in that small a hole?

CORRUPTION

Aries: Live in the level of filth that is comfortable to you. Just make sure you are practicing self-love.

Pisces: You will see a cool picture of a plague doctor this week. Hell yeah.

Pisces: Growth is simply growth. Gardens and cancers alike.

Ophiuchus: When she awoke to see the infection had taken her shoulder she did the only sensible thing. She cut off her own head. She holds it by the hair in her left hand.

Ophiuchus: Worms in your brain. Worms in your brain. There are very helpful worms in your brain.

Gemini: The discomfort you can’t seem to shake is likely due to the large nest of bees that have made its home inside your ribs.

Ophiuchus: The value of today’s fortune depends heavily on your opinion of rot.

Virgo: The position of Mars says the virus is spreading and soon you will be reborn ascendant to join in the virulent bacchanalia.

Leo: We can only hate what we see in ourselves. Consider that you may be full of mosquitoes.

Aquarius: A lavish and ostentatious estate. Empty and bare because the previous occupants couldn’t stomach a little plague. Wimps.

Aries: When she touched you she laid several eggs in your skin. Free babes! Nice.

Ophiuchus: Having trouble in an academic setting? Try lying down in a field and letting insects use their tiny voices to whisper the secrets of the world to you.

DARK

Scorpio: A ray of night from the clouds will darken the banks of the river. Look only. Touch nothing.

Capricorn: The massive black roadrunner that followed your car through Utah. You didn’t say a word the whole night.

Leo: When you see the black, many eyed owls, immediately turn around and snuff out any lights. Your light up sneakers will have to go. Sacrifices must be made.

Aries: Take their hand. They will guide you into the night. Finding your own way out will be its own task. Feel as your heart starts to quicken.

Pisces: There is so much the world has to offer. So much beyond this fervor. Steady your hands and rest in the gentle dark.

Leo: The Diminutive Beings of Shadow and Dread are raccoons. They are raccoons. Close your trash cans.

Aries: You visibly absorb light from the area around you, consider medication.

Leo: Something moves soundlessly through your neighborhood, avoiding the streetlights. Check on your pets.

Pisces: The night is a blanket over all of us. There is fear and comfort in the privacy of the dark.

DESOLATION

Scorpio: As much as the stars and I admire your zeal, human hair candles will not catch on.

Taurus: Ensure your friends sit next to you by burning all other chairs and eating the ashes to hide your trickery.

Virgo: Fire is a powerful cleansing force, but that doesn’t make arson legal. The one thing fire cannot purify is the law.

Gemini: It absolutely could hurt to try. Pain is just pain.

Aries: Today your horoscope involves fire and children. The stars wouldn’t clarify anything past that.

Ophiuchus: A chapel made from old shipping containers. The priest is setting herself on fire for the third time in the sermon.

Cancer: It will not actually solve anything, but you can put your problems into perspective by setting everything on fire.

Capricorn: You’ll look back on all of it and wish it to be burned. Start the fire as soon as possible.

Libra: Watch the fire dance between your fingers. You only have so long.

END

Aries: Look buddy, only one of us can leave this pumpkin festival alive, and I’m already dead.

Gemini: What’s the rush? Nothing has happened but you can feel your heartbeat in your ears, you can feel your eyes dilate. Literally nothing has changed but your body seems convinced that you are going to die any second.

Scorpio: No sense in arguing over the supposed opinions of a dead man. Dig him up and ask him why don’t you? It’s a once in a lifetime chance.

Sagittarius: Today you will be legally dead for about 140 seconds but you’ll come back with a complementary mint.

Leo: After selling your soul to the devil, the sheer negative value of your soul will crash the soul market, causing the dead to walk again.

Ophiuchus: The only permanent state of being is death and even that’s debatable.

Pisces: A good strategy here is to simply refuse to die.

Aquarius: Fuck it. Carry a scythe around. Who even gives a shit.

Capricorn: Statistically, there is a chance that something you do today, however small, will lead to the death of an innocent.

Ophiuchus: Death is only the beginning. The beginning of not being alive anymore.

Aries: Your obsession with death will be satisfied. Eventually.

FLESH

Ophiuchus: Have yourself a feast and invent a new catholic saint to justify it.

Taurus: The stars say to get of your high horse and quit genetically engineering horses to have such legs. Horses are poorly designed as they are. It’s irresponsible.

Aries: Your newfound ability to scale a brick wall in seconds flat is kinda scary. Your bones make weird noises and everything. Try not to do it around kids.

Virgo: Do you know what flavor you are Virgo? Well get ready to find out!

Capricorn: You know Capricorn, you’re really one or two big steps away from being a sausage.

Leo: There will be a distinct element of aggression to your emotions today, specifically towards chefs that are a member of the ancient secret society of cannibals who just murdered your science teacher.

Taurus: Money troubles Taurus? Try growing new bones and selling them to bone farmers for extra cash. If you get good enough at it, you can use wholesalers.

Sagittarius: Fear not, there is pulled pork aplenty for those with the courage to seek it.

Virgo: There is a mad little part of our heads that looks at a meat cleaver and says “just chop your hand off”. Don’t listen to that bit. It's a prick and it owes me $120.

Pisces: Your body is not a temple, it is a river. A river made of meat and blood and stuff.

HUNT

Aquarius: Speak softly, carry a big stick, hide a gun inside the stick just in case the bastard is outside of stick range.

Pisces: If you are being chased by something unearthly, go for the selfie. Life is short, especially when you are being chased by something unearthly.

Aries: Nothing evil stalks the forest. The wild is bigger than you could ever imagine. You are nothing to it. No skinwalker or boogeyman or revenant could ever aspire to the persistence and hunger of the wild untamed.

Leo: Allow fear to inform you. To accept fear as sovereign is sin against the self. Fear is very correct about the large hungry mammal chasing you. Run.

Aquarius: Those assassins from the meat of the month club have finally found your new address and are planting the explosives as you read this.

Scorpio: Dreams of chasing smaller weaker things through the woods. Waking aching to remember. You will remember soon.

Sagittarius: The hunt is on! No starbucks will escape your horn-blessed gaze.

Scorpio: You will get into a fight. Go on a quest for revenge. And know the true visceral feeling of the hunt.

Virgo: The blissful are being sold a lie. The only true bliss is the glory of the hunt and a slaked bloodlust.

Pisces: Nothing gets the panties wet like the sound of hundreds of spectral mounts crashing through moonlit woods while the call of the hunt echoes among the trees, striking fear into the hearts of your ghastly quarry.

LONELY

Ophiuchus: You can’t stop feeling just one thing. Stuffing down one emotion means stuffing down them all.

Aquarius: You may be stunned to find that the introduction of a new person into your life will make you less lonely.

Taurus: Spend some time outdoors today. Reflect on the state of the world. See yourself reflected in the world and try to fight the other person who is interrupting your reflection time.

Aquarius: Do you remember the seaside? That strip of sand that made you feel at home? Do you remember how quiet it was?

Virgo: Remember Virgo, you can click the control stick to go into stealth mode. Use this to avoid your problems easier.

Aries: You are beyond the pale, transparent really.

Taurus: It's not fog. It's a curse. A curse that looks like fog. Stay away.

Cancer: The stars and I regret to tell you that you will, actually, have to talk to people at some point.

SLAUGHTER

Capricorn: Some things cannot be prepared for. Who even uses flintlock pistols anymore? Especially in the parking lot of a grocery store?

Pisces: There is a number of knives that it is appropriate to own. It is quite high. Let’s say you need to curate your collection.

Pisces: Romantic bloodsport for two.

Leo: Nobody really cares that you’re not one for fighting. Preparation is its own reward.

Leo: Having trouble with your customers at work? Strike the head for critical damage!

Aries: When things seem confusing, just start swinging at whoever you see. At the very least, you’ll get some breathing room.

Capricorn: It may be that you fight for good, and your opponent fights for a love of bloodshed, all that matters is that you are fighting.

Virgo: Ruthless efficiency produces results but blind rage is more fun.

SPIRAL

Libra: Drawings of wildflowers that don’t exist. Diagrams and advice in a language that nobody speaks. Strewn about your room in impossible places.

Capricorn: Reject the concept of direction. There is no up, there is no down. Orientation is for losers.

Sagittarius: You are correct Sagittarius! That small wooden carving of a fox wasn’t there last night! Yes, it is cursed! Right on the money there.

Capricorn: There is no old woman following you around throwing small potted plants at you.

Scorpio: Relieve stress by planning a trip that isn’t a trip to a place that isn’t a place. Relieve stress by conceiving of time collapsed into a single semipermeable plane of events that anchors all the things that could be.

Leo: When the world stops making sense, play with the perspective. Go Escher on your problem’s ass.

Taurus: Two strangers meet in a Mediterranean country that does not exist. They discuss silver and poison and the nature of madness.

STRANGER

Aquarius: You are never done growing. It takes real effort, and for you, it will take many hours of prowling around the backs of hardware stores for stray screws to eat.

Libra: There is something in the wires practicing its voices by leaving spam calls in your inbox.

Sagittarius: Whoops! Something stole your friend’s face again! Get that ritual dagger and get to work.

Capricorn: Well lookee what we go here, a full shipment of mannequins that look exactly like you except with minor errors in body part proportions. Whoda thunk?

Sagittarius: Enough improvements and you’ll barely recognize yourself. Harvest the parts and avoid the authorities.

Cancer: If you’re gonna copy other people, don’t half-ass it. Ritual cannibalism is the only way to go.

Ophiuchus: The creepy carnival set up outside of town that only certain people can see is not to be trusted, not matter how cool the rollercoaster looks.

Cancer: She’s a fake bitch. Literally, she has a heart of clockwork and armored skin made of porcelain. Even unholy things like her shouldn’t gossip though.

Taurus: Beware the almost. The almost real, the almost breathing, the almost human.

Virgo: Keep a close eye on the puppets. One of them has no strings. 

VAST

Aries: The stars say you may find yourself falling from a great height. Remember to tuck and roll.

Virgo: Do not look down. There is nothing beneath you. Carry on with your day as if the world is sensible and solid beneath you, and it will follow suit.

Aries: The storm sirens wail, the sound of colossal footsteps thunder closer. A low mournful sound that seems to crack the sky.

Pisces: Today you might fall into a bottomless pit. This is not a metaphor.

Aries: Ever feel under the weather? You are lightning.

Aquarius: You can also see the stars if you’re not in a gutter.

Leo: A man on the roof of his home during a tornado warning, laughing.

Aries: The world seems to be getting smaller and smaller. One day you will be confronted with the magnitude of it all. The vast unexplored deep. The wild unknown, and all those that would build a home in its bosom.

Aries: The space between two mountains in the distance. The sky looks different. You can hear the beating of colossal wings.

Aquarius: Your desire for human contact can be satisfied by being struck by lightning for some reason.

WEB

Capricorn: Today you will finally locate and kill the college student with a writing credit on your life.

Capricorn: The stars say to make friends with the harvestmen in your bathroom. They are helping clean up all the lil bug corpses and would appreciate some recognition.

Aquarius: It’s time to make a nest. Don’t ask questions. No thought, only nest.

Gemini: You’ve got a productive day in store Gemini. Will it be on something you actually want to do? Let’s say there is some minor will enslavement involved.

Aquarius: You’ve done an excellent job so far of making friends with the spider people that live in the abandoned subway tunnels. Keep it up!

Gemini: People are depending on you to uphold your promises. The last thing you want to be known as is a trickster. Or is it? That’s exactly the sort of thing a trickster would do!

Leo: You are a puppet, you know exactly who is pulling the strings.

Libra: A tiny spider who has made a friend.

Ophiuchus: The spider lady would like her copy of Where the Sidewalk Ends back.

Aries: See how the cobwebs catch the light? Be sure to thank the spiders.

And some others that didn't necessarily fit with a particular Entity, but gave off such strong TMA vibes that I had to include them anyways:

Gemini: This week you will be faced with your greatest challenge yet, a twink with massive burn scars.

Libra: Preserve yourself for all eternity by outsourcing your aging to other people.

Pisces: One man’s panic inducing siren-song is what another man uses to fall asleep.

Virgo: Confused? Do not worry. Everything not saved will be lost.

Taurus: This week should be one of experimentation! Push the boundaries of what it means to be mortal!

Capricorn: Answer the Door.

Scorpio: Tomorrow will be the last time you dream of the crown of teeth.

Cancer: The thing that watches over the prison transport ships. It used to be two things but now they share a spine.

Aries: Trust your instincts Aries, your dead wife does have a new form made of dried paint and she is slowly hunting you.

Taurus: They died when the radio tower was bombed. Sometimes you can hear them sending messages before the sun rises, whispering over the unused channels.

Virgo: Your capacity for learning will come in handy today when you smash your head through an old Apple II and download the entire internet into your brain, along with several shards of glass.

Libra: Look, nobody said it would be easy, but at least now you’re suffering for something you love.

Pisces: There is a hole in the world where you cannot see, and through this hole there seeps the things that can never be.

Scorpio: Sometimes being too oblivious to even notice a problem can be an asset. Can’t sweat the small stuff if you don’t even notice it.

Libra: Financial problems? Try encasing your credit cards in a block of ice. Encase all money in a block of ice. Keep all wealth frozen in a block of ice.

Ophiuchus: Maybe your prayers would be answered if your god wasn’t such a pussy.

Gemini: Limited options make choices easier! There are only so many places you can get a human heart!

Taurus: Remember, now matter how many false eyes something might have, at least one of them has to be real. It boils down to a question of bullets over time.

Libra: When others can’t decide, you will be there to make the tough choices with your brave disregard for things like “Rational Thought” and “Basic Self-preservation”.

Virgo: Ribs are important. Make sure you have a good grasp on the importance of ribs.

Pisces: Your constant near death experiences may be putting you under some stress. Time for some light reading, or maybe some breathing exercises. Honestly the stars say you’re handling constantly being faced with your own mortality pretty well.

Aries: After hearing that cursed song today, you’ll only destroy 80% of the objects around you. Recovery is a slow process.

Cancer: There is an aggression to you today. There is an aggression to you all the time. There is an aggression to all things, it is simply your turn on the wheel.

Leo: The hunger you feel is not for food.

Capricorn: Woo her. She is terrifying isn’t she?

Gemini: You are hunting the guy down seven years later and bashing his knees in with a pipe.

Capricorn: What happens when you open a door marked “exit” and all you find is another hallway?

Ophiuchus: Nothing makes a friendship like shared intense suffering.

Taurus: Analog recording devices are surprisingly sensitive. Listen to your old tapes again and hear the tiny voices that whisper along with the song.

Taurus: Clawing your way back out has dulled your talons and blunted your fangs, you are a soft and gentle creature for it. You can buy a knife at most stores.

Sagittarius: When you needed patience, you thought of those who loved you. When you needed fury, you thought of those who hurt you. When you needed strength, you thought of yourself. When you needed just one more chance to get it right, you thought of that cat.

Libra: Keep a journal and write down everything you see, it may save the life of whoever finds it.

Libra: Did you feel it? Just now, the world ended. There's no going back. Saddle up and find a mask.

Leo: The night is long, the tea is hot, the eyes are plenty.

Ophiuchus: Your eyes can’t lie to you if you don't have any eyes.

Aries: Now is the time to try new things! Experience new forms of pain! Suffer in new and interesting ways!

Cancer: Someone is missing from that big social meeting you’ve got planned! Luckily they were just preoccupied with being suspended in limbo between life and death.

Libra: If someone says they have power over you, don't believe them until you see for yourself. Test those limits.

Aquarius: The danger you pose to others is dwarfed by your ability and desire to help. Nothing is without its dangers. You know this more than anyone.

Taurus: Turn some of your energy towards improving the space around you, especially if the space around you is bad and the energy is heat. Burn your house down.

Virgo: The stars say an authority member might be causing you some minor trouble. The important thing to remember during professional squabbles is to use your psychic powers to rip them apart with the strength of your will alone.

Taurus: It's a tough thing, allowing yourself to be known. The stars say the time may be coming up, are you ready? Too bad fucko, it's happening anyway.

Ophiuchus: Hiding under the covers actually works with some things. It is technically a threshold and so some things do actually have to be invited.

Cancer: Watch for a box that carries no address. Do not open it. It will be gone tomorrow.

Ophiuchus: Your choices are yours alone. This is important to remember, especially when not making choices.

Scorpio: Goddamit Goddamit shut the fuck up and tell a story.

Sagittarius: That could be you in a few years. Keep your feet about you.

Gemini: There is a deep and old power in that of the image. As long as cameras existed they have been a tool to tell what is really there.

[zukos-tsungi-horn]

Rating: G

Summary:  Zuko doesn't want to look like Ozai. After he botches his own haircut, Katara has a unique solution.  Soft Zutara hurt/comfort/fluff oneshot, set 4 years post-canon

Word Count: 3499

XXX

His fingers tremble against the hilt of his dagger.  His other hand is braced against the sink, where long black strands stand out starkly against the white marble.  He should turn the faucet, wash them down the drain, like he wishes he could wash away this impulsive, rash, stupid decision.

At least Uncle is away, visiting the Southern Water Tribe on the Fire Nation’s behalf.  If he were here, he would know exactly why Zuko had taken the knife to his long hair.  Of course, it won’t grow back fast enough to hide.  Agni, it won’t grow back fast enough for him to wear his crown.  How is he supposed to attend the council meeting tomorrow?  What will his advisors think when they see his hair chopped short and uneven?

He knows what they’ll think.  He looks like—he looks like Azula, in those moments before their last Agni Kai.

He looks mad.

A mirthless laugh escapes his lips as he looks up to meet his reflection.

“Better mad than…”

He watches his face break, and looks away from his own weakness.

Better mad than a copy of my father.

His reflection is his own.  The resemblance to Ozai can never quite be erased—it’s chiseled into his nose, his chin, the flecks of brown in his gold eyes.  But with his hair cropped above his shoulders again, it’s less overwhelming.

He peels his fingers from the sink to brush his scar.  That should have been enough of a mark to separate himself from his father.  

But when Azula’s wide eyes looked at him...

“This was stupid.  I’m not… I’m not Ozai,” he whispers.  

He knows this.  He’s been running the Fire Nation for four years now.  His people respect him.  The world respects him.

But he can’t forget the look in his sister’s eyes yesterday, when she took her first steps outside the rehabilitation center.  When she saw him in his full Fire Lord regalia for the first time, his crown secured tightly in his topknot.

When she broke for just a moment, and thought he was her father.

Water drips from his eyes into the sink, trailing down to wet the clumps of cut hair clogging the drain.  He’s being stupid.  For all he knows, Azula said that just to get under his skin.  She’s said worse things when he’s visited her in the center.  But he really thought she was ready.  The doctors said she wasn’t seeing things anymore…

But even if her moment of weakness was a hallucination, the reflected glimpses Zuko caught from his right eye weren’t.  At least, he’s fairly sure.

He’ll know if he keeps seeing them now, he supposes.

He’s still trying to gather the strength to clean the sink—and the floor; he had more hair than he’d realized—when a knock at the bedroom door startles him.  An undignified, strangled sound escapes his throat.

“Go away!”  He shouts at whoever it is.  He’d specifically asked his attendants not to disturb him when he turned in early for the night.  An early rest was supposed to calm his irrational thoughts.  

Instead, he’d caught his reflection in the bathroom mirror, and the dagger had been in his hand faster than he could think.

And now he’s here, hunched over the sink, shame and weakness etched into the sharp curve of his shoulders.  Some of his cut hair clings to the fabric of his nightrobe, settles in his hood.  No one should see the Fire Lord like this.

“Hey, I didn’t come all the way from the South Pole just to get yelled at,” an unmistakable voice filters through the thick wooden door.  His eyes widen, snapping up to meet his reflection.  

Maybe he really is going crazy.  There’s no way.

More to confirm his sanity than anything else, he rushes out of the bathroom, crosses the bedroom in a few long strides.  Flings open the door before he can talk himself out of it, before he can imagine what she’ll think if she really is there.

And there she is.  Katara, standing taller than he remembers in a newer incarnation of her old blue tunic. Her long hair is braided down her back, and her lips are pursed in a narrow frown that softens at the sight of him.

“Zuko?”  She speaks first, because he’s still too busy staring.  Two years of letters are nothing compared to actually seeing her face.  She’s always been beautiful, but now—

He winces.  Now he remembers exactly how pathetic he looks.

“Are you… are you alright?”  Her brows curve upwards in concern.

He’s not sure any amount of lying will convince her.  If she can read his worries between this lines in his letters, she’s sure to see it in his disheveled appearance.

“What are you doing here?”  He gasps out.

“Surprising my best friend, I thought,” she retorts before shaking her head.  “Sorry.  Uncle Iroh told me you’d want to see me, but if you don’t—”

“That’s not what I meant.”  He shakes his head quickly, sending loose strands of hair fluttering to the ground.  He’ll need to brush the chopped ends out if he doesn’t want to shed like Appa for the next few days.  “I just… you didn’t tell me you were coming.”

She smirks in a way that’s very unfair to someone who’s already questioning his lucidity.  

“That’s what makes it a surprise, silly.”

“Right.”  He rubs the back of his neck.  Sheds some more.  He knows she’s seen him worse—Agni, she’s seen him in his old half-bald phoenix plume—but still he wishes he’d had time to prepare for her.  Maybe it would have strengthened him long enough to weather that brief moment of weakness.

“You never answered my question, either,” she says quietly.  Her hand reaches for his shoulder, brushing black strands from his sleeping robes, and he flushes at the contact.  It’s been too long since he’s seen his friends if a simple touch like that feels foreign.  

(Foreign, and wonderful, and if she’s a hallucination, she sure is a detailed one.)

“I… what?”  He blinks.

She sighs heavily.  Whatever she was asking, that was apparently the wrong answer.

“I asked if you were alright, but I’m going to take that as a no.  You’ve been holding out on me.”

Oh.  He must have missed that while she she was brushing him off.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says anyway.  He just might have lost all coherent thought when he met with Azula earlier today, or right before he took the dagger to his hair, or when he first saw Katara.  Regardless, he doesn’t want her to worry.

She looks him up and down, an appraising expression on her face.  It’s too late to stop her from worrying, then.

“I didn’t just wake you up, did I?  Your hair is still damp.”

“I’ve been awake,” he grumbles, but feels grateful she only points out that his hair is damp, not that it’s… frankly, a complete wreck.

“Well, if you’re not going to bed now… would it be alright if I come in?”

He isn’t used to the amount of hesitance in her voice.  

“Of course.”  They’ve just been standing in his doorway, where anyone passing by could see.  Not that many people would be passing by this time of night, in this wing of the palace.  The only other visitor he would expect would be Uncle, and apparently he’s sent Katara in his place.  Odd, but Zuko supposes he can hear about his trip over morning tea.  

(And he won’t complain about delaying his explanations for his hair a little longer.)

There’s nowhere to sit except on his bed.  Maybe he should have thought that through, but thinking things through is clearly impossible today.  He perches on the edge of the mattress, nodding his head for her to do the same.  She leaves a small gap between them.  He knows that shouldn’t disappoint him, but it does all the same.

“I’m sorry,” he begins, running a hand through his too-short-just-right hair.  “I’m really glad you’re here.  Honest.  I just haven’t been… it’s been a rough day,” he admits quietly.  There’d never been much point in lying to her.  “I’m sorry you have to see me like this.”

“Zuko,” she says quietly.  Her hand rests on the soft duvet, fingers inching closer to his, but not touching.  “It’s times like this when I need to see you.”

“What?  So you can heal me if I hurt myself?”  He asks dryly.  Come to think of it, the back of his neck stings.  Maybe he did nick the skin there.

“No—I mean, I would, of course, but—spirits, I’m your friend.  Do you really think I wouldn’t want to be here for you?”

She has a point.  It would be an insult to her compassion to push her away now.

And he doesn’t want to.  

“Sorry,” he mumbles.  “I didn’t want you to worry.”

“Of course you didn’t.”  She lets out a breath, a half-laugh, and slips her pinkie over his.  The touch is so light it might be an accident, but it still grounds him.

She’s here.  She’s real.

“Azula thought I was Ozai,” he blurts out.  His gaze tears away from their brushing fingers, to the fist clenched in his lap.  “She was supposed to be released from the rehabilitation center today, and I swear she’s lucid now, and… it’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid.”  Her hand finally squeezes his.  It’s like that one action draws out his tension, siphons it away.  “You’re worried she’s right.  That you look like your father.”

He flinches at hearing her say it out loud.  She’s always been able to see right through him, but it’s still better than having to explain it himself.

“I don’t want to be anything like him.  I don’t want to keep looking over my shoulder every time I pass a mirror, thinking he’s—thinking he’s there.”  He winces.  

Stupid.  Pathetic.  All the ways Ozai used to make him feel… apparently still does make him feel. 

She just nods, though, as if that’s the most reasonable thing in the world.

“The haircut will help.  It suits you better, anyway.”

He turns to stone when her fingers comb through the jagged ends.  She must realize it, because she pulls away.

“Sorry.  I just—saw some bits still stuck in there.”  She blushes.

“I don’t mind,” he croaks out, throat suddenly dry.  He clears it with a cough.  “Actually, would you… would you mind fixing it up for me?  I couldn’t see the back very well.”  Not that he’d been really looking when he hacked it off.  

“I’d love to.” 

He feels like a little kid again, sitting cross-legged at the foot of his bed after providing Katara with the necessary supplies.  Her bare feet swing down on either side of him, bracketing his shoulders.

“Hold still,” she says when he squirms, “or you’ll be getting a taste of stinky waterbender feet.”  She wiggles her toes next to his face, and he laughs.

“Better than stinky earthbender feet.”  

He’ll never forget waking up with Toph’s feet in his face, demanding that he carry her on his back.  It was what he deserved after burning her soles that one time, but she still reeked.  He was half convinced she smeared them with mud beforehand just to mess with him.

Katara goes silent.  Was he joke that bad?  Or maybe she’s just realizing how much of a lost cause his hair is.  

“Katara?”  He asks.

“Sorry.”  She starts brushing out his hair.  Each stroke sweeps away some of the worries crowding his mind.  “I was just thinking… it’s been a while since I heard you laugh.”

It’s been a while since he has laughed.  Katara and his friends always brought out the best in him.

His eyes slide shut as she combs away the snipped remnants.  He shouldn’t get used to this.  She’s just doing him a favor, that’s all.

(Even if she did want to touch his hair more often, she can’t.  She won’t be staying in the Fire Nation long.)

(She never does.)

Scissors snip in his blind spot, right next to his bad ear.  He suppresses a flinch.  The one nice thing about keeping long hair was that he didn’t need anything sharp near the scarred half of his face.

“Your hair is so soft,” Katara says enviously.  “Is there some kind of secret washing regimen for Fire Lords?”

“I just use whatever my attendants set out for me.”  That probably sounds spoiled, doesn’t it?  It’s not like the palace servants will allow him to go out with his hair unwashed.

Agni, even they are going to kill him if Katara can’t get his hair under control.

“Well I’m stealing it.”

He grins at that, though he should be intimidated.  It’s hard enough to resist touching Katara’s hair as it is.  Any softer, and it’ll practically be a magnet pulling him towards her.

Bits of hair fall on his shoulders, litter the red towel spread beneath him.  He’s surprised she’s found that much to cut.  He doesn’t have a mirror right now, so he can’t check to see how it looks.  He’ll just have to trust her.

Luckily, he’s still used to that.

“Thank you, Katara.”

“Don’t thank me just yet.  I might still give you a warrior’s wolftail by accident.”

He smiles, picturing it.  “You say that like it’s a bad thing.  The looks on the council’s faces would be priceless.”

She laughs.  “You could start a new trend.  Bring Water Tribe fashion to the big city.”

He’d like to bring more of the Water Tribe here than just that.  But he knows he can’t ask Katara to stay.  He’d said it right all those years ago: she rises with the moon, and he rises with the sun.  They share the sky for just long enough to catch glimpses of her, before she disappears back to the bottom of the world.

He’s spent too long in the theater scrolls again, if he’s waxing this poetic.  Better turn his thoughts to more practical matters.

“Would a wolftail be able to hold up my crown?”

“Theoretically,” she says between snips.  He doesn’t flinch at them anymore.  “But, I mean… were you being serious?”

He blushes, suddenly unsure.  After all, he’s not a Water Tribe warrior.

“If I’m allowed to,” he admits quietly.  “I don’t know what the rules are, if it’s like a phoenix plume, or if I have to be judged worthy to—”

A loud snip, and a chunk of his hair falls to the ground.  She curses under her breath; it almost makes him laugh.  She’d never been one to curse when they’d traveled together.

“I don’t think I have much of a choice.  I cut this part too short; I’m not sure anything else will work now.  I’m so sorry.”

He risks a glance over his shoulder.  She’s biting her lip, glaring down at her scissors like they should glue his hair back together.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine, Katara.  You really couldn’t make it any worse.”

“I could’ve made you bald.”

This time he does laugh.  “Well, you didn’t.  But even if you did, I wouldn’t be upset.  No one could say I look like Ozai anymore.”

Her brow creases in pity.  It’s not what he wanted—he’d been trying to reassure her.  

She reaches down to brush his remaining bangs away from his face.  The touch shocks through his system like ice.

“You’re nothing like him,” she says softly.  “I wish I could make you see that.”

His lips won’t move to speak.  Some incoherent noise might have passed through them, but Katara doesn’t point it out.  She just combs his hair back, and removes the tail of her own braid to bind his hair at the back of his skull.

“Almost done.”

He has to face her for this last part, where she shears away the hair along the sides of his head, above his ears. It’s difficult to look anywhere besides her blue eyes.  He tries to, though; he doesn’t want her to feel him staring.

“Is this weird?”  She asks, her hands steady as she sends bits of hair fluttering down to his shoulders.

He almost shrugs before realizing it might mess her up.  “Yujin—one of my attendants—usually cuts my hair for me.  She’s great, but… I like this too,” he admits.  “You’re very talented.”

“Thank you, but that’s not what I meant.”  She smirks.

“Then—what did you mean?”  His brow furrows.

“You’re kneeling.”  Her eyes flicker down to his legs, which are tucked beneath him.  “I just meant, since you’re the Fire Lord, you probably don’t do this much.”

“How else were you supposed to reach my head?”

She pulls the shears back and laughs.  When her eyes open again, they’re soft as water.

“You haven’t changed.  I didn’t think you had, from your letters, but it’s still good to see.”

“Thank you?”

“That is a compliment, I promise.”  She smiles, coming her fingers through the ends of his new wolftail.  It feels thicker and stubbier than a phoenix plume, and a little itchy on the sides, where his hair is much shorter now.

Hasn’t he changed?  He never felt like he was going this crazy before.  But strangely… after sitting here with her, he finds some of his worries aren’t as loud.  Maybe it’s that he can’t see long strands of black hanging in the corners of his vision.  Maybe it’s some kind of waterbending healing she worked in while his eyes were shut.  Regardless, a new energy fills him as he accepts her hand and rises to his feet.

“Come on.  Let’s make sure you like the Water Tribe look.  If not, we can always do you up like an Air Nomad.”

He winces.  “I don’t think I could pull off a shaved head as well as Aang.”

“I’m pretty sure you could pull off anything,” she mutters.

“What was that?”

Her eyes widen, and he has to hide a smirk, even if he knows it’s not true.  He sure didn’t pull off the shaved phoenix plume.  But it’s still flattering that she thinks he could.

“Let’s just get you to a mirror.”

She drags him to the corner of his room, where a gold-rimmed standing mirror reflects their forms.  Even trusting that she did a fine job, he finds himself afraid to look at his face.  It took him years to be okay with seeing his reflection at all, to not flinch at the wrinkled red skin on his left side.  Lately, it’s the unmarred side that causes more problems.

But he does look up.  And he looks… nothing like he expected.

A wolftail lies closer to the back of the head, unlike how a phoenix plume would sprout from the middle.  And this wolftail in particular is barely long enough to stay in Katara’s hair tie.  His black hair sprouts up like a tiny circle of grass.  The ridiculousness of it almost makes him laugh.

“You like it?”  She asks when she catches him smiling.

“I love it.”  His hair might look a little silly, but he’s not lying.

Now, instead of thinking of Ozai when he sees his reflection, he’ll think of her.

“Thank you so much, Katara.”

He folds her in a hug.  By the time he worries about it being too much, she’s already squeezing him back, burying her face into the crook of his neck.  The scent of her hair wafts up to him, salty and sweet.  Why did she ever want to borrow his hair products?  Hers feels soft as a turtleduck against his cheek.

“I’m always here for you, you know.  Next time, ask me before you go swinging your knife around, alright?”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he says carefully, “but you’re not always here.  And I don’t expect you to be.  You have family, and friends, and obligations…”

“Zuko.”  She tugs on the collar of his robe until he looks down at her.  “You’re one of my friends.  So for now, get used to it.”

He blinks.  His heart picks up a stuttering rhythm, one he hasn’t felt since the day he lay in the palace courtyard, pulsing with lightning.

“You—you’re staying?”

“I’ve already talked it over with Uncle.  He said there are some rivers that have dried up, and I might be able to help divert water to towns that need it.  Besides, the South Pole has so many waterbenders now, I was starting to feel redundant.”

She’s staying.  At least for a little while, she’s staying.

He hugs her again.  He couldn’t have stopped himself if he tried.

“Looks like I was missed after all,” she laughs.

He smiles against the top of her head.

“Always.” 

XXX

The next morning, he arrives at the council meeting with a crown in his wolftail, and a waterbender’s palm in his hand.

[eldritchteaparty]

Chapters: 8/20 Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Sasha James, Rosie Zampano, Oliver Banks, Original Elias Bouchard, Peter Lukas, Annabelle Cane Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Fix-It, Post-Canon Fix-It, Scars, Eventual Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, I'll add characters and tags as they come up, Reference to injuries and blood, Character Death In Dream, Nudity (not sexual or graphic), Nightmares, Fighting

Summary: Following the events of MAG 200, Jon and Martin find themselves in a dimension very much like the one they came from--with second chances and more time.

Chapter Summary: Following their misadventure at Hill Top Road, Jon finally takes some time off; Martin remembers something disturbing about the archives’ collection of books.

Chapter 8 of my post-canon fix-it is up! Read at AO3 above or here below.

Tumblr master post with links to previous chapters is here.

***

“Jon, take the pills.”

Jon, wrapped in a blanket and staring out over the railing of the flat’s small balcony, stayed silent.

“Fine, I’ll just wait.” Martin set the vitamin bottles and the glass of water on the sturdiest-looking part of the railing, and shifted the second chair enough so he could sit down.

“You’re going to get cold,” Jon said.

“Yeah, probably.” Martin was dressed in a light jumper with only a t-shirt beneath it. It had been warm enough earlier in the day—the weather was getting nicer—but as the sun started to go down it was cooling off.

“Your choice.” Jon picked up his lighter from the small table between them and lit another cigarette, and they sat together as the sun continued its journey below the horizon. It really was beautiful, Martin thought. He hadn’t taken the opportunity to observe any part of nature in a long time. It hadn’t ever been much of a priority to him, but there was something nice about taking in the colors that spilled across the sky—deep yellows and oranges that gave way to pinks and purples, and eventually a dark glowing blue that was only barely distinguishable from black.

Martin wrapped his arms around himself.

“At least get a coat,” Jon said.

“At least take those pills.”

“God, you’re stubborn.” Jon readjusted in his seat to pull his legs up under the blanket a little more.

“Pot and kettle, Jon.”

“Why should I take them? You heard the doctors, there isn’t anything actually wrong with me. They’re just grasping at straws.”

After an hour or so on the porch at Hill Top Road, Martin had calmed enough to make the decision to go to A&E. Although Jon had protested, the fact was that he had been too weak to do anything about it, and Martin only felt a little bad taking advantage of that. As he’d said then, he couldn’t believe he hadn’t insisted on doing it before; he’d become so used to not being able to get help, that he hadn’t really considered it until then. He wasn’t going to mess around anymore, though, especially now that he realized he might not always be able to help on his own.

After hearing about Jon’s recent fatigue and his fainting episode, the healthcare staff had run a lot of tests. They’d hooked him up to monitors, measured things, done blood draws. Martin had to admit Jon’s description of their conclusions wasn’t far off—they didn’t find anything explicitly wrong with him. There was no diagnosis they felt comfortable giving, although they had pointed out a few possibilities that they should monitor. And they’d recommended the vitamins, of course.

“They did say you have nutritional deficiency—”

“—minor nutritional deficiency—”

“—and your vitamin D levels were actually quite low.” Martin shivered involuntarily in the cool night air.

“God damn it, Martin.” Jon fidgeted with the lighter on the table, but didn’t actually reach for another cigarette. “Will you take the blanket, anyway?”

“Will you take those pills?”

“They won’t help with anything,” Jon protested. “We both know that. This is ridiculous.”

“Speak for yourself,” Martin countered. “I’m not assuming anything about what will help. Beyond that, given how you’ve been eating, they can’t hurt. And finally, yes, I am being ridiculous, and I don’t care.”

“I didn’t say you were being ridiculous.”

“No, I said it. I’ll own it. I am being ridiculous, because I don’t want to lose you, and I’m scared. I don’t want to lose you now any more than I did when we were walking through an apocalypse together, or when you were being kidnapped by actual monsters every week, or when you were taking unannounced holidays in coffins or whatever.” Martin shivered again. “Look, it’s just not that hard to take them, Jon.”

“Well, when you put it that way, I’m behaving like an ass,” Jon sighed.

“Now I didn’t say that,” Martin replied. “I’m not trying to ignore what you’re feeling Jon, and I know there’s not a quick fix for any of it. It’s just that it’s—it’s such a small thing, and if it helps, at least it’s something.”

Jon grumbled.

“And not to bring this up again, but—I mean, it might help if you would just talk to me?”

Jon shook his head. “I can’t. When I try to put it into words, I—it never comes out right. I sound like a—well, a monster.” Jon seemed to shrink back into the blanket even more. “Or maybe I am one, and I can’t face you knowing it.”

“Jon…” Martin hesitated, but decided to finish the thought. “I’ll be honest with you. I’ve asked myself if—if you are.”

Jon turned to him. “And?”

“And I don’t think so,” Martin said simply.

“Why not?”

“To be completely clear, it’s not the most rational reason. I just don’t think I could love you like this if you were. You’re just not bad. You’ve only ever wanted to do the right thing. You’ve only ever wanted to protect people, to protect me, even if—” Martin cleared his throat. “Even if we haven’t always agreed on what that looks like.”

“I see,” Jon said softly, turning to look over the railing again.

“So, if you don’t want to talk, that’s fine.” Martin leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, blowing warm air into his hands. “But in that case, it’s vitamins and freezing myself.”

“May I ask a favor first?” Jon said, eyeing the glass of water warily.

“Depends on the favor.”

“Will you make me some tea?”

“Of course.” Martin was relieved; that was one thing he imagined he’d always be happy to do. “But you’ll take those pills if I do?”

“Yes,” Jon said. “You’ve made your case.”

He reached down to kiss Jon’s head before he walked back into the kitchen, and noted with comfort that Jon leaned into him as he did.

***

That was Sunday evening. Since they’d returned from A&E, Jon had spent most of the time before that afternoon sleeping. He’d been restless, and Martin had slept on the couch for a few nights to try to let Jon get as much sleep as he could. Of course, he had woken anxiously every few hours needing to check on Jon, so he was more than ready to go to bed after their discussion on the balcony. He ended up turning in before Jon, so he was a little surprised to find him already awake and sitting back against his pillows when he opened his eyes on Monday.

“Hey,” Martin said, moving closer to rest his face against Jon’s hip, throwing an arm over his legs.

“Hey.”

“Did I keep you up?” Martin asked.

“No.”

“What time did you get in bed?”

“I don’t know exactly. Not that long after you. I’m just not that tired. Maybe I finally slept enough.”

“That makes one of us.” One night of sleep hadn’t done Martin as much good as he had hoped.

“I’m sorry.” With his eyes still closed, Martin felt Jon’s hand come to rest on his head, gently rubbing his scalp just above his ear.

“I’m going to have to cut my hair soon.”

“I like it,” Jon said, gently tugging at a few strands. “I mean, I like it shorter, too. I guess I just like your hair.”

“Flatterer.” Martin yawned, then pressed his face into Jon even harder for a moment before rolling back to his side of the bed. “Just so long as you know it’s not getting you out of those pills. Do you want to shower first?”

“Actually, I was thinking I might not go in today.”

“Really?” Martin sat up to look at Jon. “How are you feeling?”

“Better.” He picked at an invisible spot on the quilt. “It’s more that I’d just—I’d like some time to think. If you’re ok with it.”

“Yes, of course I’m ok with it. I’ve been trying to get you to take it easy ever since we got here. We can—” He stopped when he saw the look on Jon’s face and realized what he was actually asking. “Oh, you meant—just you. Yeah, no, of course that’s fine. That’s great.”

“Are you sure? I mean—if you want to stay too—”

“No,” Martin interrupted. “No, it’s really fine. It’s not a problem. I mean, I know I’ve been really irritating with the—”

“That’s not it,” Jon said reassuringly. “It’s really not. I’m—I’m glad you’ve been here for me. It’s just my mind’s been so cluttered, and it finally—I feel like I can gather my thoughts.”

Martin nodded. “I get it. I do.” He did, mostly. “Would it be ok if I called to check on you?”

Jon smiled. “I’m sure I’d worry if you didn’t.”

So Martin went in by himself. He told Tim and Sasha the truth, mostly; Jon had blacked out after therapy, of course, not in an abandoned house in Oxford where there existed a possible gap between dimensions and realities, but the part about going to A&E and Jon staying home to recover was straightforward enough.

“Glad something slowed him down,” Tim said, and Sasha gave him a look. “Well, something was bound to happen, and at least Martin was there. It could have been worse. He was pushing himself too hard.”

“You’re not wrong,” Martin agreed, and Sasha patted him soothingly on the shoulder.

He went in by himself the next day, too. Jon seemed to be doing well enough. They didn’t talk much; Martin was tired and Jon seemed lost in his thoughts. Martin wasn’t sure what Jon was doing most of the day, though it didn’t seem to be much of anything. He was eating—well, drinking the nutrition shakes Martin had picked up for him—and Martin suspected he was sleeping a little, based on how the bed looked when he came home. Jon managed to eat solid food at supper again that second night, and reached protectively for his half-empty plate when Martin assumed he was done.

“Sorry,” Martin said with his hands up in apology, leaning back into the couch. “Does that mean—maybe you’re feeling better?”

“I think so. Starting to.” Jon stretched out his feet to rest them on the bottom ledge of the coffee table. For an instant, Martin already missed the feeling of Jon falling asleep against him—but this was better, he knew. He pushed the mournfulness away.

He went in by himself again on Wednesday. A little after noon, Sasha joined him and Tim in the assistants’ office.

“Want to come to lunch?”

Martin assumed she was asking Tim, but when he didn’t hear an answer, he glanced up to find both of them looking at him.

“Oh—me?” Martin asked.

“Yes,” Tim replied, grabbing his jacket off the back of his chair. “Might be nice to take up some old habits again.”

Martin didn’t have to think for too long to figure out what Tim was referring to; memories from this world came easy now. Not long after his mother had died, they’d started going out for lunch together once a week. It had almost certainly been for his benefit, but no one had ever admitted that to him; instead, they’d all acted like it was a spontaneous idea that for some reason had never occurred to any of them before. Martin had been so grateful for the company that he’d simply accepted it without thinking about it too hard.

“We’ll miss Jon, of course,” Sasha added, “but he can come with us next week.”

“Oh, whatever,” Tim said, elbowing Martin good-naturedly as they left the office together. “This just makes up for those times Jon couldn’t wait and stole Martin out from under us.”

Martin remembered that, too; there had been a few times when, despite their best intentions, he’d been overwhelmed by the thought of lunch with the whole group. Jon had somehow understood and anticipated those days, and had come up with some reason he had to go early, asking Martin if he’d wanted to join. They hadn’t said much when it had been just the two of them, nothing important, but that had sort of been the point, hadn’t it? It was a nice memory, anyway, and Martin was glad he had it now. He wondered if Jon had remembered it yet.

***

Lunch was pleasant enough, if a little bit awkward. Martin hadn’t spent much time with Sasha, at least not compared to how much time he’d spent with Tim, and he could tell she was being careful with him. She was polite, keeping the conversation easy, deliberately avoiding topics that held anything other than surface interest. After he finished eating, he decided to ask her some things he’d been wondering about, and hoped she’d chalk up anything strange about it to him being a little thrown off from last week.

“Sasha,” he asked, setting his fork down, “do you—like being the head archivist?”

“What do you mean?” she asked, leaning toward him slightly over their table.

“Do you like it? Is it a good job? Is it—is it how you thought it would be?”

Sasha crossed her arms in thought. “Well, I’m not really sure how to answer that. I mean, the Magnus Institute has its issues, I suppose. It’s an academic joke, of course, but it’s not like the respect of my peers was ever that important to me.” She laughed at herself. “And some of our benefactors are… well, a bit full of themselves? But I suppose that’s true anywhere. I am quite happy with the job security, and it pays well enough for what it is. Plus I’m actually using my degree, which is more than I can say for most of my classmates.”

“Have you ever—wanted to leave?”

Sasha frowned slightly. “No—no, not really. Why?”

“No reason,” Martin said as casually as he could. He couldn’t exactly say just wondering if you’re trapped here. “Just been doing some thinking, I guess.”

“Well,” Sasha said, “I’ll admit the job’s felt a little bit different lately. Hard to say exactly how… I guess I’ve been struggling a bit with—well, I’m still not sure how to handle the—incidents, I suppose? It doesn’t make any sense, but it feels like I’m responsible for the people who come here to talk to us. Like I should be keeping track of their stories, somehow. I just don’t know what to do with them. Honestly, I’ve just started asking them to write everything down. I feel bad, but I just can’t listen to some of them. I’ll have nightmares.”

“Oh. They’re still coming in, then?”

“Sometimes. Not every day, but enough.”

“I—I didn’t know. Does Jon know?”

“He’s been there for a few, yes.”

Martin took a few sips of water. Jon hadn’t mentioned that specifically, but it probably wasn’t anything.

“What about—what about Elias? He doesn’t seem too fond of the Institute. Why does he stay?”

“You’ll have to ask Tim,” Sasha said, poking at what was left of her salad with her fork again. “They’re best friends.”

Tim laughed. “We are not best friends. However, I do think you should spend a little more time with him outside of work. You’re missing out.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Oh, come on.” Tim poked her arm playfully with the tines of his fork, and she batted him away. “He and Allan are a trip.”

“Exactly,” she replied.

“What I meant was, they’re funny. Especially Elias.” He turned to Martin. “Now the key to understanding him is to recognize that he has money—and also that he hates money, even though he has no idea how to function without it. And people with money, he especially hates. But at some point, I suppose, his father wore him down, and he has now accepted his position in life with as little grace and composure as he can.”

Martin thought back to what little he knew about Elias Bouchard, the actual Elias Bouchard, from his own world. “That… makes sense, actually.”

“And it makes him a pain in the ass when I need something,” Sasha added. “But on the positive side—he does leave me alone to do my job, for the most part.”

Martin remembered Allan’s name too; Martin remembered he had died after finding an old book. “So Allan is—his roommate?”

Tim raised his eyebrows. “That, Martin, is none of our business.”

“What?” Martin was genuinely confused before he realized what Tim was getting at.  “Oh—oh god, no, I didn’t—”

“However,” Tim interrupted him, “if you find out let me know, because I believe Sasha will owe me 10 quid on that day.”

“Doubtful,” Sasha said, grinning over the phone she was now scrolling through. “Very doubtful.”

Martin could feel his face turning red, so he was grateful for the distraction when Sasha leaned forward with her phone.

“Speaking of working at the Magnus Institute—look at this,” she said, attempting to angle the phone so both Martin and Tim could see at once. “I cannot get over how much she’s enjoying her retirement. I never thought she’d leave, but then it was like she was just up and done one day, and she never looked back.”

It took Martin a moment to understand what she was showing them, but it was a picture of Gertrude Robinson—a Facebook picture. He might not have known it was her, if it wasn’t for the name posted above it. The biggest difference was that in every picture he’d ever seen of her, she’d been wearing her hair in the same tightly-pulled grey bun; here, she was wearing her hair down, and it flowed softly past her shoulders. The next most obvious difference was he didn’t think he’d ever seen her smiling in a picture before, and she looked quite happy in this one, drink in hand, next to an equally-cheerful looking older man who had been holding up the phone to snap the photo. The caption read catching up with an old friend.

Sasha pointed at Martin to emphasize his surprised reaction. “See, that’s what I’m saying. I guess you just never know.”

“Who—who’s in the picture with her?” Martin asked.

“Oh right, I forget you never met him in person. That’s Jurgen Leitner.” She shook her head. “I didn’t think she was that fond of him, really. Must be another retirement thing.”

Jurgen Leitner—what was his connection to the Institute here? It’s not like he would have been living in the tunnels, there was just no—

The realization hit him like a ton of bricks. The Leitner Room. In this world, the Magnus Institute was home to every book Jurgen Leitner had ever collected. He had collected them, of course, only his library had never been destroyed because there was nothing to make that happen. When he’d decided to downsize in his later life—when he didn’t feel quite the same sense of pride in them—the archives had been the perfect home for his books. Of course, up until now, it meant nothing except a new collection and a nice endowment for the Institute.

What did it mean now?

“Are you ok?” Sasha asked. “You look—”

“You look like you just got run over,” Tim finished.

“Sorry.” Martin pulled his hand away from his mouth; he hadn’t even realized he had put it there. “I just—I just remembered something. It’s, um…”

“Do you need to get back?” Sasha asked after a moment of silence.

“Yeah,” Martin answered, apologizing with his voice. “Yeah, if you don’t mind. You can stay, if you want—”

“No, I’m done.” Tim took one more drink to empty his glass. “Sasha?”

She shrugged. “I’m ready.”

“Thanks,” Martin said. “I—there’s something I need to take care of for Jon.”

***

After they got back, Martin tried to look busy at his desk, hoping they’d think that he was taking care of whatever it was online. He took the opportunity to review the records in the system, and was comforted to note that nothing in the Leitner group currently had any special notations connected to it. All of the books were, at least in principle, on the shelves, and no one had requested access to any of them. He’d been hoping that was why his attention hadn’t been drawn to any of them previously, and it seemed like he’d lucked out. It was an obscure collection, and there were a lot of restrictions on them at Jurgen Leitner’s request; not just anyone could come in and browse them, and only a very specific set of research purposes qualified for special permission to remove them from the library.

He relaxed a little, and then waited for an opportunity to leave the office without attracting attention. He had to wait a while, but eventually Rosie came in with something for Sasha to review. A moment later Sasha called Tim in to her office, and Martin took the opportunity to leave. He just didn’t see a reason to risk drawing anyone else’s attention to the Leitners, especially since it seemed they were all but forgotten as they were.

He walked out past Rosie’s desk and back into the stacks; the room really was quite out of the way, buried deep in a corner of the shelving units. It wasn’t a large room, and if you weren’t looking for it, it would have been easy to miss. Even the sign above the door, emblazoned with the word Leitner, was barely distinguishable from the metal door frame behind it. The room was kept locked, but as an archival assistant Martin had a copy of the key. He held his breath and turned it.

Walking into the room was anticlimactic; it didn’t feel like much. There was no threatening aura; there was no sense of danger. It felt like nothing more than a small room full of musty old books, like many other small rooms of musty old books Martin had been in before.

He took a quick look at some of the titles on the shelves. At first glance, he didn’t see any he had heard of before, but of course he hadn’t heard of most Leitners. He continued to look, straining his eyes at words written on faded spines, occasionally pulling one gingerly off the shelves to check the front cover; he just needed something to prove to himself he wasn’t overreacting. Finally he found one he knew: a thick, black paperback labeled The Boneturner’s Tale. Martin felt a shiver run down his back as he involuntarily jerked his hand away from it.

He closed the door to the room, locking it behind him, and pulled out his phone. Thankfully, he had service, and he immediately dialed Jon’s number.

“I ate,” Jon said when he picked up.

“No,” Martin said. “Well, yes, I’m glad, but—”

“Martin, are you—what’s going on?”

“I—I don’t know how to tell you this. I’m…” Getting Jon to remember for himself was going to be much easier than explaining it.

“Are you ok?”

“Yes, I—well, all right. At lunch, Sasha showed us a picture of Gertrude Robinson. On Facebook.”

“Oh,” Jon sounded puzzled. “I knew she had retired, but I hadn’t thought to—”

“Well, that’s not it. She was with someone in the picture.”

“Who?”

Martin took a deep breath. “Jurgen Leitner.”

There was a prolonged silence before Jon spoke again. “Oh. God.”

“Yeah.”

“You’re there, aren’t you? Right now.”

“Yes. I’m—I’m not sure what I should do.”

“First, don’t touch anything.”

Martin didn’t respond.

“Ok—don’t touch anything else, then.”

“All right,” Martin said.

“Damn it. I should be there. I should be there with you.”

“No—no, it’s fine. I just—what should I do?”

“I don’t know.”

“Can I—ok, can I destroy them?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like—” Martin swallowed. “Ok, I’m sure this isn’t the best idea, but—what if a fire were to start in here? Or—something?”

“Do not,” Jon commanded. “Martin Blackwood, I have never been more serious in my life, do not do anything of the sort.”

“Ok, ok,” Martin said. “I said it probably wasn’t a great idea—"

“Some of those books would—let’s just say burning them would not have the desired effect. Or wetting them down, or chopping them up, or—”

“All right, all right. I get it. I mean—that’s not surprising, I guess. So what do I do?”

“Did you check the system? Are any checked out, or reserved, or—?”

“No,” Martin answered. “I mean, yes, I checked the system, and they’re all—they’re all here, in theory. No one’s asked for any of them.”

“Ok.” Martin heard the relief he’d felt earlier echoed in Jon’s voice. “That—that’s good.”

They sat in silence for a moment, before Jon spoke again.

“You’re—you’re not going to like this, but—I think you should go. For now.”

“And just leave them all here?”

“Yes. Believe me, I’m just as frustrated as you, but I don’t think there’s another option just yet. They’re relatively protected there, and hopefully they’ll continue to not draw attention.” He paused, and then added softly, “Right now, I just want you out of there.”

Martin sighed. “Right. Ok. Um… I guess… I can at least set up an alert so I get notified if anyone puts in a request?”

“That’s a good idea. And I’ll—I’ll keep thinking. Are you leaving yet?”

“Right after we get off the phone. Just in case. I don’t want to attract attention if someone else is down here.”

“All right. Message me when you’re back at your desk.”

“Sure.” Martin hung up, disappointed there wasn’t more to be done, but Jon was almost certainly right—it would be much too easy to do damage instead of prevent it, if he acted rashly.

Before he left though, he had one more thing he wanted to do.

***

That night, when Martin got home, he found Jon on the small balcony in back again; that was what he’d been hoping for. He grabbed the small metal trash bin out of the toilet in the hallway and stepped outside, closing the door behind him.

“Martin,” Jon said, stamping out a cigarette in the ash tray on the small table as he stood up. “You startled me. You’re a bit early—we can go in.”

“Sorry, didn’t mean to—I should have said something. Actually, I wanted to catch you out here. I brought you something.” He set the bin he’d brought out with him on the balcony, between the two of them.

“It’s a trash bin,” Jon observed.

“Well, that’s only part of it.” He picked up the lighter Jon had left on the table and handed it to him.

“If this is commentary on my smoking habit, I think the ash tray is big enough. Besides, I don’t plan to keep—”

“No—no, that’s not it. I don’t care about the smoking. Well, I don’t love it, but that’s really not it.” Martin sighed. “Look, I know you said not to touch anything in the Leitner Room, but—well, here.”

From behind his back, he brought out a small, square book; he could see Jon didn’t need to read the title to recognize it in the dim evening light.

“Martin,” he whispered. “I—”

“Don’t say anything. Don’t think, don’t open it. Just—take it. Burn it. This one should be fine. I can do it if you don’t want to.”

Jon reached a hand toward the book, running his fingers hesitantly over the scribbled black spider webs illustrating the otherwise plain white cover. He spoke as if he were in a dream. “Yes. I imagine this one would be ok.”

“Light it,” Martin encouraged him, reaching for the hand that held the lighter to pull it closer. “Now.”

It seemed too easy; he was afraid it wouldn’t catch, or that Jon would change his mind, or any number of other things would go wrong—but nothing did. The cardboard cover caught beautifully, the yellow-orange flame spreading elegantly out from the corner in less than a minute, swallowing the book front and back.

“Now let go,” Martin said, as the flame began to spread, and Jon nodded. They dropped it together into the trash bin, and Martin watched as the title words A Guest for Mr. Spider were consumed, slowly, letter by letter. They watched together, transfixed, until the fire burned itself out and all that was left was a smoking pile of ash.

“You shouldn’t have done that for me,” Jon said quietly. “Going through the shelves—taking it out—it could have been dangerous.”

“Yeah, well, you said the web was probably still weak, and—” Martin reached for Jon’s arm. “Anyway, it’s done now.”

“Thank you,” Jon stepped carefully around the trash bin, and then his arms were around Martin’s waist and his face was in his chest. “Thank you.”

[emachinescat]

Does It Count as Eavesdropping if You’re Comatose?

A Psych Fan-Fiction

by @emachinescat ​

@febuwhump​ day 28 / alt. 3 - coma

Summary: They say people who are comatose can still hear what is going on around them.  This is what Shawn heard.

Characters | Relationships: Shawn, Henry, Gus, Juliet, Madeline, Lassiter, Jack, Despereaux, Buzz, Woody, Chief Vick | Shawn/Juliet

Words: 3,898

TW: coma

Note: I really hope you enjoy this piece.  It was one of the most emotionally taxing, cathartic, and fulfilling pieces I’ve written in a long time.  I hope that comes across when you read it.  

Keep reading here, or on AO3!

If you enjoy, please consider liking, commenting, or re-blogging, and you can follow me for more content like this! :)

Shawn?

Where’s the doctor?  I need to speak to him.  Busy, my ass!  My son is in a coma.  I get that you’re just doing your job.  Just… find me someone who can give me an update.  …  Please.

Hey, bud.  I, uh – 

Shit.

Shawn, for the love of – what the hell did you think you were doing?  Going off on your own like that, not telling anyone where you were going or what you were doing.  You knew these people were dangerous, and you still… I know I taught you better than this.

Why, why do you never listen? 

***

Hey, Shawn.  Don’t think that just because you’re in a coma right now that we’re going to let this go.  You’ve pulled some stupid-ass stunts in your time, but this … this takes the cake.  And you know you’re supposed to share any cake you get with me.  Fifty-fifty split.

We’re partners, Shawn.  Why did you go in alone?

Well, all I have to say is that you better wake up soon.  The doctors say they are cautiously optimistic that you’ll have a full recovery if you will just wake up.  We’re all well aware that you are the laziest time-waster in Santa Barbara, but just this once, will you prove us wrong?

…

Please, Shawn.  You’re my best friend.  I … I can’t lose you.  Just.  Just come back, okay?

***

The doctors said that you might be able to hear what we say to you.  In my experience, doctors always say that, but, I don’t know.  It seems a little weird, don’t you think?  I mean, the thought of you lying there, so still that you might be … you know.  Anyway.  To think that you could actually be hearing everything I’m saying right now is…

It’s actually a little bit embarrassing.  Gosh, why do I always ramble like a moron when I’m nervous?  This is worse than the movie theater, the first time I asked you out.  Remember that?  Now that was humiliating.  

I know your dad and Gus have probably already given you enough lectures to fill up a novel, so I won’t yell at you for being an impulsive, stupid idiot.  Not yet.

For now, Shawn – his hand is really cold; is that normal?  Should I call the doctor?  No? – just know that I love you, with all my heart.

And that if you don’t wake up soon, I’ll kill you myself.

***

Mr. Spencer.  

Shawn.

I… I apologize for not coming to see you sooner.  It’s no excuse, but we’ve been really busy.  God knows how you did it, but you somehow managed to still get us the evidence we needed to take these guys down, even on death’s door.  These monsters have been tormenting a lot of very good people for far too long, and until you… did what you did, our hands were tied.

I suppose what I am saying is thank you.

It was incredibly stupid, and I – we all – wish you had never done it, but… thank you.

Wake up soon.  That’s an order.  

Oh, hi, Henry – I was just stopping by for a moment.  How are you holding up?  Yes, I – 

***

Hey, Goose.

I would have been here sooner, but I was stuck in New York.  I was in for a conference, and my flight got delayed because of snow, but… but you don’t really want to hear about that, do you?

You look good, considering.  From the way your father talked, I thought you’d be wasting away.  But your color is good.  You don’t have that gray pallor I’ve seen so often in those who have given up.  

That means you’re still fighting.  And that’s good.

If you’re wondering where your dad is, don’t worry.  Juliet and Gus dragged him to the cafeteria for some actual food – or as close as you can get to real food in a hospital.  Your father… That man, Shawn, I just don’t think you know how much he cares about you.  Not that it’s your fault.  Henry has never been good at showing how he feels.  

Sometimes I wonder if that’s why I married him, so long ago.  Maybe I thought I could fix him.  But you can’t really fix people, can you, Goose?  Not the way you’d like to.  

The doctors are doing everything they can to fix you, Shawn.  So don’t give up.  

Oh, here comes your father –

He’s fine, Henry – did you eat something?  Gus, did he actually eat something?  What did he eat?  Henry Spencer, coffee is not food!  Good grief, I’ll be right back...

***

Oh, Guster!  I… I didn’t know you would be here.  I’ll just… I was in the wrong room, that’s all.  Yeah, I was just visiting an old friend of the family.  Who?  None of your business, actually.  Just a friend, who is not Spencer.

What do you mean, I should stay since I’m already here?  Guster, I have important things to do, cases to solve, people to see!  Well, I suppose… Just for a minute, do you understand me?  This is ridiculous… Spencer butts his nose into my case, breaks the whole thing open, and damn near dies in the process…  

Guster – where the hell are you going?  You can’t leave me alone with Spencer!  …  What do you mean, talk to him?  Are you insane?  I don’t want to talk to him when he’s awake, why would I –?

You don’t have to shout.  I’ll stay while you step out.  

But I won’t talk to him.

…

…

Well, Spencer, this is a fine mess you’ve put yourself in.  

I mean sweet justice, man, do you ever think about what you’re doing?  About how it will affect other people?  The people who love you?

Not me, of course.  You know I could care less about you.  But my partner, your girlfriend, for some unfathomable reason, has chosen to be with you.  To like you for – man, this is hard to say – to like you for who you are.  I mean, have you met you?  That’s something that should never have happened, especially not after all the stupid stunts you’ve pulled over the years.  

But it did.  She… Juliet, she cares about you.  A lot.  If you could see just how much she’s hurting right now… 

Spencer, I once told you that if you hurt my partner, I’d kill you.  Well, you’ve gone and done it.  But I’m a fair man.  Well, I can be a fair man if given the right circumstances.  Okay, fine, I’m not exactly fair, but I do care about Juliet, so I will give you an ultimatum: If you go ahead and wake up, if you put a smile back on her face, then I will let you live.  But you’ve got to do it soon, got it?  No lollygagging like you usually do.  Just…

Guster!  You cannot just sneak up on a man like that!  No, I wasn’t talking to Shawn, don’t be ridiculous.  I’m on the phone with someone … Bluetooth.  

What?  NO!  My eyes are not “misty.”  Good lord, man, not everyone is a crybaby like you.  No, I’m not staying any longer!  Dammit, Guster, I don’t care – 

***

Hey, Shawnie!  

Look, this is a little awkward, I know, especially since I haven’t really been in touch since the whole Buchard’s treasure incident, but when your father finally got ahold of me, I rushed right over.  Bygones, and all that, am I right?  

Anywho… I brought you a penny.  I know it’s not much, but this one’s special.  It’s a 1943 bronze Lincoln.  One of the rarest out there.  I’ve been holding onto it for a while, but I thought you could use a little luck.  Well, a little more than a little, but…

Anyway, kiddo.  I hate seeing you like this.  I’m getting ready to go cliff diving in Peru, but I’ll be here with you in spirit, you got that?  Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone. 

Or do.  I guess if you’re doing something stupid, then you’re not sleeping anymore. 

Damn it.  I’m not good at this stuff.  

See ya around, kid.  

***

Hey, Shawn, my man!  Long time, no see, huh?  Do you mind if I eat something while we chat?  Want a bite?  It’s your favorite…

No?  Well, more for me, I suppose.

Hmmmm… your color looks less gray than last week.  Maybe the doctors are right, maybe you really are recovering, but… I don’t know.  Gah, I really wish they’d let me take a crack at you – ah, I mean, examine you, just in case, but… Apparently “someone who spends all day with the dead isn’t the right person to diagnose a living person, blah blah blah.”  Between you and me, friend, I think they’re hiding something from us.  It’s a conspiracy.  … Not like the Chief Vick is actually a time traveler conspiracy, mind you.  A real one.

Ah, whatever.  Whatever happens will happen, am I right, Shawn?  I have to say, you’re excellent company today!  I do miss your witty retorts, but you’ve got that comforting presence I’ve come to expect from my friends in the morgue.  They only get chatty when I haven’t slept for four days straight.  

Huh, you normally would’ve laughed at that.  

Anyway, keep on keeping on!  Whatever happens, whatever direction this thing ends up going, just know I’ve got your back.  And if you don’t make it in this world, well… let’s just say I picked out the perfect body bag to carry you into the next.  Spoiler alert: I embroidered this one myself!

Oh, and don’t forget!  I’ve called dibs on your autopsy, should it come to that!  Gosh, I can’t stop wondering if your heart really is going to be two sizes bigger than most.  I know it’s scientifically improbable, but you just love so damn much…

Ah!  Oh, Henry, you scared me!  I was just – no, I don’t have the body bag.  Promise.  Cross my heart and hope to – well, you know.  Little joke of the trade, hehe.  You’re not laughing – Shawn would have.

Okay, okay, I’m getting out, I’m leaving!  But if anything happens, you know that I – OW!  Okay, okay, yeah, got it.  Geez Louise, you’ve got a tight grip.  Did you arm wrestle in high school?  

***

Hey, Shawn.  How’s it going?

I mean, you’re in a coma, so I imagine it’s not great, but… I dunno, maybe it is.  Maybe it’s nice, wherever you’re at.

Say, I wonder if you’re in the place your psychic visions come from.  When you wake up, do you think you’ll be even more psychic than before?  That would be so cool…

Oh, Franny and Mrs. Pickles say hi.  She wanted to bake you a pie – Franny, of course, not Mrs. Pickles, he’s a cat – but I told her you were on a feeding tube, so she made me a pie instead.  It was blueberry.  One of the best pies I’ve ever tasted.  She told me to tell you that if, I mean when, you wake up, she’ll make you a pineapple upside down cake.  A whole one, just for you.

You’ve just got to wake up first, Shawn.

I … I really hope you wake up soon.  I miss seeing you around the station.  Heh, I even think Lassiter’s missing you.  He doesn’t say it so many words – or any words at all, for that matter – but he’s different.  Angrier, and I wasn’t even sure that was possible!  And he keeps glancing over at the front doors, like he’s expecting you to come waltzing in at any moment.  

Or, I dunno, maybe he ordered a pizza, but I’m betting he’s missing you, deep down.

We’re all missing you.  Get better soon, okay, buddy?

***

Well, kid.  It’s been five weeks.  You’ve always been a slowpoke in the mornings, but this is getting ridiculous.  

I’m running out of things to talk about.  Bet you’re not too broken up about that, huh?  Never did like to listen to what your old man had to say.  Still… you listened when it mattered.  Sometimes.  

I’m thinking about retiring again.  Karen’s trying to convince me to stay.  She says that she’s always got a place for me, that they may be bringing in a couple of temporary consultants in the next few weeks, to help lighten the caseload.  There’s a criminal profiler, a young woman who really knows her stuff, but Karen’s been holding off on hiring her.  Honestly, the girl’s good at what she does, but she doesn’t hold a candle to what you do.

Then again, she’s not an attention-seeking moron who runs head-first into danger without thinking of the consequences, but… she’s still not you.

Anyway, I told Karen I’d think about it, but I don’t know.  I’m getting old, kid.  I thought I wasn’t, I still felt pretty young, but recently… I don’t know.  The world just has a little less color in it than I remembered, and that’s what growing old looks like, isn’t it?  

If I retired, would you wake up?  If you didn’t have me “hovering” over you all day at work, would you finally come back?  I mean, I accepted the job in the first place to keep you safe, and that went to hell in a handbag.  Maybe I’m not so good at that job, after all.

Anyway, kid, you need to get off your lazy ass and wake up.

Believe it or not, I’m really starting to miss hearing your voice.

I love ya, kid.  And I want you back.

***

Shawn, you will not believe what came in the mail today!  

Seriously, guess.  

Come on… 

Dang it.  I really hoped that would get you curious enough to open your eyes.  

Anyway… something really did come in the mail.  Well, sort of.  I found it on your desk in the Psych office when I came in to check on things.  I’ve been advised that it might be a good idea to stop paying rent for an office I’m not using, but that feels like letting you go, like I’m giving up on you, and I’m not ready to do that.  So I’m going to keep paying that bill, okay?

But as I was saying, this envelope was just sitting on your desk!  Just your name on it, too.  At first I thought you were finally getting your Hogwarts letter, because it’s in a really fancy envelope.  It wasn’t, by the way.  Damn, I’m really rambling today.  Sorry.  I’m just … tired.  But I wanted to read you this letter before I head out to see a few more clients.  Here we go:

Dear Shawn,

It has come to my attention that you have been gravely injured and are in a coma in Santa Barbara Hospital.  My contact has informed me that you’ve been in this state for nearly two months now.  I am devastated to hear about this, and hope that by the time this letter finds you, you have awoken and are back to your normal self.  If not, then I can only hope that your friend Mr. Guster will be kind enough to read you this letter.

I regret that I was unable to visit you myself, but as I am currently wanted in no less than four countries, I thought it best to stay away from any place that is crawling with police officers.  I don’t know if you are aware of this, but between your lovely lady friend and her grumpy assistant, along with all of your other friends at the SBPD, you have an officer of the peace in your hospital room nearly around the clock.  And I know what you’re thinking – I made my name sneaking in and out of impenetrable places.  You would be right.  Perhaps I cannot face seeing you in such a terrible way with my own eyes.

You must recover soon!  I stole a lovely Van Gogh in your honor, but there was no way I could have mailed it to you without its being confiscated by the authorities.  I do think of you every time I see it upon my mantle.  

Sincerely,

Pierre Despereaux, Gentleman & Art Thief 

Did you hear that, Shawn?  Your iffy role model Despereaux is even worried about you.  I know that you would – for some reason – do anything to make that man proud.  So what do you say?  You ready to wake up yet?

…

Dammit, Shawn.  I don’t know how much more of this I can take.

***

Hey, there, Goose.  

I know it’s been a while since I’ve visited, but I’m actually on a conference tour right now, and your father is keeping me up to date on all developments.  You look nice today – your father just gave you a shave, and though it’s not the most even of cuts, it makes you look more like yourself.  

So, your father called me yesterday in near hysterics.  He said that you had shown the first signs of waking – when your nurse took your blood, you pulled away.  For the first time since all this started, you reacted to something in your surroundings.  Of course, I flew right in.

You haven’t responded to anything since, though.  Shawn, I –

You know I love you, right?  I realize that I’ve never been the best at this sort of thing – at being a mother.  I know I didn’t always make the right decisions.  Even now, I…

I miss you, son.  If you can hear me at all – and I know that you can – please, please, just… whatever is trapping you in your own mind, whether it is fear or trauma or pain or … please, just.  Come back to us.  I – 

Oh, Henry, when did you get back?  No, you don’t have to leave, I –  No, no, I’m fine, I told you I’m fine, I – 

 – It’s all right, Maddie.  I’ve got you.  You don’t always have to be strong, you know. – 

***

Okay, Shawn, I know I normally try to keep things light and positive, but I don’t think I have it in me to do that today.  I’m sorry, I just…

Today sucked, you know?  Like, really sucked.  Well, if I’m being honest, the past seven months have sucked.  But today was extra special.  

I won’t burden you with all of the details, but work was difficult today.  Lassiter and I got assigned a tough case, and, well, it didn’t end up the way we’d hoped.  Long story short, we uncovered a dirty cop.  It was, um… do you remember Lawson?  He worked in narcotics.  Turns out he’s done some things … hurt some people.  He wasn’t always accountable out in the field, and some things came to light.  Anyway.  It’s a mess.

And then there’s this whole thing with you.  I just … every time it looks like you’re making improvements, you just … you just retreat back into yourself, and I feel like I’m losing you more every day.  I promised you when this all started, on day one, that I would wait for you, that I would be patient, and I’m trying, but…

It’s not that I want to leave you or anything.  Not at all.  My patience is just wearing thin, and I can’t sleep and night and every day I wake up terrified to look at my phone, because what if I have a message that you’ve woken up, but that you don’t remember me at all?  Or worse, what if I get a message that you’ll never wake up again?  

Our bed feels empty.  I sleep with Mr. Snuggles every night, though – do you remember Mr. Snuggles, you know, the bear you won me at the fair when we started dating?  He’s soft, but he’s wearing a bit thin.  I guess holding a stuffed animal like it’s a lifeline every night for over half a year will do that, but I’m afraid he’s going to break soon.

I think… 

I think I’m already broken, Shawn, and I can’t – 

I’m sorry.  I’m sorry, I don’t mean to… I just miss you.

Did you know that I kiss you every night before I leave?  Nothing fancy, just a single, light kiss on the lips.  Sometimes I pretend that you’re the damsel in distress and I’m Prince Charming, and I almost manage to convince myself that when I pull back, your eyes will be fluttering open to look at me, like Snow White or Sleeping Beauty.  But every time, you stay asleep.

Maybe this time, you’ll wake up.  Can you do it for me, baby?  Please?

…

Well, it was worth a try.  I miss the way you used to kiss me back.  I’ll try again tomorrow.

I’ll never stop trying.  

I love you, Shawn.

***

I just don’t get it, Mr. Spencer.  The doctors say he’s recovered from his injuries almost perfectly.  Even the head injury, on the surface, has healed.  Why isn’t he waking up?  It’s been eleven months!

If I knew, Gus, I’d be the first to tell you, but I have no idea what’s going on inside that thick head of his. 

I’m sorry.  I know you’ve got a lot on your plate right now, too.  I shouldn’t be –  

Gus.  Just like I told Jules, we have to be here for each other.  That’s all we can do.  That, and be here for Shawn when he wakes up. 

If he wakes up.

Don’t say that, Gus.  You know Shawn.  He’s the most stubborn person either of us knows.  He’ll wake up.  He’ll make it through this. 

How long are we going to keep telling ourselves that?  He’s been comatose for almost a year, Mr. Spencer.  Every time he shows signs of coming back, he just… doesn’t.  How long do we keep waiting?  Two years?  Five?  How long until we’ve reached the point of no return?  Will we even know it when we see it?

Gus, the point of no return doesn’t happen until he stops breathing, and that’s not going to happen, okay?  We stick by Shawn until our prayers are answered or are no longer necessary.  Got it? 

You’re right, I’m so sorry.  Of course I’d never give up on Shawn, I’m just so tired –

Shhhh! 

I am pouring my heart out here!  I let you cry on my shoulder yesterday, and you won’t even let me –

First off, I wasn’t crying, and even if it was, I wouldn’t be doing it on your shoulder.  Secondly, I could have sworn I saw – yes!  He’s moving!  Do you see his hand, Gus?  Gus! 

I … I dunno Mr. Spencer.  Could be another false alarm.

Maybe, but… this feels different.  Shawn?  Shawn?  Can you hear me, bud?  Can you open your eyes? 

He’s stopped moving.  His heart rate’s normalizing.  I think –

“D-dad?”

Oh my – thank GOD, Gus, get a doctor, get a nurse – call Jules – Shawn, Shawn, can you hear me? 

“Dad?”

I’m here, Shawn, I’m here.  Open your eyes for me – there you go.  Gus has gone to get the nurse.  He’ll be back with someone in a second. 

“Jules?”

She’ll be here, she’s just outside.  Thank God you’re awake, I – 

“I h-heard, Dad.”

What? 

“I heard.  Everything.”

You did, huh? 

“Yeah… do you a-always sound like a dying lawn mower when you cry?”

Dammit, Shawn, can’t you let me enjoy having you back for one second before you ruin it?

“L-love you, too, Dad.”

…

Welcome back, son.  It’s good to see you smile again. 

“Yeah, you too, dad – weird… But good.”

[coldcocoamilk]

Whose Horse Is That? -- the social season AU we all want

‘sup! after surviving The Big Game at my job, around a hundred cases of wings later, I’ve finally recovered enough to write again. thank you everyone for your patience as I’ve been working to get this out of my brain. please enjoy the social season au that was asked for! 

this work is also available on Archive of Our Own. please read it wherever you are most comfortable reading! as always, your feedback is greatly appreciated, and thank you so much for taking time out of your day to read my work. ♥

Chapter 1: Arrival 

The salty air finally starting to smell a bit fresher. It had been many weeks since Hange last saw dry land, and as she claps her book shut, she takes in the sights from the deck of the ship that had been her temporary home. The Port of London was not exactly attractive, nor did it show off the architecture and class she had been expecting, but still. It was dry land. Finally, it smelled like something more than fish: steam engines, gasoline, and motor oil. It was not exactly ladylike for her, but those smells brought her some joy.

“Hange,” her brother’s voice called out to her. “You shouldn’t stand on the deck while we’re trying to dock. They have a job to do, you know. Your dress might get wet, and it’s cold.”

“But Moblit,” she grinned, “It smells like cars!”

“We have an impression to make,” he reminded her, tugging at her arm gently but firmly. “Besides, I’m serious. We both should get back down.”

She sighed and took the wide-brimmed hat off her head, clutching it to her chest. The air ran through her hair, pulling a few stray clumps out to fly up onto her forehead. “Fine. I just can’t wait to explore.”

The hat came back on, and the two walked back below decks to their quarters. It would only be a half an hour until their shoes stepped back on land, and both were more than excited. Sure, they had a purpose for coming to England: find a lover, secure the family fortune, and have enough children to carry on their legacy. The British social season was the perfect time to do exactly that, and have a little fun while they could.

“What have you been reading lately?” Moblit asked her as they watched the men in charge of docking the boat through the porthole. “I haven’t heard much from you in the past couple days.”

“Oh! It’s a book on human anatomy. There’s a part about a condition called diabetes that is really interesting to me. Apparently, they’ve found out that people with that condition are missing a function of their body. But, we don’t know if we can replace it yet,” Hange explained. “They’re calling it ‘insulin.”

Moblit’s amber eyes flashed. “Do you still want to be a doctor, Miss Hange?”

She felt her cheeks grow warm and chose then to place the book into her suitcase. “It doesn’t matter.”

He sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose and brought his hand up through his hair. “Well, with the way things are looking in the world lately, you could at least be a nurse.”

The sudden stress in her brother’s demeanor wiped the embarrassment from the forefront of her mind. “Listen, if it comes to that, you know I will.”

“We’ll have to go back to America, if we can,” Moblit explained. “But it will be dangerous. I can’t imagine they will be allowing normal sea travel. We might be here longer than we expect.”

“I can learn to love it here,” Hange reasoned.

“You haven’t even seen the city,” Moblit fired back.

With no adequate reply in mind, Hange just sat back down and toyed with the ribbon at the edge of her hat. Of course, her brother would know it is her dream to be a doctor. But women don’t become doctors, she reminded herself. They just become bedside nurses and offer comfort. It seemed like a miserable fate for herself in the medical world. But, if there was a war like they all said there would be, then maybe she could make herself useful. It would be better than nothing, at least.

“I apologize, sister. I shouldn’t talk to you like you’re one of the men.”

“I rather you did, to be quite frank,” She replied. “If we have all this money and power, even if I’m a woman, I should be aware.”

The movement of the boat finally stopped, and a voice from above called out letting them know it was time to deboard. Chatter spread through the boat like wildfire, and soon it was full of the sounds of people grabbing luggage, putting on shoes, and walking towards the exit.

Hange looked at her brother, shrugged, and grabbed the smallest suitcase, knowing it would be a scandal if she grabbed one any bigger. She secured her hat with an extra pin and tucked the stray hairs back under it, smoothed her skirt, and pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. Finally, land!

As they walked across the dock out to the street, Moblit grinned, finally feeling some of the excited energy Hange did. “By the way Hange, I just want you to know. I respect you. But let me know if you ever want me to stop treating you like the boys.”

“Absolutely,” she replied.

A man stood in front of a car holding a piece of paper with their names on it, and in a quick few minutes, their possessions were stowed, and they were on their way to the residence that would serve them well for the next half-year.

It was a small residence by their standards, and quite small compared to the others in the area, but it would serve them well, nonetheless. The bricks had been recently cleaned and stood out deep red against the white trimming of the house, and when one looked at the shining windows, they also saw brightly colored flowerboxes underneath them. The top floor seemed to boast a large balcony spanning across the whole front of the house, and the grass was surprisingly green for mid-March.

Arriving at the front of the house, three people stood to meet them, one who was quite familiar to the brother-sister pair.

“Kenny!” Moblit shouted, rushing up to give his friend a hug. “It’s been so long!”

Kenny gave Moblit a small smile, a rarity for the man, and a surprise to Hange. “You two were just children when I last saw you. Now you’re out here looking for love.”

“Hange, you’ve gotten so tall,” he remarked. “And you are as beautiful as always. You two will have a great time here.”

“Thank you for having us, Mr. Ackerman,” Hange replied. “I can only hope I’m as beautiful as your home here.”

This earned her another smile, much to her joy. “This is but a cottage, Hange!”

It had been so long since she had seen Kenny smile. Sure, he made sure to keep in touch with the family through letters and photos, but since his sister Kuchel had died, those smiles had become few and far between. His letters never had the same kind of wry wit to them they had in previous years. Still, she knew he was capable of it. Kenny rarely took up the opportunity to make a good joke, but he could only joke if there were people around.

They chatted for a bit on the front steps there, catching up on life and musing about the weather while the two servants brought their luggage in. Finally, Kenny led them inside to the warmth of the foyer, much to the pair’s relief. The combination of the bitter British cold and them trying to get their land legs back meant that standing and chatting, while fun, was quite the chore.

“Moblit, Hange, please meet my two favorite servants. This is Connie and Sasha. If you have any needs or worries during your stay here, please call upon them. They are kind and capable,” Kenny explained as he led them up the stairs. “Hange, your room will be on the last door to the left down this hall, and Sasha’s quarters are right across from yours. There is a washroom just next door, too. Moblit, yours is the same, but down over here,” he gestured to a hall across the way. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to check up on dinner, so take your time to settle in. It should be on the table at around seven o’clock.”

“Thank you, Mr. Ackerman,” the siblings replied together. Moblit walked Hange to her room with Sasha in tow, and then departed off to his own room.

Turning the knob on the door, Hange was greeted with a surprisingly spacious, but cozy room. Deep green velvet curtains were parted to show the street and balcony outside, their tails just barely brushing the floor. The bed was large and four-poster, with curtains for privacy. Her suitcases stood in one corner next to several large wardrobes, and there was a writing desk, end table, and a couch just large enough for two to sit and have tea. The green felt warm, welcoming, and inviting.

“Miss Zoe, Master Ackerman said your favorite color was green, so you were given this room. If you don’t like it, we can always change it,” Sasha spoke up.

“No, I adore it,” Hange replied, walking over to the bed. She pulled back the curtain and flopped onto the bed, sinking into the cushy goodness that was goose down. “I absolutely adore it,” she breathed.

“Would you like me to unpack your bags, Miss Zoe?” Sasha asked, unsure of what to do with her hands.

Feeling the effects of several weeks on a boat combined with the general exhaustion of travel, Hange simply rolled over onto her stomach. “It’s quite alright, Sasha. And please, just call me Hange. Could you please loosen my stays? I’d like to take a nap.”

“With pleasure, Hange.” Sasha’s fingers were swift and adept at loosening the corset, and in no time, she had Hange tucked into bed. “Should I come to you when dinner is about ready, then?”

“Yeah, that sounds good…” Hange trailed off, already half asleep.

The stillness of the bed and dry land. Finally, maybe she could get some good sleep.