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eldritchqueerture · 2 years ago

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One For The Memory

Chapter 11: All The Horrors

Chapter Summary: Surely nothing can go wrong during this confrontation with Elias.

Surely, now that Martin has remembered everything, he will reunite with Jon in peace and they will live happily ever after with no further problems.

Surely.

CW: suicidal ideation, blood, gunshots, hospitals

Author’s Notes: Yes, this took me like half a year. I have no excuse tbh, this first scene has defeated me in more ways than I'm willing to admit. But it is what it is, I'm posting what I've got so strap in cause this is the second to last chapter on this ride! I hope I can get the last one out before the year ends but uh. Not making any promises. Life is being incredibly busy at the moment.

Work Summary: Jon awakens with a tidal wave of memories that don’t make any sense. In an attempt to go on with his life, he searches for the cause of the turmoil in his mind. He knows, though, that something inside him is waking up.

Likes are greatly appreciated, but please consider reblogging so other people may see it! Thank you 💜

Fury rages inside Jon as he rushes down corridors towards the boiler room. About halfway there, the wall piping springs to life and hisses CO2 out of the vents. He instinctively holds his breath but finds he experiences no discomfort; apparently his body has no need for oxygen anymore.

A couple seconds later, a terrible shriek echoes from somewhere below the floor, and Jon knows the Hive is dead.

It doesn’t really change anything. He hopes Martin and Gerry are safe without Tim there to break the wall into the tunnels; but that’s just a passing thought, quickly replaced by the single-minded purpose of ending this once and for all. Without overthinking (or thinking of any kind, really), he storms into the boiler room to see Elias staring into space.

His gaze flicks towards Jon as he enters, momentarily surprised.

“Jon? I was told you were absent.”

He doesn’t let his surprise show for long, but Jon knows he was not expected.

“This ends now,” he growls, curling his hands into fists. He curses his lack of thinking - he could use a weapon. “You’ve failed.”

“Oh?” Elias raises his eyebrows. “Have I now?”

Jon looks around and, with a considerable amount of bitter irony, notices a fragile, rusted pipe along the bottom of the wall. He rushes to it and breaks off a piece. CO2 rushes out into the air, but Jon doesn’t mind. He picks up the pipe and grips it tight with both hands.

Elias’ eyebrows travel even higher, and his mouth forms a smile bordering on pity.

“Really?” He asks, incredulous. “And what exactly are you going to do with that?”

“I’ve killed you once,” Jon says a little breathlessly, his hands shaking with adrenaline. “I can do it again.”

“Jon.” Elias’ patronizing tone only fuels the rage inside Jon. “Let’s be sensible now.”

“I’m done being sensible with you,” he growls, taking two steps forward. Elias straightens up slightly. “I’m done listening to your bullshit.”

“Now, now, let’s take a step back, shall we?” He extends a hand towards him in what is probably supposed to be a peaceful gesture. “Before anyone does something we might… regret.”

Instead of answering, Jon swings the pipe, striking Elias’s palm. The crack of breaking bones mingles with Elias’ cry of pain. He retreats further into the room, cradling his injured hand to his chest.

“The only thing I regret is not doing this sooner.”

“J—Jon, wait… I—”

“I’m done waiting! This is the end, Jonah. Accept it.” Jon follows him slowly, like a predator cornering its prey. For a moment there is genuine fear in Elias’ pained expression, and Jon revels in it.

In the next, Elias’ left hand fumbles behind his back and pulls out a gun.

Jon freezes. Elias clears his throat, blinking away the tears of pain.

“I very much hoped it wouldn’t come to this,” he says, attempting a level voice amidst the pain. “But you leave me no choice.”

Jon holds eye contact through the brief pause.

“Unless you agree that this was simply a… misunderstanding,” Elias continues with a tight smile. “I’m sure we can still come to an agreement and put it all past—”

“Like hell we will,” Jon scowls. “You’re not talking your way out of here and blackmailing us into obedience. This ends right here, right now. One way or another.”

He can’t stop grief from lining his words with a bitterness only he understands. “You kill me, or I kill you - either way, you lose.”

“Jon, this is suicide.” Elias gives him a stern look. “We can work this out—”

“No.” Jon takes another step. “Make your choice, or I’ll make it for you.”

His heart races in his chest, his breathing is fast and shallow, and his hands tremble around the pipe. Still, his voice does not waver. He takes one more step forward, just as Elias takes one step back.

“You’d hurt a lot of people by killing me, as I’m sure you’re aware. Is this really worth dying for?”

“I don’t. Care.”

Elias shakes his head with a heavy sigh. “So wasteful.”

Jon snorts. “I am so sorry for your loss.”

Elias takes a second to again assess the situation. The determination on Jon’s face is unwavering and, as they take another step in their approach-and-retreat dance, Elias’ back hits the wall.

“Jon, I beg you,” he tries again. “I really don’t want to do this.”

“Tough,” Jon says through gritted teeth. The tension reaches a breaking point; Elias sees him prepare to strike.

He takes aim and pulls the trigger.

***

A horrible shriek coming from the archive stairs vibrates the air around Martin, and he stops for a moment. Gerry and Sasha stop right behind him, and he feels Gerry’s hand on his shoulder. The entire ground floor is rapidly filling with CO2, judging by the hiss from the vents they installed, and soon enough there will be close to no oxygen in the corridors. Martin covers his mouth instinctively and turns to his friends.

“Get out! It’s not safe here!”

“Martin!” Gerry’s grip tightens, stopping him from running off. “We’re going with you.”

“No, I’ve got this.” Martin gives him a pointed look. “Trust me. Go.”

“Are you sure?

“Yes! Go and talk to the police!”

He then shrugs Gerry’s hand off and runs down the corridor.

“I am not talking to the cops,” Gerry mutters with disgust.

“Come on, then!” Sasha tugs him by the arm, but he stops her.

“No, wait!” He looks around and blinks hard against a headache that has started to creep up on him. “I have another idea.”

He grabs Sasha’s arm and pulls her up the stairs.

“Where are we going?” She asks with confusion.

“Elias’ office,” Gerry says over his shoulder. “There’s gotta be some proof that he killed Gertrude.”

Sasha gasps excitedly. “I like where your mind’s at.”

They throw the office door open and take a second to calm their breathing. The air is clearer up here with less vents installed, but Gerry still takes a moment to open the window.

“You okay?” He asks Sasha, who’s already rummaging through Elias’ desk.

“Yeah, just a bit lightheaded, that’s all.” She waves her hand dismissively. “We’ll be fine.”

Gerry turns to join her at the desk, and they both jump when two gunshots pierce the air.

They exchange concerned glances.

“Was that…?” Sasha trails off, her meaning crystal clear.

“There’s no one else in the Institute,” Gerry answers through the tightness in his throat.

Sasha looks between the desk and the door in distress.

“Should we go check up on them?” She asks. “I think, out of the three of them, Elias is the most likely to own a gun.”

“Owning it doesn’t mean it was he who fired it,” Gerry offers weakly. “We could split up.”

“Alright, you go.” Sasha nods and gestures towards the desk. “I’m good at this sort of thing. Meet you back downstairs in fifteen.”

“Okay.” Gerry squeezes her shoulder briefly. “See you.”

As he runs through the Institute, Martin searches his pockets for anything that could be used as a weapon. All he finds is the corkscrew, still covered in Tim’s blood. He grimaces and shrugs. There’s no time to look for something more appropriate, and it is better than nothing.

He tries to breathe in as little air as he can without suffocating, but he still feels lightheaded soon and has to briefly stop and lean against the wall to regain balance. His heart hammers in his chest, with memories of the last moments in the Panopticon springing to his mind without conscious input. The situation is awfully similar to him sprinting up the stairs of the tower, not yet aware of what waited for him at the top.

His throat closes up at that, and he pushes the thought away. Now’s not the time. It’s not too late yet.

That’s when two gunshots ring through the air in rapid succession, close enough to startle Martin. His blood freezes momentarily and then he breaks into a run, not paying attention to his vision swaying ever so slightly. He staggers a couple times, losing balance. He doesn’t stop and pushes himself off the wall towards the boiler room.

The door to it is ajar, and he can hear someone groaning in pain inside. He instantly recognizes Jon’s voice; a testament to hearing him in pain far too many times.

There’s no one else inside but Jon, lying on the floor and clutching his shoulder. There’s a bloody trail along the floor, as if he had tried to drag himself to the exit but ran out of strength, which is, as Martin suspects, exactly what happened. Elias is nowhere to be seen, so Martin lets go of the corkscrew and drops to the floor at Jon’s side.

“Jon. Jon, I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

He quickly takes off his own sweater to wrap it around Jon’s wounded shoulder, eliciting a groan of pain. It seems the other shot hit his thigh, effectively stopping him from any attempts at walking, while not killing him instantly. He’s losing blood fast though; the fact that it was Elias who dealt the wounds meant the Eye wouldn’t heal him. Martin’s mouth goes dry with fear.

“Martin…” Jon blinks up at him with effort and reaches for his arm. “What… What are you doing here?”

“Saving your bloody, stubborn ass, apparently,” he huffs out a half-hearted chuckle. “You’re gonna be okay. Ambulance’s already here, c’mon.”

“No! No…” Jon lets out a pained gasp. “Leave… I can… I can free you. All of you.”

“What are you talking about?” Martin laughs in disbelief, something painfully constricting in his chest.

“If… If I die—”

“Don’t. Don’t you fucking dare.” Martin tightens his grip on Jon’s shoulders and grits his teeth. “You promised.”

His eyes prickle - his self-control can only last for so long. Jon doesn’t seem to hear him.

“Martin, listen… The Panopticon… In the tunnels, you… you have to—”

“Shut up, Jon, for once just—just shut up.” His breathing comes in irregular spasms as he manoeuvres his hands under Jon for a good grip to pick him up.

Before managing to do that, he hears steps running up to the boiler room, and Gerry appears in the doorway.

“Martin? I heard…” His eyes widen at the scene in front of him. “Oh, fuck.”

“Ambulance, now!” Martin shouts and heaves Jon up with a groan. Gerry wastes no time, running back down the corridor.

“Martin, please…” Jon’s breathing is laboured, and the movement causes him pain. Blood seeps into Martin’s shirt, but he could not care less. He hurries towards the exit of the Institute as fast as he can without jostling Jon too much. “Please just listen…”

“Save your strength,” Martin mutters. “You’re not dying on me now, you hear me? I forbid it.”

Jon laughs lightly and tears spill from his eyes.

“You’re just like him…” He whispers.

Martin can't hold back tears anymore. The walk is taking forever, and he’s starting to wonder if there’s a supernatural influence increasing the distance just to toy with him.

“I’m sorry,” Jon whispers. He blinks slowly, as if it’s an effort to keep his eyes open. A surge of fear cools Martin’s blood. “I’m… sorry for everything.”

“Jon, hold on,” he says through gritted teeth. “We’re almost there, please. Please, just hold on a little longer. Jon!”

Martin shakes his arms a little when Jon’s eyes stay closed this time. His eyelids flutter for a moment and his breathing slows down.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” Martin repeats as he breaks into a run. “Jon, for fuck’s sake!”

He storms into the Institute’s atrium to find paramedics there, wheeling a stretcher from the entrance in a hurry.

“Here!” Martin calls out. He quickly lays Jon down on the stretcher, and the paramedics make short work of positioning him straight on his back with his feet elevated.

“Detecting faint pulse, looks like severe blood loss,” one of them shouts as they wheel him out of the building and into the ambulance. Two of them focus solely on applying direct pressure to the wounds, and another fixes an oxygen mask on Jon. Gerry runs up to Martin and grabs his arm in support.

“Are you hurt?” Gerry asks, and Martin only shakes his head.

“He can’t die now, he can’t, he can’t,” Martin repeats, not caring if he’s speaking out loud. They follow the paramedics up to the ambulance, where they’re stopped by a firm hand.

“We need to take him to the hospital,” one of the paramedics informs. “He’s in good hands now.”

“Is he going to make it?” Gerry asks. The man presses his lips together solemnly.

“I’m sorry, it’s too early to tell. We’re doing what we can.”

He disappears inside, and the ambulance takes off, its siren blaring.

Martin stares after it with an empty expression for a moment. Is it the Web’s doing? Giving him the ‘gift’ of tapes that bring back his memory only to take Jon away? A last, cruel joke? He can’t let that happen, but… What can he do? As in their home universe, so in this one, he’s unable to make a real difference. What good is he against literal powers of fear?

“Was that… Guys, who was that?”

Martin barely registers Tim’s voice. He finds it impossible to look anywhere but at the fixed point in space, and his blank expression is frozen on his face. He feels cold all over.

Gerry looks between Martin and Tim, who limps up to them unsteadily, but doesn’t say anything.

“Gerry? Martin?” Tim asks again, more insistingly. He suddenly looks around in alarm. “Where’s Sasha?”

“She’s…” Gerry stops short with a sudden look at Martin. “Where did Elias go? Martin?”

If Martin hears him, he doesn’t answer. He’s like a statue, staring out into space.

“For fuck’s sake…” Gerry mumbles and breaks into a run up the stairs.

In the door to the Institute, he almost collides with Sasha, who exits the building.

“Woah!” She exclaims, almost dropping the file box she's holding in her arms.

“Good, you’re here.” Gerry breathes out with relief.

“Oh, thank fuck,” Tim breathes out as soon as they make it down the stairs and lunges to wrap Sasha in a hug. She blinks in surprise and returns the hug.

“Did you find Jon?” She asks over Tim’s shoulder, who’s unwilling to let her go just yet.

Gerry looks down with a sigh. Martin looks at Sasha with eyes glazed over with tears.

“I found him,” he says in a thick voice. He walks up to the stairs and sits down heavily. “Too late. Always… Always too late.”

Sasha looks between them fearfully, extracting herself from Tim and guiding him to sit down next to Martin.

“What are you saying?”

“Self-sacrificial bastard,” Martin mutters and hides his face in his hands, as a wave of heart wrenching sorrow overtakes him. Gerry rushes to put an arm around him and gently guides his bloodied hands away from his face.

“They took him to the hospital,” he supplied quietly. “He might still make it.”

“But…” Sasha takes a shaky breath. “But I saw him shrug off a fatal injury from the table creature like it was nothing! How is a gun different?”

“Beholding cannot heal him because it was Elias who injured him,” Gerry explained. “I think. I’m not sure how this works.”

“Only a few can hurt him now,” Martin adds shakily. “Hunt avatars and those who belong to the Eye. That’s why Elias… And I—”

Martin’s voice breaks, as he stares forward with unseeing eyes.

“How do you know that?” Sasha looks at him in surprise. “What… What happened to you?”

Martin lets out a laugh. “I remember everything,” he mumbles. “Jon wasn’t the only one that came through that night, but the Lonely hid me away. Annabelle must have known…”

“Annabelle Cane?” Sasha frowns. “The one who—”

“—Brought the tapes, yeah.” Martin sniffles. “She said it was a gift. A thank-you gift. Because we did what she wanted.” He gasps and for a moment it’s not clear whether he’s crying or laughing.

“Martin…” Gerry looks at him worriedly.

“I just wanted us to have some peace,” Martin whispers. “Why can’t we have just a little bit of goddamned peace?! I just… It was going to work out, everything was supposed to be— And I’m…”

Gerry pulls him closer. “It’s going to be okay, Martin,” he whispers soothingly. “You’re both going to be okay.”

Martin laughs mirthlessly at that. He should know better by now than to believe that.

***

Fleeting nightmares play in his mind for what seems like eternity; vague sceneries that realize themselves just enough to spark dread in his gut, only to fade away in the next second, his consciousness pulled in different directions like a leaf on a changing wind. The visions leave him with a suffocating weight on his chest (does he even have one of those anymore?) and a bitter taste on his tongue. Some of them feel more real than the others, and it’s in one of those that he comes to on a hospital bed, with an IV taped onto his arm. Martin sits beside him, staring into space with a blank expression. Jon takes a moment to just look at his face; his eyes are slightly red-rimmed as if from crying, but the rest of his face is dry. Jon feels strangely detached from the sight and oblivious to its meaning.

“Mar…tin…” Jon whispers slowly, as if savouring the taste of the word. Martin’s eyes snap to him instantly, and he gasps.

“Jon? Jon, Christ. You’re awake.”

He chuckles weakly. His vision is hazy and his brain feels foggy; there’s no pain, just this floaty feeling of dream-like reality surrounding him like a plush pillow.

“Didn’t expect afterlife to look so… hospital-like,” he mutters and reaches his hand out towards Martin. He takes it with a look of confusion. “But that’s fine. You’re here. ‘S all that matters.”

“Wha… Jon, you’re not dead.” Martin levels him with a hard stare. “I wasn’t gonna let you die.”

Jon closes his eyes and shakes his head with an indulging smile. “Of course, you weren’t.”

He falls through the unstable ground of reality to the next dream, with no memory of the conversation.

When he wakes up again, it’s with a much clearer mind, and aches. He groans and shifts, causing more pain to flare in his shoulder. With that, recent events begin trickling back into his mind.

“Welcome back to the land of the living.” He hears a voice beside him, and he opens his eyes to see Gerry sitting cross-legged on the hospital chair, with a lopsided smile on his lips. It fades a little into something more serious. “Are you in pain?”

Jon only whines in answer.

“I’m gonna call the nurse then, yeah?” Gerry moves to get up, but Jon shakes his head.

“Wait,” he mumbles. “Martin…”

“He’s alright,” Gerry answers gently. “As are Tim and Sasha. Everyone’s okay.”

Jon exhales with relief.

“I’m… alive,” he says, making Gerry snort.

“Astute observation. Despite your hardest efforts, might I add. You’re a lucky bastard.”

Jon lets out a pained laugh. “Not… how I’d describe it.”

“Elias shot at you twice but only one of the bullets actually hit you.” Gerry points his chin at Jon’s shoulder. “The other one only grazed your thigh. You lost a lot of blood before Martin got to you, but they managed to save you. Not sure how much of that was Beholding, but you’re expected to make a full recovery.”

Tears cloud Jon’s vision for a moment, and he lets out a breath.

“Elias?”

“Made a break for it, from what we can tell,” Gerry shrugs. “Hasn’t reappeared since. He’s probably aware that Sasha found dirt in his office.”

Seeing Jon’s frown, Gerry adds: “Gertrude’s murder on tape . Sick asshole. A few other blackmail cases too and, well. Apparently some old, human bones. Not sure what that’s about, but the police seemed very interested in those.”

“It’s time to find the Panopticon,” Jon groans and pulls himself upright. “We have to kill—”

“Easy there, cowboy.” Gerry shoots out to steady him on the bed. “First of all, you’re in no state to go anywhere. Second, this place is monitored, and the cops are still sort of interested in you.” He raises his eyebrows pointedly. “I’d be careful with phrasing.”

Jon sighs and grimaces in pain. “Right.”

“How about I call the nurse to get you some more of that sweet anaesthetic, huh?” Gerry offers.

“Alright, fine,” Jon looks away. “Just, um, Gerry?”

“Yeah?”

“Has Martin… How—How is he?”

Gerry looks at him wordlessly for a moment with a glint in his eye Jon can’t place.

“I think you two should just talk,” he says finally. “Preferably when you’re conscious.”

“I am conscious.”

“Yeah, we’ll see about that in ten minutes,” Gerry chuckles and presses the white button on the wall. “You have been talking in your sleep a bit.”

Jon opens his eyes wider. “I—I have?”

“Apparently you thought this was heaven,” Gerry snorts. “Don’t know where you got that idea, but to each their own, I guess.”

Jon presses his lips together in a sudden spark of self-consciousness.

A short, older nurse enters the room with a clipboard and greets Jon with a smile.

“Good morning, Jon. I’m Eliza.” She walks up to check his vitals and the IV currently inserted in his arm. “Do you know where you are?”

“Uh…” Jon blinks in slight confusion. “In a hospital, I suppose. I’m afraid I haven’t been in enough of those in London to recognize them individually from the inside.”

Eliza laughs. “That’s perfectly fine. Mind telling me how you feel?”

“I feel fine.” He shifts slightly and winces.

“Any pain?” She raises her eyebrows and gently looks over the bandages.

“Just the usual amount, it’s fine.”

“The usual amount is none, sweetheart.” Eliza tilts her head at him. “I’m going to run a basic check-up, and then I’ll give you some more anaesthetic, alright?”

Jon grimaces at her words. “Yeah, alright.”

“I’m sorry sir, I’m going to need you to leave for the moment,” she addresses Gerry. “You’ll be able to come back once we’re done.”

“Sure thing.” Gerry places a hand on Jon’s arm. “Hang tight. I’m gonna go get Martin.”

Jon wants to call after him, but he can’t bring himself to mention statements in front of the nurse. After Gerry leaves Jon sighs and braces himself for the onslaught of questions, trying not to think about the growing pit somewhere inside him.

The anaesthetic has stopped working.

Jon stares at the translucent fluid dripping down into the IV line and he Knows it has no further effects on his body. He supposes that’s just as well; it would be surprising if, after merging with the less human part of himself, he still adhered to the laws of human biology.

He feels exhausted. Hungry. He’s afraid of what he will do if he doesn’t get access to a statement soon; there must be plenty of people with various experiences in this hospital. Jon’s not very keen on creeping through the corridors in search of a victim. What would his Martin think of him if he saw him?

He tries not to think about the confrontation with Elias. Ultimately, he failed in what he set out to do, and now Elias is gone and he’s… Vulnerable. More powerful and knowledgeable, sure. But ultimately defeated.

After all, he’s the one who brought the fear entities into this universe.

Annabelle Cane said so herself when she visited the Archives that fateful morning. Jon wasn’t there to listen, but a tape recorder running in the background captured the entirety of the meeting. Jon doesn’t even need to hear the tape anymore to know what it contains.

Everything’s already done. The Web got what it wanted and there is nothing he can do.

But that’s not true, isn’t it? He might be alone here, stripped of his humanity and cursed to live off of other people’s fear, but there is something he could still do. He could ensure that his assistants - his friends - are safe. This world may be infested with nightmares because of him, and he will bear this guilt for all eternity, but one thing he needs to do is make sure Sasha, Tim, and Martin are never plagued by these creatures again. Perhaps that could be his anchor to humanity for as long as they live. And after that…?

There’s a gentle knock on the hospital door; the sound of it tugs at Jon’s heart. His gaze flicks to the door, which opens to reveal Martin, his eyes wide and glistening.

“Hi, Jon,” he says quietly, and there is a certain fragile quality to his voice. Jon smiles through the ache in his chest.

“Hello, Martin.”

A flash of pain travels through Martin’s face, and he carefully closes the door behind him and walks up to the bed.

“I… I brought something for you,” he speaks and reaches for his backpack. He places it at the foot of the bed, and it touches Jon’s leg under the bedsheet. Somehow, this contact grounds him.

Martin pulls out a file folder and wordlessly passes it to Jon, who frowns with confusion as he takes it. Careful of the wound in his shoulder, he opens the file.

“That’s…” He blinks. Statements. “How did you know?”

Martin lets out a pained laugh. “I don’t know where to start.”

Jon properly looks up at that. There are tears in Martin’s eyes as he hangs onto the backpack. He still hasn’t approached, staring at Jon as if he might disappear if he looks away.

“I don’t… understand.”

“I mean, really, where do you start ?!” A maelstrom of emotions breaks out on Martin’s face when he exclaims or maybe sobs out the words. “Should I be thanking every damn power in the universe that allowed us to get here alive? Should I be angry at you for trying again and again to sacrifice yourself at every goddamn opportunity? Should I just fucking break down here and now because of how scared I was that when I actually managed to remember it all, I was too late? That you were already” —His voice cracks, and he looks up, trying to stave off tears. “But you’re here, and you were here the whole time, and you were here alone . You were alone because a part of me refused to let go, and that’s my fault, so, do I feel guilty for pushing you to feel like this was what you had to do? Because I feel all of this and more, and I just…”

He looks away, blinking furiously.

“Martin, what… What on Earth are you talking about?” Jon asks faintly, not able to fully process this outburst. Martin laughs through tears.

“It’s me, Jon. I’m here. I remember.”

Something enormous sinks heavily in Jon’s chest. He shakes his head weakly.

“No, that’s…That’s impossible. You—”

“Annabelle Cane came to the Institute the morning Prentiss attacked,” Martin says. “She brought tapes. The tapes from our world, all of them, detailing everything that happened.”

“This isn’t real,” Jon mumbles through a numbness that spreads on his face. “It can’t be real.”

“I listened to the one from the start of the Change,” Martin continued mercilessly. “I didn’t know it would help me, but I felt drawn by it. Must’ve been the Web or, or a part of me just knew. It was from the first Lonely domain we passed. I fell behind, in a house full of fog and lost souls, and I—I kept forgetting—”

“Stop!” Jon wouldn't be able to stop shaking his head even if he wanted to. He retreats, pressing his back into the wall behind his bed, as if that could distance him from Martin’s words. “I tried everything to bring Martin to the surface. He would have answered if he was there.”

Martin smiles bitterly for a moment, and a wistful look passes through his face.

“Huh. I remember thinking the same thing when you were in a coma,” he says quietly. “’He would wake up if he could. For me.’”

Jon stares at him in mute terror.

“I think I understand now, though.” Martin sniffles. “It made no difference if or how much you loved me, or anyone else. It was Oliver who helped you, but ultimately it was something you had to go through on your own. Make your own peace with it or succumb to it. I’m just… I’m sorry it took me so long to get there.”

Jon leans forward slightly, his heart hammering against his ribcage. He extends a hand but falters halfway, laying it on top of the sheets instead.

“You’re… You’re saying you really… You’re…”

Martin walks up to the side of the bed and gingerly takes Jon’s hand.

“Yeah. We made it here together.” He swallows with difficulty. “One way or another.”

Jon lets out a weak whine.

“When… When did you—?”

“After Prentiss showed up.” Martin squeezes his hand. “When Gerry and I were locked in the document storage.”

“Oh, my G—Martin, I’m so— I didn’t—”

Tears stream down Jon’s cheeks, and Martin carefully pulls him into a hug, seating himself on the edge of the bed.

“It’s alright, Jon,” he whispers, stroking Jon’s hair. “It’s alright.”

Jon’s defences all shatter like glass, and he cries into Martin’s shoulder for what feels like ages. Martin can't stop his own tears either. Soon enough they are both a mess of tears and ragged breathing.

Martin pulls back, cradling Jon’s face in his hand. He passes a thumb across his cheekbone, wiping away some of the wetness.

“Can you forgive me?” Jon asks almost inaudibly, and in his eyes, Martin can see grief that could envelop the entire universe in its magnitude.

“I love you, Jon,” Martin breathes out. “I’ve already forgiven you.”

Jon lets out another small whine, and more tears spill out of his eyes.

“You’re safe now,” Martin adds and tucks Jon's hair behind his ear. “That’s all that matters.”

Jon stares at him like a wounded animal. With a sudden self-consciousness, and a sinking feeling of guilt, Martin withdraws his hands. What if Jon doesn’t feel this way about him anymore? After what had happened - after what he’d done?

This line of thought is quickly shut down, as Jon catches his retreating hands in his own.

“Don’t go,” he says insistently. “Stay. Please.”

“I brought statements for you—”

“They can wait a bit longer,” Jon answers quickly. His eyes watch and almost devour the sight of Martin, as if he has limited time for witnessing his presence and wants to take as much out of it as he can.

“Alright.”

Jon moves carefully to the side, and Martin settles next to him, leaning his back against the wall just enough so he can wrap his arm around Jon and pull him close. Jon melts against him like he’s done a million times before, albeit in an entirely different lifetime.

They both know they still need to talk. The events at the Panopticon hang over them like a dark cloud and they’re aware that the issue is far from being resolved. But for now, they are safe, together; feeling each other’s bodies pressed close, hearing each other’s breaths. And that is all that matters.

***

Jon is let out of the hospital a couple days later, baffling the doctors with his immunity to any and all medication beyond what was used to immediately save his life. The wounds begin healing slowly, and Jon finds himself able to walk around with a cane quite soon. He basically flees the hospital then, without making too much of a scene if he can help it. Recovery means that the police will probably take interest and Jon wants to avoid that as much as possible.

They do catch him either way; they wait for him at the Institute when he and Martin return from the hospital. Martin takes a protective step in front of him when they’re approached by Basira in a police uniform, holding a notepad. She only asks a couple questions and moves on, firmly telling them that entering the tunnels under the Institute is prohibited until the case of Gertrude’s death is closed.

They meet with Tim and Sasha in the archives’ breakroom, and Martin leads Jon to a chair. Under other circumstances this kind of hovering would probably grate on Jon’s nerves, but this time a warm feeling blooms in his chest. He beams at Martin as he’s guided to sit down, and he leans his cane against the table.

Jon takes notice of Sasha's subtle (and Tim's less so) looks at the two of them. They haven’t talked a lot between the events at the Institute, with Tim recovering from the after-effects of being replaced and helping Sasha as best he could while she handled the situation at the Institute itself. Rosie took the brunt of dealing with the police, but Sasha was responsible for managing the ECDC crew, who disposed of Jane Prentiss’ corpse. They haven’t really had time to even visit Jon in the hospital, and Martin was, to put it mildly, unresponsive. Gerry helped as much as he could from a distance, since, in his words, it wouldn’t be best for him and the police to cross paths again.

“So…” Tim starts uneasily, looking between Jon’s tired face and Martin, who is still clutching Jon’s hands in his. “You guys are both… From that other place? Not just Jon?”

Jon can’t hold back a smile, and he looks down at their joined hands. He still can’t believe it. Martin is actually here, after all this time he thought he was alone… They actually made it.

“Yeah,” Martin answers. “I know this must be super confusing for you, I’m—I’m sorry. But yeah, the whole thing with me not remembering Jon’s tape, the confusion, the disappearing.” He looks away. “I guess I needed an additional push to remember it all through the fog.”

“Annabelle’s tapes,” Sasha prompted.

“ Our tapes,” Jon corrects with a tinge of anger. “As much as I might hate it.”

“We hate her more,” Martin adds pointedly.

“Why did she do that, then? An act of benevolence?” Tim scoffs.

“She said it was a gift.” Martin sighs. “I don’t think there’s anything sinister here.”

“I doomed countless worlds, this one included,” Jon said thickly, not looking at any of them. “I did what the Web wanted. Ultimately, it doesn’t matter if Martin is here or not.”

“Jon.” Martin squeezes Jon’s hand. Jon looks back at him.

“You can’t deny it. Every single tragedy, every single death in this world due to the Fears is because of me. The fact that the Institute exists here, the fact that Tim and Sasha are trapped here in the first place is because of what we did. I told you this would happen and—”

“The Fears were here well before we arrived,” Martin counters. “You couldn’t have possibly brought them here.”

“I Saw it all in the Panopticon.” Jon shakes his head. “They did originate in our universe, grew from but a trace to something that ultimately broke free from its nest. There’s no saying how many other realities they travelled to. They exist in an entirely different way to us, Martin, they’re not physical beings; they’re not concerned with time .”

Jon’s voice takes on that patronising tone it sometimes used to take during the Apocalypse; as if he was explaining something utterly inane. Anger sparks in Martin at that.

“Even so, we did what we had to do! We can’t be held accountable—”

“No, we didn’t .”

They stare at each other with eyes glistening in emotions, a quiet battle of resolve.

“How about… we discuss what to do next?” Sasha asks carefully, tilting her head. “Here and now?”

Something sharp glistens in Martin’s eyes, but Jon decides to disregard it. He sighs heavily and turns back to the table.

“We need to go to the tunnels and find the Panopticon. Jonah’s body should still be there, and if we kill it, the Institute should release everyone. We’ll successfully evade the chance for the Change happening here for a good while yet.”

“But not forever?” Tim asks.

“I’m afraid that’s impossible.” Jon shrugs slightly. “Jonah Magnus will be dead, but nothing stops other avatars from figuring out what he did. The fact that he was the only one to figure it out so far is a hopeful sign at least.”

“What about us?” Sasha asks with a concerned glance at Tim. “You said it could kill us?”

“It won’t.” Jon presses his lips together. “At least it shouldn’t, you haven’t been here long. The rest of the Institute shouldn’t notice a thing. Elias highly exaggerated the cost, of course.”

“Uh… So, where is he now?” Tim asks.

Jon frowns, looking off to the side.

“I’m… not sure. The Eye is weaker here, and I can’t…”

“It doesn’t matter though, does it?” Martin interrupts impatiently. “We just need to find the Panopticon and kill him.”

“Right.” Jon nods. “You—You have a knife, right?”

“Hold on, like, right now?” Tim raises his hands. “No preparation, no… nothing?”

Martin shrugs. “The more we wait the more time he has to plan something.”

“We’re talking about killing someone, Martin, you’re… you’re okay with that?”

“We’re talking about killing a two-hundred-year-old guy who’s ended the world,” Martin deadpans. “But you guys don’t have to go if you don’t—”

“You are not getting rid of us now.” Sasha firmly shakes her head. “We might not fully understand what’s going on, but I’ll be damned if we don’t help you take this to the end.”

Jon smiles at her. “Thank you, Sasha.”

“Alright then.” Tim exhales loudly through his mouth. “To the secret tunnels then, I presume?”

Enter Relationship Conflicts: I doomed countless universes to torment because I couldn't watch you die edition. I cannot wait to explore it. Be warned.

Title inspiration: "The Horror and the Wild" by The Amazing Devil

#niki.writes #tma oftm #tma #the magnus archives #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #jonmartin #can you believe?

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oscars-dumbass-central · 2 years ago

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Martyn's lost a lot, he's in debt to the shittiest bartender he ever met. He's just in debt generally if he had to admit it.

So when a random man comes up to him, and suggests the universe's stupidest plan he might as well agree.

A crew of four people who all barely know each other, but have all lost someone, and together? They might find those someones again.

Or/ a sci-fi AU with messy relationships, too much polyamory, and a piece of junk for a ship.

Words: 875

Chapter One: I'd be more peaceful being dead

The warmth of the whiskey was the only warmth that Martyn had felt for far too long. He stared down into his glass and watched the beautiful deep amber liquid swirl around what was probably far too large ice cube. It looked pretty, but it burnt as he swallowed it down in a single heartbeat. He guessed that the burning was what he deserved.

He had left, he had run, now all that was waiting for him was the cold of a shitty tiny bed and the burning heat off the cheapest whiskey at the cheapest bar. God he was—

“This seat free?” A loud voice broke through his thoughts and started him from staring down at the slowly melting ice cube any longer. Glancing up he saw a ram hybrid wearing a heavy white coat gesturing towards the seat next to him.

“Uh, yeah?”

“Great,” the ram hybrid smiled as he sat cross legged on the tall stool — how was he even doing that? “So I’ve heard you’re pretty good with a certain set of skills,” his fingers danced across his legs constantly, the man refusing to sit still for even a single breath. “I am in need of those skills and it seems you might be in need of some money.”

“I’m not-”

“I asked the bartender and you owe him 316.5 chips,“ he smiled a stupidly fucking charming smile.

Glaring at the man, Martyn grabbed another glass from where the bartender had placed it, removing his empty one sometime during the time the man had been talking. “I am not looking for work.”

“I’m not asking to hire you,” he sighed and rolled his eyes, leaning an elbow on the sticky counter. “I am asking for your help to steal something.”

“But-”

“I know you are also looking for a certain someone — I don’t know who, don’t worry — I am also looking for my people,” something in the man’s expression made Martyn believe he was being honest, it might’ve been the first thing he actually paid attention to the entire conversation. “I’ve got a pilot, I know how to fix up a ship, I just need one.”

“You’re asking me to steal a ship.”

“Yes!” There was that stupid fucking smile again. “Exactly, now, come along, I’m sure we can find one in not too bad of condition.”

“Really, you want that one, it’s a piece of junk!” Martyn scowled at the ship — it was barely even one if you had to ask him — which the ram hybrid had brought him to. The thing was rusted to Hels and back and was missing at least three of its engines.

“Exactly, no-one will notice once it’s gone!” He punched Martyn lightly on his arm, “So c’mon, teach me how to steal it!” He smiled so brightly and blindingly that it was slightly annoying.

“You know if your pilot even knows how to fly this style?” It was a fucking old ship, no professionally trained pilots would know how to fly something that fucking old.

Shrugging, the ram hybrid went back to staring at the ship with almost literal stars in his eyes. “He says he knows his way around older stuff, grew up on a farming planet apparently.”

Oh great, the pilot was a fucking farmer. There was no way he’d be able to even get the ship off the ground. “If you’re sure,” he sighed. “There are a few ways to steal a ship: fly away with it; shove it in a bigger ship; or carry it out piece by piece to rebuild it somewhere else,” No-one in their right mind would ever choose the third option, it was pretty much impossible and you’d get caught immediately. So of course the ram hybrid chose the third option. Fucking hels.

God, every single muscle in Martyn’s body was screaming in pain as he lugged another crate filled with metal and shit he didn’t understand. The followed behind the ram hybrid — who still hadn’t given his name — who was holding a tiny crate filled with pretty much nothing down pathways that he could’ve sworn didn’t exist a couple days ago.

“Where are we even taking this shit?” He grunted, readjusting the heavy crate as he kicked shut a door behind them.

“I’ve got a friend who’s agreed to help us build the ship in return for us bringing him with us,” he explained as they walked, “He’s got a friend who owns a shop that he’s renting out for us.”

“How do we know we can trust him?”

The ram hybrid went quiet for a few seconds — thank fuck — before responding, “He’s trying to find someone, like we are.”

“Oh,” How was he supposed to respond to that? How was anyone supposed to respond to that? “That… uh… that sucks?”

Snorting, the ram hybrid clicked on a button on an intercom they had wandered up to. “Doc, we’re here.”

“Password?” a deep voice grumbled out through the heavy static buzz.

“Seventy-seven,” he rolled his eyes, “I really don’t know why you insisted on a password.” The heavy roller door slowly opened incredibly loudly and creaked open and Martyn stumbled back in shock when he saw who — what? — was standing there. “What the fuck—”

#og oscar #oscar's writing #hermitcraft #trafficblr #hermitblr #traffic #martyn #zedaph #in the little wood #zedaphplays #third life smp

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penguin--person · 2 months ago

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lets be flesh together

ok ok so my oc doesnt rlly have a name so far <3 kate ? may ? i dont knyaow dude im just chilling .. she lives in america (so that she can hang out with my friend's tma ocs), in her 30s, a motorcyclist and an avatar of the end :3

ok so !! shes living her life as a motorcyclist, a racer, maybe? shes pretty chill:) shes just some guy. i dont know much about her personality pre-avatar, other than that people think shes cool in reality she needs a xanax perscription asap. then she starts having nightmares about people dying !! crashing their motorcycle, being hit by a car, etc !! she sees it from their eyes, too, and its everytime she goes to sleep. she ignores it at first, but then the deaths start actually happening !! which freaks her out. she keeps getting hyper-realistic nightmares, going to work, seeing people die (friends, strangers), so so often. she develops insomnia <3 shes so anxiety ridden and exhausted all the time that she loses her job. nothing she does keeps the nightmares away, and they feel so Real, its just awughhh its hell for her.

she starts isolating herself, only leaving her flat when she absolutely must. she hatesss it. even if she doesnt see the deaths happen irl, she Knows that they happened, bc they always do !! and she knows exactly how the person felt when they did. every day.

she adopts this doomer-esque mindset where shes, like.. one day she sort of 'accepts' that she lives like this now. shes still ridden with anxiety, but shes started coming to peace with it. everyone around her is going to die. shes going to die. her interfering will do nothing, so, clearly, nothing she ever does matters - this includes, like.. her taking care of her body. its going to die one day so whats it matter if she smokes 10 packs a day or starves or is sick and such !! yknow ?? this is why her hair is long in one of the 2 doodles i have of her.. she stops maintaining it n its greasy and tangled and it will never endddd oooo spooky. or something . eugh

also !!! this is my fav part about her, probably. she turns to conspiracy theories to cope with the end. at first shes like "this has to be happening for a reason", so she latches onto any explanation that she gets, no matter how unreasonable it may be !! yknow ?? like its Gotta be an alien or a ghost or the goverment thats haunting her. tbh its possible that she found the magnus archives this way and sent her statement there bc of it ... by the time shes all "nothing i do matters", shes too into the conspiracy theories, and finds comfort in them !! and shes a fakeass idgaf-er . i saw her gazing wistfully across the room at something or someone that was not there!!!!! she probs has a blog or smth where she talks about her nightmares and gets yelled at by people for being insensitive

she probs ends up getting, like, a night-shift job omg fnaf ... ok her new lore is she becomes the new guard in a fnaf location. she dreams about the children dying and solves the case 💥hehe .. anyway she probs works latenight shifts at a gas station or smth. somewhere she wont see a lot of people. i can see her having a new job every 2 weeks... the only place she leaves her flat for other than her job is to the library to get proof for the theories. which is where she meets my friends oc :) youd love him dude hes part of an avatar union

she SUCKS and IS A LOSER !!!! ALSO !!!! i need you to know this . writing all this out makes her sound so .. like goddd man i didnt even mean to make her a punching bag oc. whenever i talk about her im just like bullying her but in the fun way. im giving her a beach episode im giving her a new motorcycle etc. im giving her toys to play with. not my fault her lore is like this ...

hercore posts. as a treat

what avatar would I be Huh !!! and you also . put me in tma, boy ... i have a tma oc btw :3 bats my eyes at you

i think u would be either hunt or flesh …. tbh ….. i would 1000% be a vast avatar I LOOOOVE THE VAST !!!! VAST COME BACK TO ME !!! but i’d also love to be an avatar of the flesh or of the stranger. I could be it all. ALSO BOYYYY SHOW ME UR OC !!! TELL ME ABOUT EM !!!

#she stinks has no job has no money has no friends and is mean and offputting. you would love her #tldr woman gets marked by the end starts having hyperrealistic dream-predictions of people dying. she becomes a conspiracy theorist to cope #with it. what else can u do? go to therapy?? in thsi economy??

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mandalhoerian · 2 years ago

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total eclipse of the heart | 1

❝ Once upon a time there was light in my life, but now there's only love in the dark. Nothing I can say, a total eclipse of the heart. ❞

Pairing: anakin skywalker x reader

Note: fem!reader, jedi librarian!reader

Summary: Love is the death of duty, and duty is the death of love. This is the story of you and your fellow Jedi Anakin Skywalker orbiting around each other in this never-ending, all-consuming cycle.

Warning(s): nothing else but pining and yearning lmao . also my amateur-ish 2016 writing + sun/moon dynamic GALORE . ur gonna be SICK of this imagery at the end of this. sue me. its not named the way it is for no reason HAHA

Word Count: 1455

1 | 2

If Anakin Skywalker is a star, colliding with swirling and thundering nebulas that shine upon his eyes; then you are a mere moon destined to never ever leave your planet's side.

If Anakin is a star in a whole system, a sun; then you are still the humble moon in your humble life, which occasionally lines up with that sun to create an incredible sight to witness.

This is how your relationship is, actually. Your lives collide like hands of a clock when they have to, but this team-up never lasts too long in order with a Jedi's obligation to keep moving thanks to the raging war tearing the galaxy apart.

A Jedi Knight and a Jedi Librarian don’t tend to cross roads often, and certainly mix like oil and water.

Jumping around system to system wherever the orders of the Jedi Council took him naturally led to him barely ever around in the Temple and that had almost mythicized the person emerging as The Hero With No Fear adorning the headlines of HoloNet. General Skywalker quickly had become a walking beacon for attention with his brilliance in the battlefield and his unconventional way of practicing his profession.

Maybe it was your peace-and-quiet seeking self (who just wanted to research in your own pace) being grumpy, but you wouldn’t say he is an outstanding example to look up to for Padawans and Younglings with the way he made them get used to the archives as the meeting point to gossip and share stories.

From what Master Kenobi had told you in a passing conversation when you were complaining, it was his old habit to in the past as a Padawan to use the Archives as somewhere he could do anything other than reading because he found staying in one place stuck in a seat and glued to holobooks boring - boring! - so he had influenced others of his age to tag along in his shenanigans until he was banned from the hall for a limited amount of time. You’d asked Master Kenobi just what exactly he had done to piss your mentor off that badly but all you got was a half-tired, half-embarrassed smile before he’d scurried off Force knows where.

(You still couldn’t believe he found learning boring.)

All things aside, you could do without picking up something something Skywalker being whispered about between preteens hidden behind shelves as you were buried in a new hyper-fixation, really. Years of getting used to quietness had brought annoyance lit like a forest fire as a downside when you were disturbed. It wasn’t him doing it intentionally as he was systems away, but if he were to pop out somewhere when you were in a particularly bad mood, you were sure you’d hurl your oldest trusty datapad at his head. Not a second wasted for the hesitation factor.

It was a place to seek knowledge in serenity, and Skywalker had shoved his invisible hand in here and stirred the pot so irreversably that most of your time was spent patrolling around in the Archives like a dog to keep the young ones in line. “Madame Librarian alert!” line, referring you barreling down the corridors running on your tiptoes, had spread like a plague and even your former Master Jocasta Nu was amused by the inside joke that made your ears smoking red.

It was annoyance at his shadow intruding on your relatively unaffected life by the war at first. Yes, it had all started with your one-sided animosity at him ——

—— only to be turned upside down on its after he had come to your rescue (our of nowhere, really) in what you knew to be a bounty hunter’s heist on the holocron vaults in the archives. You had no idea your body was capable of getting that red when he had all but manhandled you around to get you away from blaster shots raining down in intent to kill. Skywalker was all but taunting smirks and remarks in the action to turn the tide around and you were tight-lipped and shock-bound, the difference between you, the professionalism and the abilities, were the size of mountains. The gentleness and sweet concern for your wellbeing wrapping around you like a weighted blanket when the danger was over, though, was a contrast you weren’t even aware that you didn’t expect.

You honestly had no idea what had happened, you were left alone with the feelings you’d caught for him after he left like the whirlwind that he was.

You took it as a lesson to learn from yet another piece of work you’d finished and used in training, made him to be a fleeting ideal and a funny what-if to be entertained in your mind, you reminded yourself every time you catch a glimpse of him here and there that the Chosen One had to be unreachable.

You were sure your path as a Jedi was being tested on purpose by the universe as the time went on.

You did not like the fact that you had undeniable feelings for this guy. Not one bit. Annoying little moths bounced around in your stomach when someone muttered his name ever so softly in your library now, and the initial dislike was nowhere to be found -- on the contrary, you wanted to hear more about his newest victory.

There was a reason why you were pursuing a life the Order, you had principles and it was simply no way in dead stars that you’d throw this all away for the unattainable Anakin Skywalker. A guy who has absolutely no interest for you, to top it all.

You‘ve had asked yourself, Would I be willing to love him openly if he looked at me the way I looked at him?, a couple of times when your relationship were developing from strangers to colleagues. The Jedi in you knew it was not wise to think like this, to hope like this.

Expectations that shouldn’t exist in the first place, you took as more lessons to overcome as Jedi. What were you going to do, keep being (barf) lovesick until the feelings decided to evaporate? Would they ever?

So you used them in your studies. Easy. It’s duty.

In the meanwhile, you tried your best to hide even little things: the way you lingered on him when he wasn’t looking while randomly passing you by in the halls, the smile you faked to play the part when he waved at you from afar to say hello. The quiet daydreams that came over you while reading. You kept to yourself.

At the end, It wasn’t the decision to stay away from him that hurt, it's the flashbacks that followed.

Anakin Skywalker is a star, you're a mere moon that chose to only shine with borrowed light, and you’d come to like watching him shine, from afar. And the point of no return for you was the moment you had discovered a stumbling flicker in the light of that star.

After the excitement would die down, you saw the way he would take in the clones' happiness and growing hope to win this war. You knew the way he would boast about it, being all prideful and valiant like the man he is; but later on, discovered him staring off tiredly into the blackness shining with an infinite amount of diamonds spread across, his sky blue eyes nearly ultramarine with not the lighting, but with the heaviness of his worries, hurting for others.

Intimate moments like this in which Anakin looked more like a human than a supreme being got to you. In those, you resented unraveling him; what was hidden beneath the shiny exterior of The Chosen One. Yet you were drawn to his orbit just as much as you wanted to get away, and you shot off from the comforting confines of the archives and voicelessly floated beside him to be an unexpected yet welcome guest -- a conversation friend at most, maybe, voicing your opinions about... things. To lift the weight off his shoulders, anything not to see him in grief like that again.

You let him in on your fears, your humanity behind the Jedi image, sometimes strategies you’d discovered belonging to the records of the Old Republic regarding the war — even when you knew whatever you blabbered about lecturing had nothing on his genius and was probably more boring than reading to him.

When your feelings roared behind your shy whispers that echoed in his ears, the anxiety that he had figured you out by now squeezed your heart in a durasteel fist, it was a warning that he’d try to pry and not a hair in your body would pick up on it because he overwhelmed all your senses already.

But if you were good at something, that would be hiding away. Hiding away from yourself, from everything. In the Archives, and buried in the shifting pages of datapads and holoscreens.

But as long as you meditated, you were fine. Having feelings for Anakin was something you got used to overtime, you knew how to keep yourself steady, you’d normalized it.

You thought you knew everything about what this man could do to you by now. You were safe.

But deep down you knew, you knew that only a fool would think they know everything rather than a wise man.

He loved a Senator.

#anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker x you #anakin x reader #anakin skywalker imagine #anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker fanfiction #star wars imagine #story: total eclipse of the heart #shai's writings

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castthy-nightedcolour · 3 years ago

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One- Shot: A Different Side (written as part of my series ‘don’t worry about a thing’ on AO3, link can be found at the bottom of the post as it won’t let me embed it)

Fandom: Good Omens

Characters: GN Reader, Crowley, a very annoying mouse

Warnings and Tags: snakes, animal death/ harm, swearing, uh oh we have a pest control problem, snake crowley, comfort , are they aren’t they

Summary: mouse traps, a skip full of rubbish and a broken down bus. not exactly your dream day, but your favourite demonic entity has a trick up his sleeve and behind his glasses to help you.

Word Count: 2778

Link to original: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31055930/chapters/81050182

If there was one word to describe your mood, that word would be vile. Tiny little irritants throughout the day had built to a simmering anger:

-Firstly, your bus into town had broken down about ten minutes away from your stop, meaning that you were forced to trek your way to the shops.

-Secondly, your trip to said shops wasn’t for any kind of retail therapy, but was instead to buy mouse traps. Your usually serene flat had been taken over by a little grey rodent who despite any humane efforts, was refusing to leave. You weren’t usually one for violence towards any living thing, but the little shit was out staying its welcome and had most recently been seen taking a bite out of a loaf of bread.

-When you did eventually get into town, it seemed to be the day for the world’s slowest walkers to take to the streets. Everyone was moving at about two steps per minute and you, being naturally speedy, were constantly waiting for gaps on the pavement to overtake. When you did manage to do this, there would be a whole new couple walking side by side, plodding along at a snail’s pace. You weren’t getting anywhere quick.

All in all, not your finest hour. This all came to a head on Oxford Street, or as you liked to call it, hell.

Your brain felt as though it were made of jelly, your temperature was rising, and someone stopped right in the middle of the street to check their phone. Slamming right into the back of them, you immediately let out something resembling a howl before running to your side off down Old Cavendish Street, somewhere slightly quieter. You leaned against the nearest wall, hot anger bubbling within you for what at the time, seemed like a life or death scenario of you getting out of town with the mousetraps, but in retrospect was just the culmination of various shitty things.

The last thing which you wanted to hear was any sign that you were being perceived, but a teenage boy riding past you on a bike shouting an obnoxious ‘WAHEYYYY’ at you was enough to tip you over the edge. You bashed your head back on the wall, feeling acid tears of anger falling, pedalled down your face by your short temper. Then, another shout came towards you from across the street.

‘Y/N? Is that you?’

You were ready to push yourself off the wall to lunge at this person until your brain caught up with recognition. Tilting your head forwards, your suspicions were confirmed when you saw floppy, ginger hair bouncing over the street atop a leather-clad frame. The sunglasses perched on his nose brought you a feeling somewhere between relief and fear.

You and Crowley had a relationship which can only be described as ‘are they? Aren’t they?’

You sure as hell couldn’t tell if he had any romantic feelings for you, and he gave off vibes so mixed that they were jumbled by this point. People always commented on the electricity between the two of you whenever you were together, but you tried not to get your hopes up and usually just put this down to his magnetising nature.

He’d told you about himself, and you thought that he must have trusted you somewhat to be able to disclose that he was a demon to you.

Then again, maybe he was just overly confident.

In the state you were currently in, you couldn’t decide whether to run into his arms to scream, or run as quickly away from him as was physically possible.

Your body chose neither and just stood there, open mouthed and gawking as the tears continued to fall with no effort from your eyelids. Crowley examined you, peering over the top of his sunglasses to try and decipher the scene before him.

‘Don’t tell me someone’s upset you, because I will find them for you, Y/N’ he started, rearing himself up as he spoke. You jumped in.

‘No, no. Not upset. I swear. Just… pissed off. Massively, massively pissed off. Short fuse today, y’see.’

‘Oh. Well, I know all about that. I’m quick to anger at any given moment but then again, ‘s in my nature. What exactly are you doing down here?’

You looked to your side at the gigantic skip full of building waste, then down to your feet where someone’s puke sat. You looked back up to the demon.

‘It was a quick escape, one that was made before I slapped someone in the face.’

Crowley looked slightly taken aback, not expecting any expression of violence from you considering your usually placid nature.

‘Ooookay. Well, I won’t ask for details but, here.’ He leaned over slightly and brushed away some of the tears which were still running down your face. You could swear that you both stopped breathing for a moment as he touched you but then again, you weren’t in a fit state for rational thinking.

‘Thank you,’ you breathed out. ‘I’m all good, I promise. Just need to breathe.’ You gave a reassuring smile to the demon and noticed him looking down to your hand, holding a flimsy plastic bag containing the mouse traps.

‘What you got there? Looks interesting.’ He said, tilting his head to try and get a closer look. You brought the bag up to your chest.

‘Oh, mouse traps. There’s a little shit thinking that he owns my flat who’s probably currently in my bread bin. Thought I’d stop the problem while I could, considering there’s that saying about seeing mice. Y’know, for every mouse you see, there’s always another one somewhere. Can’t wait to clean that up!’ Your words had somewhat of a bite, being spat like venom.

‘Woah. You really are pissed, aren’t you?’ Crowley responded, half smirking. For some reason, this set you off again.

‘Yes. Yes, actually I am. Because y’know what? This day has been fucking horrific! I genuinely don’t think that I’ve had two consecutive minutes of peace since the second I woke up. I can’t relax because of the mouse, then there was the bus, and the walking, and the pain in my feet, and the twat who decided to check his phone in the middle of Oxford Street. Sorry, who the hell does that? I just feel like I’ve been left out of any plans that the universe had to let people go about their day without a care in the world. So yes, I’m fuming.’ You gave a huff before realising that you were now crying again. Crowley stood slightly dumbstruck, shifting his weight between his feet. You glanced off to the side, watching the shoppers propel themselves down Oxford Street.

The demon then spoke, his voice low and sincere.

‘Can I give you a lift?’

—

After what felt like a windswept journey in the Bentley, Crowley screeched to a halt outside your flat. Jolting forwards slightly, the plastic bag containing the mouse traps crinkled between your legs.

You’d calmed down quite significantly, but now felt a combination of complete embarrassment that you’d had such an outburst in front of the being that you completely adored, and absolute excitement that he’d even offered you a lift. This wasn’t helped when you heard him say,

‘Let me walk you upstairs. Check that you’re okay.’

You felt fizzy, and as the two of you trudged up to your flat, you felt as though you could lift off any second. As you unlocked your front door, Crowley leaned on the doorframe, peering in to the hallway as you threw your bag on the floor. You suddenly regretted this as when the bag hit the floor, there was a scuttle from under your bedroom door, and the little mouse took one giant sprint off towards the kitchen. You screamed in shock as the little bastard took itself away, and Crowley grabbed onto your arm. This made you jump for a second time.

‘Woah woah there, calm down. It’s just a little mouse, we’ll sort this,’ Crowley sweetly spoke, lulling your heart back to a slightly normal rate. You looked down to his arm resting on yours and couldn’t help but smile slightly.

Crowley had a look on his face which would have read from ten miles away as one with a scheme brewing.

‘Look Y/N, I’m going to do something here which I don’t do very often, and all I’m asking is that you don’t freak out,’ the demon announced.

You couldn’t help but make a sarcastic joke.

‘What’s that then, the housework?’ Smirking, you looked up at Crowley who glared at you through his sunglasses.

‘Fine, you don’t need my help!’ He huffed, obviously taking the piss but you couldn’t help but tease him back into good spirits.

‘No no, sorry Crowley. What have you got for me?’

‘Snake.’

You stood there for a second, trying to make any sense of what he just said and burning up slightly as you wondered if this was perhaps his way of flirting.

‘A… a snake? You have a snake?’

‘Yes. Well, no. Well… yes. Look it’s complicated, can I just show you?’

Uh oh. Maybe this was him flirting.

You thought for a second before hearing an almighty crash from the kitchen, and from down the hallway you saw an entire loaf of bread fall to the ground, followed by a small army of mice. Again, you let out a scream as Crowley slammed the door shut behind the both of you.

‘How fucking many are there now?!’ You exclaimed, turning to face Crowley who was now quickly shifting between his feet. He suddenly grabbed your shoulders.

‘Look Y/N, tell me quick, do you have a phobia?’

‘Of mice? I think that’s pretty evident Crow-‘

‘No, of snakes. Are you scared of snakes?’

‘What is it with you and these snakes?’ You laughed. The demon then stood dead still and stared right at you.

‘Stay still. Don’t freak out please. I promise this will help.’

Before you knew it, Crowley’s hands had disappeared off your shoulders and he seemed to disappear entirely from before you. Confused, you looked down at the floor.

What you saw took your breath away for what felt like forever.

Rows and rows of black scales suddenly lined your hallway, flowing from side to side as the form made its way towards the kitchen. This didn’t take long, considering the snake’s body seemed to run on forever, there must have been at least 10 metres of the creature occupying your apartment.

You’d never really considered Crowley’s powers before. While you were aware that he was a demon, this thought didn’t control your every interaction with him. He was just Crowley- your friend Crowley- your possibly more than a friend Crowley- your Crowley. Shapeshifting had never been part of the picture.

But it was so, so beautiful.

Moving.

And snakes were never your favourite but this was just something else.

Squeals of mouse terror came from the kitchen as a massive shadow rose up throughout the whole apartment. Crowley was sitting up on his body, his head pointed towards any mouse that he could detect and a razor sharp stare in his luminescent eyes.

Your favourite part of this whole scenario was laying on the floor in front of you- Crowley’s sunglasses, sans Crowley for the first time ever. You smiled as you bent down to pick them up, your feet planted to the spot due to the inherently overwhelming nature of what was happening. You ran your fingers over the frames feeling the heat that was stored in them.

There was something so human about the lingering warmth to the metal, but that thing that made it so distinctively Crowley was the fact that the heat never seemed to fade.

The floor seemed to move as the scales once again shifted, with Crowley turning round to come back towards you. Cold fear seized your entire body, despite the oddly comforting and protective energy of this gigantic creature. His yellow eyes were right in front of your face before you’d even managed to properly react to him moving towards you.

You blinked and the Crowley that you knew and … ahem… was standing in front you, a live mouse swinging from his hand by the tail.

‘Consider those rodents dispatched.’

The mouse in his hand was thrashing wildly from side to side and while you hated the little shits, you couldn’t help but feel sorry for it. You went to protest but no words came out of your mouth.

You’d just witnessed something- something that couldn’t exactly be described as a miracle but to you- maybe?

Crowley noticed the panic in your eyes directed towards the mouse and realised what he needed to do. The mouse disappeared in another of your blinks.

There were so many pressing questions on your mind, but you only managed to actually articulate one of them.

‘Please tell me you didn’t eat those mice, Crowley?’ Your tone was somewhere between intrigue and massive concern.

The demon scoffed, ‘I prefer oysters normally, Y/N. No, I didn’t eat them. I can assure you though, they won’t be back any time soon.’

Palpable silence hung between the two of you. You naturally seemed to hold out Crowley’s sunglasses to him, staring directly into the eyes which served as a reminder of his other form as you did so.

Crowley went to slowly take the glasses off you, but in a snap decision, you snatched them back. Crowley wasn’t exactly thrilled by this.

‘Hey, don’t play games with those. They’re my-‘

He didn’t stand a chance of finishing his sentence before you jumped in, with your subconscious mind taking a grasp on your mouth. Maybe this was a trick of Crowley’s, but at least some of it came from your heart.

‘Do it again. Turn back.’

The two of you stared at each other as a smirk took over the demon’s face.

‘Really? It seemed to terrify you, dearest.’

The cockiness in his voice only persuaded you to carry on pushing.

‘Not at all! No no, it was just... well it was a shock at first. Obviously. Like who the hell else can do that? But no, not terror. It’s intrigue. I swear.’

You made sure to assert yourself in your voice as your brain convinced you that you would never rest again unless Crowley turned back into a snake. It was almost like the sheer shock had morphed into utter obsession in a matter of seconds.

And maybe you just adored every part of Crowley and him being vulnerable in showing a new side to you? Well...

Again, you blinked and he was gone for a moment, before the black reptile rose up to meet your gaze. He hadn’t continued to question you.

The presence was unexplainable, physically so big in the space but even just the idea of him just seemed to fill up every corner of the place. Moving the sunglasses into your right hand, you tentatively raised up your left.

‘Can... may I? Can I touch?’ You softly asked, mimicking a petting action in the air. Somehow, Crowley let you know that it was okay, pulling your hand towards him with some kind of magnetising energy.

Your fingers lightly brushed the scales on his head and you took a breath so deep you almost triggered hiccups. The texture was confusing, it almost seemed like it was shifting forms by the second- smooth then rough, hard then feather soft, but still always cool as marble. You fully rested your hand down as you glanced along the entire body, once again filling up the entire hallway.

‘Crowley, this is beautiful. I mean that.’ You whispered, transfixed on what you were seeing.

Then, the unimaginable happened. Your hand which had ended up resting on the snake’s head suddenly felt warm.

Was... was he blushing? You decided to test the water slightly more.

‘I didn’t even imagine that anything could be so magnificent but, well. Here you are. So gorgeous.’

Sure enough, another flush felt through your hand.

‘Crowley, are you blushing?’ You giggled. The heat on his face then took another rise, this time enough to hurt you slightly. You drew your hand away instinctually, but with a smile still on your face.

This was now a day worth noting. The day that started with a mouse in a bread bin and some unfortunately placed anger, and ended as the day that you made a snake blush.

And of course, he made you blush too.

A new side of Crowley. One that you couldn’t help but adore.

#good omens one shot #good omens #good omens x reader #crowley x reader #snake crowley #good omens fanfic #reader insert

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destielfanfic · 4 years ago

Text

My First Destiel Fic, vol.3

Thank you guys for sharing your memories! My First Destiel Fic is a nostalgic survey open to any destiel fan and has a simple goal - to celebrate fics that were our gateway into a wonderful world of destiel shipping. Thank you, fic writers, you are our heroes!

from @nextheirofslytherin

my first destiel fic was “In This Secluded Spot I Respond As I Wouldn't Dare Elsewhere” by RhymePhile. the girl i liked who got me into supernatural in middle school recommended it to me, so it always has a special place in my heart 😅 it was the first fic i read on ao3 too! i read it while i was watching s3 (cas hadn’t even shown up yet!) but the show was in its 9-10th season

All fic titles link directly to the fic, when it’s possible, we have added another link to our review or submitted rec post.

In This Secluded Spot I Respond As I Wouldn’t Dare Elsewhere by rhymephile [M, 34,000 word count, posted 2010] (our review)

It's 1995, and Castiel's high school years are destined to be difficult: home-schooled until eighth grade, he is awkward, shy, and socially inept. The weird kid with the funny name would rather isolate himself and draw in his sketchbook than deal with the constant bullying he faces every day. Things only get worse in his junior year when he excels in home economics class, leading the captain of the baseball team, Alastair, to start taunting him for being gay. Then new student Dean Winchester arrives at Flour Bluff High School, sharing many of Castiel's classes. Castiel has seen his type before -- handsome, athletic, arrogant, and sure to be the most popular kid in school. But Castiel eventually learns that he and Dean have more in common than he thought, and they form an unlikely friendship.

from @deansbff

i joined the fandom in the beginning of 2019 and molting expectations by tricia_16 was the first fic (over 11k words) that i read. it really made me fall in love with deancas because i realised i didn't need them to be in the canon!verse to be so wonderful, their relationship was amazing in whatever universe they were in and it was always intriguing to read about!!

Molting Expectations by tricia_16 [163,100 word count, posted 2019]

After having trouble coping with a traumatic incident on the job, Dean takes his little brother's advice and leaves everything behind to go stay at the old family cabin in Colorado. Nobody's been there for years so it needs some major work, but it's secluded, and that turns out to be exactly what Dean needs in order to start to feel at peace again. Now in the mountains with nothing but nature to amuse himself with, he takes up bird watching and plans a hike into the mountain range across from his cabin in search of a golden eagle. High up in the mountains, he discovers human footprints. Thinking someone is in danger, he follows them into a cave and quickly becomes familiar with a form of wildlife he never could have imagined: winged people who call themselves angels.

from @bornonathursdayinmarch

I actually started out in the fandom against Destiel. I mean, it was pretty clear that Dean Winchester was not into men. But then I read “Redemption Road” by accident around 2015. I didn’t know it was Destiel. But I got really into it and this fic totally changed my mind on Dean/Cas. I have since read hundreds of Destiel fics and I am more into the ship than ever. My absolute favorite fanfic is “Sweaters and Cigarettes” by lemonoclefox. I love how shy, caring Dean softens cynical Castiel and how in love they are despite being so different. It makes me smile when I’m down.

Redemption Road by spnredemption (the fic is a collaborative effort of a group of destiel writers and artists) [NC-17, 650,000 word count, 24 episodes, posted 2011-12)

With Castiel having set himself up as the new God, drunk on power and volatile as a nuclear reactor, Dean, Sam, and Bobby find themselves on the run from the jealous, capricious monster wearing the face of their friend. Desperate for protection and wary of his brother’s mental state since Castiel unlocked Sam’s memories of Hell, Dean knows Castiel must be defused before he can wreak further havoc in Heaven or on Earth. Although Bobby advocates for destroying Castiel by whatever means necessary, Dean is convinced the Cas he once knew still remains, buried somewhere beneath the mass of poisonous souls and calling out for help. Determined to save the angel who once rescued him from Hell and redefined his purpose in life, Dean himself must resist the allure of the false deity vying for his obedience, and come to terms with the knowledge, long-suppressed, that his feelings for Castiel run much deeper than brotherhood. It is this bond, and the dubious distinction of the Righteous Man, that will ultimately grant Dean access to where Castiel’s grace languishes in Purgatory. However, what Dean brings back with him is broken, angry, and only half-angel, certainly not the Castiel he remembers—and nor is it the only thing that returns to Earth with them…

Sweaters & Cigarettes by lemonoclefox [NC-17, 150,000 word count, posted 2014] NOTE - the fic was deleted from ao3 by the author, please see our review for more details

Dean Winchester is in high school, crushing hard on Castiel Novak, the unbelievably hot goth who Dean does his very best to convince himself he hates, despite the fact that he can’t really stop staring at him. Dean tries, but when the two of them finally cross paths, their first conversation takes a surprising turn. And suddenly, they both find themselves falling harder and faster than they ever could have expected.

from @iamasphodelknox

Hi! The fic that made Destiel my OTP was The Walk series by Persephoneshadow. It blew my mind and I hadn’t even started watching Supernatural yet. 🙈 I started watching the show last year, just as Season 15 was starting. I’m a newbie but this comfort ship felt like coming home. I also read a turn of the earth by microcomets just as I got to season 4 and it is one of the best things I’ve ever read, fic or no. :)

The Walk by Persephoneshadow [NC-17, 190,000 word count, posted 2017]

Castiel tells himself it was a one time thing, even if his night with a hooker named Dean changed his whole world, but he can’t keep away from the man fate keeps throwing in his path. Castiel is married and he knows his sexuality is an affront to God and everything he’s ever been told is right. Dean tells himself he doesn’t care about the weirdo with blue eyes, but every time they meet he gets a bit closer to something like hope. Dean’s nothing but a homeless waste of space with a brother in foster care a world away and a father in the wind. As the connection between these two lost men deepens, it threatens the carefully maintained lies their lives are built on in a story of faith, mistakes, and the journey of love.

a turn of the earth by mishcollin microcomets [NC-17, 95,300 word count, posted 2015] (our review)

Dean’s your typical half-orphaned, monster-killing 22-year-old until a trenchcoated stranger crashes into his back windshield one September night, claiming he’s an angel that knows him from the future and that he’s on the run. Frigging fantastic. (Or, in which Castiel gets stuck in Dean’s timeline pre series and Dean kind of hates it—until he doesn’t.)

If you enjoyed the fic, please drop by the archive (AO3) and let the author know with your comments and/or kudos! And if you found our recs useful, let us know by Liking and/or Reblogging our posts!

You can find all My First Destiel Fic posts under this tag!

#destiel #destielfanficnet #my first destiel fic #hey guys #these are all submissions we received #if you don't see yours here #please contact mod flyingcatstiel directly #nextheirofslytherin #deansbff #bornonathursdayinmarch #iamasphodelknox

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novantinuum · 4 years ago

Link

Fandom: Steven Universe

Rating: Teen Audiences (TW: language)

Words: ~3K

Summary: Lars has no idea what he was expecting the moment Steven texted him in the middle of the night to ask if he could come over, but being immediately tackled in an intense vice-grip of a hug the second he opened the door probably wasn’t it.

Set mid SUF.

I don’t think I’ve ever gotten to write Lars’ POV before this, but it was really fun! If you read this and enjoy, I’d greatly appreciate your support through reblogs here, or kudos/comments on AO3. Thank you! <3

____

Besides the quiet lull of the TV and the electric hum of the attic’s rickety old heater, all is silent in the Barriga household. The nighttime streets outside are vacant. Not a soul roams through his section of town, not even the newer Gem arrivals, who thankfully have been informed of humanity’s biologically mandated curfew by now. Sheesh, it’s about time.

After all, silence is peace. And in this day and age, in a world where the barriers between human and intergalactic politics are becoming increasingly blurred by the hour, peace is a gift.

Which is why having free time to play whatever old video games he wants in complete and total solitude at one AM is probably the single thing keeping him sane at this moment.

Lars’ fingers expertly flick at the joysticks of the controller as if by innate memory. It genuinely feels like forever since he’s been able to lose himself for hours in a solo campaign like this, and quite honestly, if given a choice he prefers it to any other leisurely activity. Chatting with his online friends or with that Gem gang of his is fun, sure, and working the counter at his bake shop can often be emotionally satisfying, but pushed too long and any kind of social interaction feels draining. He shifts on his bed, paying little to no attention to the slight chill against his bare chest. He’s pretty sure it’s like, near freezing outside and yet somehow it’s no more an annoyance to him than having to pause to reload an ammo clip in this game. It’s weird. Really weird. But then, at this point everything about his dumb life is.

It’s the Steven effect, he thinks with a soft scoff. Weird practically orbits him and his moms, and inevitably, every person he comes in contact with is brought into the fold. He’s a good kid, though. Don’t get him wrong. Steven always tries his best to be thoughtful when dealing with people he doesn’t understand— even when initially those people just act like dicks in return— and he for one is grateful for that, for the gift of a... a second chance. He knows full well he didn’t deserve it, (he still doesn’t), but he’s grateful.

The kid’s still on his mind when his phone lights up on the nightstand beside him, like the now familiar glow of Gems synchronizing to fuse.

(And goddamnit, does a part of him still balk almost two years later that it’s so normal to be casually relating everyday things to outer space Gem stuff anyways. What is he, with his pink hair and alien friends, the main character of an anime?)

Eyes skirt away from the grainy television set he’s been playing his favorite Immortal Combat on, and glance at the new notification.

Steven, the name at the top of the text reads. Well, lo and behold. The true shounen protagonist himself. Somebody’s ears must have been burning. Though, hmm. Come to think of it, that’s actually unusual. They pass bullshit memes back and forth sometimes, yes, but he never sends him anything this late at night.

Lars frowns, failing to obscure that annoying, instinctual worry that seizes him like the long lost sensation of hunger rising from the pit of his stomach, and scoots forward on his bed to grab his phone. What’s he want at this hour, anyways?

Steven: hey, sorry i know its late but can i come over ?

His frown deepens as he glances down at himself, clad in only a pair of boxers. He doesn’t mind having an unexpected visitor— after all, it’s not like he requires sleep anymore— but he’s not exactly dressed for company, here.

yeah but gimme a mo, he types back. kinda need to put on a shirt

Steven: k

Yawning out of sheer habit, he leans over the other side of the bed and grabs the first decent smelling tee he can find off the floor. It’s got an overlapping triangular emblem on it, a symbol from one of the game series he used to be obsessed with as a kid. He quickly shrugs it and a stray pair of sweatpants on, then returns to his phone.

decent now, he updates him.

The response is almost immediate.

Steven: be there soon

With a heavy inhale, he leans back against the headboard and begins to mentally prepare himself for the passage of One Whole Teenage Boy through the portal in his hair. For the most part he’s grown used to the changes caused by Steven’s literal magic resurrection, but not this. Who the hell knows how his pet lion puts up with it all the time. Quite frankly, how that creature has remained so docile and patient after years of interloping within Steven’s chaotic world of Gems eludes him, ‘cause it sure as hell isn’t a side effect of all the death-defying space voodoo.

Also, he’s like, 97% sure that “docile” and “patient” aren’t words anyone would pick to describe him at any stage of his life, ever.

And yet, yawning in his boredom, Lars waits.

And he waits.

And when eventually he breaks his stubborn streak and dares to check the time on his phone to see how many minutes have elapsed, how many minutes of his thrice-damned maybe infinite lifespan he’s wasted sitting up against the far wall of his room waiting for that kid to tumble right out of the literal inter-dimensional door hidden amidst the curls atop his head, he’s mildly surprised that his first emotional response to this delay is... dare he admits... disappointment.

It’s been nearly fifteen minutes. For whatever unknown reason, it seems as if Steven may not be coming over after all. Huh. He wonders what changed his mind. Pressing his lips into a thin line, Lars decides to check his texts. It’s possible the guy wrote something else and he just didn’t see it. But when he pulls up his latest conversation, all that comes up are the last messages they sent to each other. Be there soon, he said.

He hovers hesitant fingers over the keyboard, caught in the midst of trying to decide whether or not it’s too invasive and prying to send some sort of casual check-in, when he picks up on a very timid knock on the front door downstairs. And given the lateness of the hour, there’s really only one person it could be. He blinks for a moment, his mind still doing somersaults in order to process the mere concept of Steven not gleefully taking the opportunity to explode out of his hair for once in his life, and then drags himself up to his feet. Walks out of his attic room and down the stairs, being careful not to disturb his slumbering parents. Unlatches the locks on the door.

Truth be told he has no idea what he was expecting the moment Steven texted him at one fucking AM to ask if he could come over, but being immediately tackled in an intense vice-grip of a hug the second he opened the door probably wasn’t it.

He struggles not to stumble backwards at the initial force of the teen’s silent yet yearning embrace, eventually regaining his stability and... slowly, delicately... hugging him back. Honestly, he’s never been much of a hugger himself, but eh. He’ll give the guy this one. After a brief moment Lars gives him a few awkward pats, clearing his throat.

“Uh, Steven? You good to let go, now?” he asks quietly, still keeping his voice in a whisper for his parents’ benefit.

“Oh! Y-yeah, yeah,” his younger friend stammers, immediately pulling himself away. His eyes are drawn to the floor as he wrings his hands together. Timid. “Sorry, I just— I just needed somewhere I could clear my head tonight. Thank you, by the way.”

“No problem,” he throws back, gesturing for him to follow up the stairs. “‘S not like I ever sleep a wink now anyways. So I might as well have company.”

The two of them tiptoe towards the attic, a familiar setting for both. Steven’s been in here quite a few times before, so— already knowing the lay of the land— he plops himself down in the beanbag chair Lars keeps at the foot of his bed. They don’t talk about much of anything at first, merely passing back and forth brief updates about their lives. Small talk, nothing more. As expected though, Steven’s update is infinitely more interesting than his. Apparently he went on some mission to an alien planet with that Lapis friend of his the other day and had to deal with the attitude of some stubborn terraformers who didn’t want to stop working on their shitty old Homeworld assignment. (Meanwhile, the only update he has to offer is how he’s teaching Blue Lace Agate the art of bad baking puns while at work. Gotta leave behind some sort of legacy before he leaves with his fellow Off-Colors, of course.)

When the small talk finally dries up, (which seems... uncharacteristic, given the typical enthusiasm of his current visitor), Lars offers him a second controller.

“We can play the go-kart one, if you want,” he says, knowing full well that his friend isn’t a huge fan of all his war-themed combat games. Still, he figures the guy could probably stand to blow off a little steam. He looks super stressed, with his brow all creased and his stare unnervingly glassy.

The sixteen-year-old nods, adjusting his hands around the grips of the controller as Lars switches out the disk.

They race a few rounds in relative quiet, wholly insulated by the reassuring stillness of the night all around them, before Steven decides to open up again.

“Where do you think the line is?” he asks when they finish their current course.

His whole face scrunches in confusion. “Huh?”

“Between like, doing bad things, and outright being bad?” he continues, seemingly unaware of the comedic pulse of Lars’ initial response.

Lars blinks.

Considers these words deeply and thoroughly for a moment, as any good friend should.

And then...

“Where the heck did you pull that question from?”

Steven merely shrugs, his shoulders drooping a bit lower than they had been when he first entered his house a while back. “I dunno, just musing, ‘s all.”

The edges of his mouth curl downwards as he lets this corker of a conversation starter wash over him, not so much intended as a frown at Steven, but a frown at... whatever force of this universe would lead his friend to start musing about such depressing philosophical quandaries in the first place. Acting numb and brooding at the rest of the world is supposed to be his job, not this kid’s! And sure, yes, yes, yes, he knows he can’t exactly call him a kid anymore— at least not to his face— and that he’s been a teenager for a good three years now. It’s just that... well. For all his complaints about it earlier in life, Lars kinda grew to respect and feel uplifted by his cheery, upbeat, never-give-up-hope outlook. Dare he says, he kinda misses it.

(And for Steven’s sake, he kinda hoped he’d never discover the burnout and cynicism waiting on the other side. Alas, he fears that ship has probably sailed.)

“Sorry,” the sixteen-year-old mumbles upon noting his extended silence, his cheeks flushed with shame. “Probably not something anyone wants to think about at two in the morning. Just- forget I said anything, okay? Let’s play one more round, and then I can lea—“

Eyes widening, he holds up a hand to intercept that train of thought. “No, that’s— you asked an interesting question. Deep, but interesting. It’s fine, I don’t mind. I...”

He inhales deep, collecting his wits and whatever years of wisdom he may or may not have accumulated ever since dying and coming back to life.

“I suppose in my mind, people aren’t truly bad unless they intend to cause harm, y’know?” he begins, meeting Steven’s eyes. “You can still hurt others without meaning it, and like... that’s still not great, and you should still try and make up for it however you can, but... life’s complicated. People are complicated. It’s all a huge mess of emotions and ethics and beliefs all the time.”

He pauses, a twinge of melancholy rising within his chest as he catches a glimpse of a photograph hung on one of the wooden support beams at the far wall. It’s a selfie of him and Sadie he printed out a few years back when they were still low-key dating, one that— for the life of him— he can’t bear to take down. She’s kissing his cheek. He’s caught in the middle of laughter, playfully trying to nudge her away. They look... so young.

So naive.

(So human.)

“And sometimes it can be so, so easy to convince yourself that you’re always in the right,” he continues, quieter, “that people feeling hurt because of something you did is just their problem. In that case, it’s not that you wanted to harm anyone, it’s just... that you were blind to it, I guess.”

(And he was blind for a long, long time.)

“Like I said, it’s messy.”

Lars sighs, willfully averting his glance from the photographic reminder of all the ways he ignorantly fucked up with Sadie as a friend and partner, and with everyone in his life, making the same stupid mistakes over and over with nearly no improvement until he literally died to his old self.

“So, yeah. There. I guess that’s my opinion,” he mumbles, absentmindedly fiddling with the collar of his graphic tee. “Everyone makes bad choices sometimes, but you’re not actually a bad person unless you literally want to harm others. I don’t think people are bad once and bad forever, though,” he adds, pulling his hand away from his shirt.

Inhaling deep, he splays his palm wide, admiring those same old loops and whorls at the tips of his fingers, identical in every detail to his old, living, human self... but now pink. It's haunting, sometimes.

“People can change, y’know? If they make the effort to.”

When he finally glances back at Steven, he seems thoroughly spaced out by all his impassioned rambling, his gaze walleyed and void of any identifiable emotion. He scowls, unsure whether or not he should feel offended, and gives an exaggerated shrug to defuse the sickeningly earnest atmosphere out of this room.

“But hey, I’m biased,” he mutters, letting that instinctual, age-old self-depreciation coat his tone once more. “For all I know, everything I said could be absolute bunk, and I’m still just an asshole.”

“I don’t think you’re an asshole, Lars,” Steven finally speaks up, his expression still perplexingly unreadable.

“I—“ His eyes blow wider, the sheer frankness of this comment catching him entirely off guard, overturning all of his once-impenetrable defenses. “...Thank you. I’m trying not to be.”

The conversation doesn’t advance any further from there, both parties content to fade back into the understated comfort of silent companionship. They play a few more rounds of their racing game, Lars beating Steven handily each time. (Truth be told, he’s not confident he’s bringing his A-game, though.) Then, sometime around three AM, his friend drags himself out of the beanbag chair and announces that he should probably head home and get some rest. Apparently he’s got a lot of planning to do for Little Homeschool's graduation ceremony that’s happening in a few days, or whatever. Which, is fair. Not everyone is blessed enough to be a sleepless zombie like him.

“Y’know, it’s been nice, getting to hang out, just us,” Steven says— quiet, but genuine— as Lars leads him back down the stairs. “We should do this more often.”

Purposefully, given the unusual emotional atmosphere of this whole visit, he decides not to mention the fact that he's planning to leave Earth again when his all Gem friends finally graduate. Later, he thinks, when everyone's in a better place.

“Well, if you’re ever bored, you know where to reach me,” he replies as they reach the bottom step, fondly rolling his eyes. “The good ol’ inter-hair-mensional express. Just, y’know— text me. And not during work hours.”

The teen gives his thanks once again, and then exits out the front, making sure to be extra gentle shutting the door on his way out for his parents’ sake. Huh. Seems that even when he’s (seemingly) in a funk, he’s capable of being uber courteous like that. Goodness, how does he do it?

Lars stands motionless at the entryway for a few moments after he’s gone, staring blankly at the now empty space the sixteen-year-old just occupied. His brow furrows, his fingers curling in perplexion at his side. He doesn’t have enough insight into Steven’s inner life to claim anything for sure, but he can’t help but feel like something with that boy was... off, tonight. Like, beyond your standard teenage moodiness. His demeanor, his bizarre and specific question, his relative silence... it all seems to be pointing towards something, lurking in the background. Still, there’s little he can do for a person who’s not volunteering information. And it ain’t his job to drag it out of him, either. He always hated when his parents tried to do that when he was younger, and it almost ruined their relationship entirely. That’s the last sorta scenario he’d want to force upon Steven. He’ll open up when he’s ready, in the end.

And until then... well.

He just hopes that the kid knows that— beyond the bizarre magic portal in that pink lion’s mane— he’s always got a brother on the other side who’s willing to at least listen. To be but a small source of support.

If he wants him to be.

#su #su future #lars barriga #steven universe #su fanfiction #my writing stuff

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sprog-writes · 3 years ago

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Read here, or on AO3! Word count: 3293 Possible trigger warnings: Danny’s death is referenced, as is that of other ghosts.

Enjoy!

He let himself fall to the ground, phasing through it and stopping himself just in time not to facepalm on sewer water.

“Ghost or no, I’m not getting that on myself” he muttered out loud. He was sure he had lost his parents, he didn’t think they would follow him into the sewers.

But apparently he thought wrong, as he heard the metal sound of the manhole getting opened a couple of feet from him. He started flying again, turning invisible and phasing slightly through the ground once more, ready to flee if necessary, but he couldn’t help but stay to look at them, hoping to see… he didn’t know what, exactly, but he didn’t want to miss it. He thought maybe they’d let something slip, or at least he’d see their new tech in action.

He saw them look his way, scanning their surroundings, most likely in search of his presence. They walked around for a bit, with Danny on their trail, before deciding to split up, his father going back on the streets where they came from and his mom staying in the sewers walking around.

“Jack, dear, everything as expected?” he heard his mom suddenly say. They were probably talking via intercoms, having upgraded their basic equipment over the years, as well as their ghost hunting tech.

‘What does that mean?’ Danny wondered to himself. He didn’t hear the response, but something told him he had better run away from there, far from her. As soon as he actually moved away and phased through the concrete and was back on the street, he was met by his father’s eyes looking directly at him, a smug smile on his face.

Danny looked at his hands to make sure he was still invisible and as he found nothing, he shot a questioning look to his dad, before turning the other ways and flying up to run somewhere safe -or at the very least, safer than there-, instead he found himself face first onto a ghost shield, tumbling back a couple of feet and turning visible again.

“Great…” Danny muttered out loud and found himself asking his dad “Can curiosity kill the cat, if the cat already died?” His father looked at the boy confused, obviously not understanding the contest of Danny’s joke and why it was absolutely hilarious. At least, to Danny it was.

‘Not the time for jokes!’ he thought as he turned intangible again to escape towards the sewers, but as he hit his face against the shield again, he realised that it went all the way around.

He saw his mom cheekly smiling at him before turning around and going back the way she came from, most likely to meet with his dad.

He floated back up, sitting on the street with his arms and legs crossed, and pouting.

“Pouting? Really?” his mother’s voice caught his attention, but he refused to look at her. Getting out of those things was annoying and he really didn’t want to be vivisected by his parents. Or dissected. He was technically a ghost, but also not really, and ghosts are not dead bodies so which one would be more correct? As he wondered his mom continued talking to him “What are you? 5?”

“I’ll have you know” he pointed at himself with his thumb “I am almost of age” Danny announced.

“It’s not like you’ll actually age past 14, ghost” his dad intervened “you’re a ghost!”

Danny stayed silent for a moment, looking at him and then floated to his eye level “Astute observation like alway, Jack” it was always weird having to refer to his parents with their first names, but after a good almost 4 years it became second nature, even a little hard not to mix it up and call them by their names when he was their son, and ‘mom’ and ‘dad’ when he was Phantom.

His dad seemed to take his obvious sarcasm as a genuine compliment and smiled proudly, as his mom shook her head and put a hand on her husband’s shoulder.

“You’re coming with us” as the words left his mom’s mouth, his mood worsened, the air getting colder by the second. His parents visibly noticed. He never meant to do it, but it was hard to control how much cold he emitted, especially when in distress. Some sort of defense mechanism, Sam had once offered as an explanation.

While he was floating, his parents took the opportunity to slide the bottom of a ghost cage under him. Danny recognised it; it was made of ectoranium, impossible to phase through for any ghost. Or, well, half-ghosts, as it were. How his parents got their hands on it, Danny didn’t know.

He sat back down, the same position as before, pout ever present on his face, and the rest of the cage appeared around him.

“You gave up easy” ‘almost too easy’ was left unsaid, but clearly implied. She was wary of what she probably believed to be unusual behaviour for the ghost child, and really. Who could blame her?

“Yeah, well, it’s not like I could’ve gotten out of here, anyway, right now” Danny shrugged, but keeping his face glowering, eyes just a tint of toxic green too much.

“Contrary to popular belief,” he decided to add, as his parents started lifting the cage -complete with its own ghost shield- to carry him to the familiar RV “And by popular opinion I mean, specifically, your opinion” the halfa turned to glare at the two adults holding his temporary prison, no real malice behind it “I am neither dumb, nor do I want to hurt humans!” he huffed, having had this conversation with his folks too many times to count.

Danny realized that carrying him in a metal cage was not going to be a good experience, the RV being pretty far away from his point of capture, so he started floating a bit. Not too much to hit the metal roof, but enough to take off the weight of his ecto-body.

A thought entered his mind, so he ignored his dad’s questioning look, probably in relation to his act of altruism towards his capturers, to ask “Why a cage?” he didn’t really expect an answer, and when neither of his parents answered he let out a heavy breath, a little disappointed.

Then, Danny heard his mom sigh and saw her shake her head as she asked for clarification “What do you mean, ghost?”

“Well, isn’t a cage a little… I don’t know… primitive? Couldn’t you have captured me with one of your Fenton Thermoses?” to Danny it seemed more work than it was worth. The Thermos would contain him and he would be much easier to carry.

“We wanted to keep you under observation” his dad butted in, making Danny turn to look at him.

“What if I just turn invisible? Can’t really observe me if you can’t see me” he smirked as he thought of turning invisible just to piss them off.

But his dad kept smiling, and even without checking, he was almost certain that his mom was doing the same. They had found him before, when he was invisible. Ergo: they had something to track him down with.

His own grin was wiped off of his face as the realization of them being several steps ahead hit him, as he began assessing their tech, everything they had with them, everything that could be new.

‘Man, I should really pay more attention when they talk about their new inventions’ he scolded himself for being so careless.

That was when he saw it. “Your goggles” he shook his head ‘The lenses are green, how did I miss that?’ Danny chastised himself for not noticing it in time.

“What is it? Heat signature? Ectoplasmic residue? A bit of both?” The look on their faces was one of confusion and mild astonishment. His dad opened his mouth, but before he could utter a word, probably about to give Danny an honest response, his mom answered him “We won’t tell you how our weapons work. It would be giving you a way to work around them” she glared at him, a silent threat not to try anything stupid.

“So I was right on the money. It’s a bit of both, isn’t it?” he put his hands down, floating a bit more to put himself in a more comfortable position “Man, you guys are good!” he chuckled, then sighed loudly when his eyes landed back on the cage’s bars.

“Well, I’m taking a nap” a yawn escaped his mouth before he could catch it, watering his eyes a bit “Wake me up when you need me” he rolled to the side and, using his forearm and hand as a makeshift cushion, he closed his eyes, hoping he could drift off to sleep.

But his peace was short lived, as he heard his mother groan not more than a few minutes later. He opened one of his eyes to look at her, and as lucidely as possible addressed her.

“What?” he asked.

“You can drop the act, stop trying to pretend you’re human”

“Maddie, I don’t know if you noticed, but it’s about…” he made a point to look at the sky, as if assessing the time. He could, if he wanted, with just a bit more time. But not at that moment “ass o’clock in the morning!” he emphasized his point by turning around and looking the other way “I’m tired and I want to sleep. So” he yawned again “if you do not require my services” he said, with as much of a posh english accent he could master “I’m going to take a power nap”

It seemed that his parents really didn’t want him to sleep, as his attempt to slumber was once again interrupted by his mom speaking, as the cage was lowered in the backseat of the RV “You’re a ghost” she simply stated.

Danny stayed silent for a second, then sighed. He had been doing that a lot that day “And you’re a human” he hoped she would understand that stating the obvious wasn’t going to help her with whatever she needed from him.

“You don’t need to sleep” she stated, once again, as if it was an undeniable, scientific truth she gathered studying ghosts, and not a prejudice developed after years of conjectures.

Danny gave up on trying to catch some shut eye. He would have to take a nap during lunch the next day, because at that point he was sure it was going to be another all-nighter. He stayed laying down, with his back towards the cage’s floor and his hands behind his head, still floating a little. It made him feel more comfortable, as a ghost, to be above ground instead of touching it. He thought it had to do with the change in weight that came with his body changing from meat to ectoplasm, but he couldn’t be sure.

He closed his eyes, but didn’t try to fall asleep, as his dad started driving “If I wasn’t already dead, I’m sure your driving would kill me” he complained to himself. His breath hitched, as the vehicle swayed all of a sudden, the motion causing a startled noise to exit his mouth and his eyes to open.

“Why do you put that much effort in seeming human? It won’t work with us” his mom didn’t even turn around to look at him. Danny wouldn’t lie and say it never hurts to be treated like that from his parents, but he knew they would change their point of view in a heartbeat if he revealed himself. After all, he had lived it.

But he never did. The cons had always outweighed the pros, the pain he would bring them to see what they unconsciously did wasn’t worth it. They would fret, and worry, and blame themselves for everything. Danny didn’t want that. He didn’t want to see the look in their eyes when they realized how much they had involuntarily hurt him.

“What do you mean?” he tiredly decided to ask his mom.

“You know what I mean,” his mom replied, completely useful. Danny raised an eyebrow at her, awaiting clarification.

She sighed “I mean” she said harshly “the breathing. The saying you want to-to- to sleep!” she sounded utterly done with the whole situation “I don’t understand what benefits you get from keeping up the charade, seeing as it won’t work” she unfatised the last words, making it clear for Danny that they didn’t buy whatever they thought he was selling.

He looked at her, closed his eyes for a moment and inhaled “Do you want an actual answer you will listen to? You will consider what I say, even if it doesn’t align with what you think you know about ghosts?” he knew they weren’t going to. They were stuck in their way, too obsessed with being right to even consider that something was different, twisting every bit of evidence they got to fit their beliefs.

His parents shared a glance. His dad had seemed more willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. He never wanted to prove that ghosts were evil -after all, why would someone wish for inherently evil things to exist?- no, he just had always wanted to get rid of those that were, and for a while it was all of them. But a lot of things happened over the years, he met a lot of ghosts that didn’t fit the mold they created with speculations.

His mom, Danny knew, was the same. But she was also in denial. She didn’t want her entire worldview to change, because the unknown was scary.

‘Wow’ Danny thought ‘I’ve been hanging out with Jazz too much’

He saw his father smile and turn to look at the road in front of him, as did his mother, but she wasn’t smiling. She had her arms crossed and looked at Danny from the rearview mirror.

“We’ll humour you” she simply stated.

‘Well… It’s a start’ Danny wasn’t going to look a gifted horse in the mouth.

“Have you ever considered I’m not faking it?” that elicited a chuckle from his mom “Yeah, sure” she said sarcastically “You don’t need to breathe, why would you?”

“I’m not sure” Danny answered honestly “I’ve thought about it, though” he, Jazz and Sam had that conversation once, when he was still scared of not being completely human. When he hadn’t quite accepted everything that had happened.

“That’s your answer? ‘I don’t know, but I’m not faking it’?” his dad said, incredulous.

“I can give you some theories I have,” he offered. He won’t let that afternoon of oversharing insecurities with his -at the time- wanna-be-psychologist sister go to waste.

“Sure” they said at the same time, his dad with a curious note to his voice, while his mom just sounded wary.

“Well…” he thought about where to start. He could pull out the big guns, but was it really worth it to lay bare his doubts in front of his parents? He decided that maybe it was, if he could change their opinions like that.

“The most probable thing is I do it out of habit” he shrugged “even though I don’t need it, I’ve been doing it for 14 years, so it’s hard to just… not. Somethings I catch myself not breathing and I panic, before remembering that it’s not a big deal” which was something that Tucker always made fun of him for, but after it always got a good laugh out of all of them.

He waited for his parents to say something, but they didn’t comment, so he kept going “The other theory I had for a while, which was mostly before I stopped aging, was that it was a subconscious thing” he heard his father mutter under his breath “Aging?”

“Yeah, I kept aging for a while, but I don’t know if you could actually call it that. I think that since I died before finishing puberty I… Involuntarily kept changing my body to look like I was still, somehow, going through puberty”

“What made you stop?” His father seemed much more interested in all that than his mom, who just looked skeptical. He answered anyway.

“I noticed that ghosts weren’t supposed to change. Seeing how young Youngblood is, how long Dorothea has been a ghost even though she’s been one since the 12th century made me realize that” it had been a little painful, Dora had actually been very supportive and helpful about it. Clockwork tried to help, but he didn’t really understand with his whole ‘being all ages at the same time’ thing he had going on.

“I was in denial. About the whole ‘being dead’ thing. When I accepted that it was it. I wasn’t going to get a driver’s licence. I wasn’t going to be old enough to drink. I wouldn’t graduate. That’s when I stopped aging” it wasn’t a lie per se, sure. It was true that he did age for a while before accepting the fact that, partially, he was a ghost and nothing could change that. But he would still be able to achieve some of the things he wouldn’t be able to do if he was fully a ghost.

Sure, he had given up on being an astronaut, certain that he couldn’t pass any medical exam, but at the end of the day, he could go up to see the stars every time he wanted. Basically everything else on his list was doable.

“So,” his mom’s voice brought him back from his daydreaming “you’re saying you remember your time being alive?” she sounded like she hadn’t believed a single thing that came out of his mouth, but like the sole thought of something like that being possible was intriguing at the very least.

“Some ghosts do, other don’t” he yawned, a very high-pitched sound coming out of his mouth at the end “Word of advice though, it’s generally considered very rude to ask a ghost anything to do with their time as a living person or, and I cannot stress this enough, about their death. Unless they’re the ones starting that kind of conversation” Danny decided to warn them. He knew some ghosts wouldn’t do anything if someone asks, but they’d most likely get their day ruined. Others could just try to harm them for such queries.

“And why is that?” His mom’s tone of voice made that question sound like a little bit of a challenge, but Danny wasn’t kidding. It was a sensitive topic, one that even he found difficult to talk about, even with his friends.

“Because happy people don’t become ghosts” his voice was flat, void of emotion and low enough that for a second he wondered if his parents even heard him.

Then his dad spoke up “I’m sorry kiddo. Must’ve been awful” his mom looked like she wanted to argue, but didn’t really have it in her heart. After all, ghost or not, he still looked like a teen, and everyone would be heartbroken when confronted with the idea of someone so young, not only dying, be having such a horrible life, or dying in such a traumatic way that they become a ghost.

Youngblood came to Danny’s mind. He didn’t think he ever wanted to know.

The rest of the ride was suffered in silence by both parties. Despite his desire to rest, Danny couldn’t fall asleep after having had such a conversation with his parents. He wasn’t delusional enough to think that one simple conversation was going to fix things, but he still hoped that it could be a start.

#danny phantom #danny fenton #jack fenton #maddie fenton #danny phantom fanfiction #dp fanfic

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aflyingcontradiction · 3 years ago

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The Magnus Archives Relisten: Episode 120 - Eye Contact

A cold and well-cleaned room, sterile metal tables that overflow with a gentle trickle of blood. The hearts that beat upon them spasm and spurt without any sort of rhythm, and were they to stand still for but a moment, it might become clear just how wrong they are in their construction. - Statement of Elias Bouchard

So when I first listened to this episode, I didn't realise that the statements referenced here are SPECIFICALLY those and ONLY those that Jon took himself. I also didn't remember what some of the references actually referred to. So I'm probably going to be spending this entire relisten going "Oh, that was THAT statement", starting with this bit, being clearly in reference to "Anatomy Class" (episode 34).

The doctor cannot bring himself to look at the tables, so instead, looks to the Archivist, whose eye watches him, and cannot close.

"Eye" singular sooo ... does dream!Jon appear as a cyclops? But no, I'm imagining him more as a three-eyed being. Two eyes closed in sleep, one Eye eternally open to watch.

Desperate, he tries to throw the apple at his observer, but it is too late. The doctor has forgotten how the elbows work, and wrenches it to the side with a sickening crack. He tries again to scream, but he hasn’t got the throat right, and the wheezing, half-choked gurgle that escapes would stir pity in the Archivist, if he had not heard it so many times before.

It's kind of fascinating to me that the doctor's nightmares focus not so much on the idea of inhuman strangers pretending to be human but on HIMSELF forgetting how to human. To be honest, that IS actually scarier, but not what I expected, exactly, given the origin of his nightmare.

He turns to see the familiar screen, the familiar woman beneath it. She looks up at him with an expression of recognition and weary dread. She types and types and types, her fingers a blur, flying across the keyboard, and yet never fast enough to outrun the relentless words that flow like dark water across the screen that stretches off into the sky.

Episode 65: Binary

He passes those places he can no longer watch – the silent wards of peeling skin, the empty warehouse of thick darkness and frightened children, the rusted train car that smells of eager, infectious hate.

Okay, so this one gave me trouble, so I ended up checking the Wiki to figure it out. The silent wards of peeling skin is Melanie's statement about the hospital. The empty warehouse of thick darkness and frightened children is Basira's statement about Rayner. The rusted train car is, once again, Melanie's statement. Why can he no longer access these? Basira and Melanie are both still alive, after all. Is it because they're being "protected" by their own Entities? But...

The rain is still there, though it is empty. The long and desolate road, slick with the downpour; a police car’s lights flashing over the unmoving van. The doors are open, and the too-familiar statues stand either side of the well-worn wooden box.

Daisy is about as Hunt as Hunt can be and has been for a long time, so why can he get to her nightmare just fine? So I don't get why Melanie's and Basira's nightmares aren't watchable.

Here he sees the train, twisted and pressed in on all sides, nothing but shrieking metal and cracked glass. He climbs inside, and takes his seat, mouth tasting of mud and soil, his eyes moving through the dust and grit unblinking.

Episode 71: Underground

He catches a glimpse of an advert above his seat: “Dig.”

"Dig" wasn't actually a statement taken by Jon, but then this nightmare is of the Buried, so it makes sense for it to be here anyway.

There is a door in front of him. A yellow door. He knows the dream it used to lead to; he knows it well. But that’s not where it leads anymore. He does not know what is behind it anymore, and he is deathly afraid of finding out.

This used to be Helen's nightmare, but of course Helen is now melded into the Distortion so yeah, going through that door would be one MESS of an experience.

The Archivist turns away. Behind him are the ants. They move like a terrible rolling wave along the hard-packed ground, and he can see every twitching antenna, every clenching mandible. Somewhere, underneath that twitching, burrowing mass, is the exterminator.

Episode 55: Pest Control

Before him rises an incinerator door, the glowing light of the flames curling around the cracks. With a wailing shriek, the door opens, and the burning silhouette that stands within is ingrained upon the Archivist’s racing mind. They smoke and sizzle, but still the worms crawl through her charred and pockmarked flesh, her now-singed red dress shifting with the movement beneath it.

Okay, this is interesting 'cause Jon is still in Jordan Kennedy's nightmare, but given how traumatised Jon was by Jane Prentiss, this may as well be his own. And his reaction to it as recounted by Elias actually does make it sound like this is one of the hardest dreams to watch because it hits so close to home.

When faced with her, he even longs for the terrible dream of the melted woman, who would see everything desolated without rhyme or reason. But she was beyond his reach the moment she knew he was there, so the Archivist can only stand and stare, as the hive goes about its infested, long-dead work.

Jude Perry (who somehow fucked off out of Beholding's reach)

The dark building is newer, but he knows it well; knows the two lost souls who creep through it with an alert hunger on their faces. He recognizes that look from the other hunter, whose dreams he has watched for so long. They stalk the darkness itself, and hope to catch and kill it before it can do the same to them. They see him watching, but they cannot catch his scent.

And this one is Julia and Trevor's nightmare.

At last, he is in the moonlit graveyard – the oldest of the dreams. It is peaceful, cool and damp, as the rolling, boggy fields stretch out in all directions. He hears her calling pathetically from the bottom of the graves, but by now he knows there is nothing he can do but stare. She begs to be released, to dream of this place no more, but there is nothing he can do.

And this is Episode 13: Alone.

Another dissection room, another figure standing in its centre – but this one is calm. She simply looks at him sadly, a pity in her face that burns him worse than any flame. More than anything, the Archivist wants to look away, to turn his eye from her gentle sadness, from the disappointment in what she sees in him.

Is this Georgie, then, who is beyond the reach of fear, even when she is still being watched?

Elias: Hello, Inspector. Martin. I’m, uh, sorry to hear about Tim

Until this point I was still hoping that Tim had somehow survived, despite the fact that the narrative was HEAVILY signposting that he wouldn't for multiple episodes.

Martin: You didn’t just see it in me? Elias: Honestly, I didn’t look. For all my power, I will admit I am not immune to making the occasional lazy assumption.

People keep making this mistake with Martin, don't they?

Peter: Oh, and if you want to talk to a counselor, the Institute will of course cover any cost.

Okay, but like, why exactly is the embodiment of isolating-yourself-and-never-talking-to-anyone-about-anything suggesting counselling? Is this something along the lines of ... making sure Martin doesn't actually talk to his friends and colleagues thing? Giving him an impersonal outlet that won't create the same sort of connection?

My impression of this episode

So I spent most of the first listen AND the relisten trying to figure out which reference goes with which statement, but actually, looking past the "spot the reference" game, this episode is very well written and when you let the horror of it sink in, it's really rather - well - horrific: all these people, endlessly relieving their trauma every night, including Jon who's being forced to watch and cannot look away. Where the overall plot is concerned: I did not imagine Martin getting Elias arrested or Peter Lukas becoming the new head of the Institute - at all. It is a pretty lovely set-up for the next season.

#tma relisten #the magnus archives

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catflorist · 4 years ago

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The Time Being (ao3 / ffn) catflorist Summary: Time-slipping is a side effect of wielding the Rinnegan. When Sasuke slips through time, he always goes to Sakura, whether he wants to or not. 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8

pt 5: sakura

After Sasuke left, Sakura woke up alone on a bench just as the sky began to lighten.

She rubbed the goosebumps on her bare arms. The aching pressure of a sob churned in her chest, but she could not cry.

Someone sat next to her. She recognized the line of his shoulders before she recognized his face.

Sasuke's jaw was sharper, his hair tied back and long enough to graze his shoulder blades. Mismatched eyes—red and purple—met hers before fading into their familiar dark.

He frowned. "You're cold." His voice was quieter, deeper than the voice of her Sasuke. He shrugged the cloak off his shoulders and offered it to her.

Sakura accepted, too stunned to speak. There was no need to voice the obvious. He was not the Sasuke she knew.

"I always wondered how you knew I was leaving," he said.

Sakura burrowed inside the cloak, still warm from his body. The fabric was soft, sun-worn, and smelled like salt. "Because I know you," she answered.

Sasuke smiled, and Sakura's head cleared. He had left, but he was here again. That had to mean something.

"What are you doing here?" Her voice trembled, but the knot in her throat was loosening.

The first rays of sun peeked over the horizon, lighting the treetops in gold. "I need to tell you something."

As dawn rose, Sasuke told her about his time-slipping, about the Rinnegan, that she should expect more appearances in the years to come. Sakura listened in a rapture. When he revealed the truth behind the massacre of the Uchiha clan, her tears finally fell. In the morning light, the village appeared ghostly, like bones bleaching in the sun.

"Will you ever come back?" Sakura asked, when everything was said.

"Yes," Sasuke said.

She dried her eyes on the collar of his cloak. "Do you promise?"

"I promise," he said. "We'll meet again soon."

"How long?"

"Five years or so, for you." His brow furrowed. "I'm sorry. You'll need to be patient with me."

"I'll be here when you're ready," she said.

Smiling again, Sasuke tapped the center of her brow with two gentle fingers. "You're with me right now."

A rush of questions flooded Sakura's mind, but they were out of time. Sasuke frowned, rubbing his temples, and Sakura took this to mean he was about to leave. She passed the cloak into his lap.

Sasuke slipped away like ducking underwater, leaving behind a quiet ripple of his presence.

When Naruto and Kakashi found her, the village had already woken up. Traffic clattered from the nearby main streets, and curtains fluttered from open windows. Someone nearby was grilling fish for breakfast.

"He's gone," Sakura said.

For a beat, Naruto and Kakashi said nothing. They searched Sakura's expression, giving her the opportunity to grieve, if she wanted to. But Sakura's breathing remained calm.

Kakashi lifted the hitai-ate obscuring his left eye. His gaze shone with regret. "This is my fault." At this, Sakura's lip started trembling.

Naruto's fists clenched and unclenched at his sides. "I'm going after him," he snarled.

"There's no need, Naruto." Sakura gripped the stone of the bench. "He'll come back one day."

Sakura trained under Tsunade and grew strong. She learned how to tear open the earth and to mend bones. How to store her chakra drop by drop, so one day it would become a vast ocean under her control.

Two years passed before she saw Sasuke again. It occurred in her own time. He perched on the rim of the cliff outside Orochimaru's hideout, wind lifting his robes. A purple obi ensnared his waist. With the sun at his back, he looked more shadow than boy. His eyes held nothing when he looked at her—neither interest nor contempt.

Then he said, "Sakura." He exhaled her name like a breath, like he didn't even realize he was saying it.

It still hurt when they failed to convince him to return, even if it was what Sakura expected.

The trip back to Konoha was solemn. Naruto was shaken and quiet, and even Sai wisely held his tongue. They traveled through the night until Captain Yamato constructed a temporary wooden shelter with four separate rooms.

When she was alone, Sakura held her head in her hands. She tried to fit the Sasuke she just saw into her knowledge of him. He was longer her teammate, and he was far from the man who had chosen to tie his hair back. He was somewhere in between, somewhere lost, with a long way to go.

"Sakura?"

Sasuke, exactly as she remembered from their genin days, inspected her wet face. All his questions stopped. He grasped her hand and looked stubbornly away, daring her to state what they both knew. It was not his way to freely offer a comforting touch.

Sakura closed her eyes. Sasuke had promised to return, but she never would have doubted it on her own.

"The daimyo wants to drain a lake to build another summer palace, and the council says they have the funds to spare," Tsunade spat, shoving a mountain of paperwork in Sakura's direction. "But there's nothing in the budget for the civilian guilds?"

Sighing in sympathy, Sakura pulled her favorite chair to Tsunade's desk. She flipped through the paperwork, signing a perfect copy of the Hokage's signature on each page. Tsunade filled two glasses with amber liquid, set one beside her student, and settled behind her own tower of paper. This was their evening ritual.

Signing her name with angry flourishes, Tsunade muttered, "Three years as Hokage and I can't get anything done."

Each day, Sakura watched Tsunade fight the council tooth and nail to implement her vision for the village. Each day, the council blocked her every move.

Sakura's pen stilled. Tsunade did not know the truth of the Uchiha massacre. Was it right to tell her?

"Tsunade-shishou…" she began, then the words froze on her tongue.

Her teacher raised an eyebrow. "Spit it out," she urged.

"Have you ever thought that the council might be doing more harm than good?"

This was a radical view. Many citizens of Konoha supported the council in their decision-making. The village was prosperous and powerful. There was no reason to ask deeper questions.

Tsunade was silent for a breath too long, revealing her answer. Teacher and student gazed at each other with a new understanding.

Sakura's hands shook. "There is something you should know."

The council met in an imposing structure set behind the largest gate in the village. Since few windows penetrated its thick walls, the building's interior remained cold and dim no matter the season. When darkness fell, Tsunade and Sakura snuck inside and entered the archive.

After undoing a genjutsu, breaking the ninjutsu seal on a wooden chest, and snapping a plain lock in half, they uncovered the file detailing plans behind the Uchiha massacre.

The scroll was thin. It did not take much space on a page at all to massacre a clan.

Sakura read it first. It was one thing to hear the truth from Sasuke. It was another to see it confirmed in writing, signed by the leaders of the village, and stamped in approval. When she saw the Third Hokage's signature, her heart panged. Sarutobi-sama had always been kind to her. Yet he had known and approved of this plan. Was it a betrayal, or a requirement of his position? Which was worse?

"This village is rotten to the core," Tsunade muttered after closing the scroll. "Is this why your teammate left?"

"No," Sakura said. "He doesn't know the truth yet."

"How did you think to look for this?"

"I was close with Sasuke," she offered, not meeting her teacher's eyes. "I had a suspicion."

Tsunade did not push further. She pressed her lips together, rubbed the space between her eyebrows. For once, the ageless face of Sakura's teacher looked tired.

"We carve our faces into the cliff as if we have something to celebrate," she said. "As if we owe our greatness to the world. But it's all a lie."

Huddled next to Tsunade, surrounded by the archive's chilly secrets, Sakura swore to make the village a better place by the time Sasuke returned.

"No surprise, Sakura. They denied your plans." Tsunade stamped a document hard enough to shake her entire desk. "Danzo told me personally."

Sakura clenched her fists, but she was not surprised. Last week Tsunade refused to shut down an investigation into the Hyuuga clan's use of branding. Now, the council had coincidentally tabled Sakura's sensible proposal to construct a pediatric wing of the hospital.

This was not Sakura's first roadblock. Last month, the council canceled their first meeting with Sakura's newly-established civilian board, citing scheduling conflicts, and dodged all attempts to reschedule. Not long before, they implied that unless Tsunade agreed to spare three extra jonin for the daimyo's entourage, they might not find funds to spare for Sakura's medic training program. Each time, Danzo delivered the news with a modest smile, as if he were pouring her a cup of tea and expecting gratitude in response.

The more Sakura's plans fizzled out, the more she feared Konoha could never change.

Sometimes Sakura imagined herself leaving the village. She thought about it the same way she thought about embracing the next Sasuke she saw. It was not a real possibility, but the idea floated in her head, and sometimes hurt to think about.

She could live alone somewhere. Maybe by the ocean. Her brain conjured all the details: fresh, salty air. Seabirds screeching and plummeting into the water. The temperamental sand shifting under her feet. There would be nothing to fix. Nothing would require changing. Maybe she would find peace.

Sakura worked hard to improve the village, but she did not buy the plant Ino suggested would flourish in the morning light of her bedroom. She stored every scrap of chakra away for her future seal. She did not spend money except when her friends dragged her to dinner. She thought about the Sasuke who smelled like salt. She dreamt about the ocean.

When Sasuke appeared next, it was at the worst possible time, and that's what she told him. She had a village to defend and to heal.

Sasuke was closer, somehow. He wore the obi, but his eyes were brighter. He did not hesitate to approach her and to call out her name. Sakura wished he had stayed long enough for her to heal the wound on his head.

The battle worsened. A hoard of Katsuyu's summons under Sakura's command saved the hospital and the old Uchiha compound from destruction, but Pain's attack leveled much of Konoha to the ground.

Tsunade sank into a coma. Shizune and Sakura tended to the wrecked village.

Captain Yamato was reconstructing Konoha by himself when Sakura stepped in. In his patient voice, he taught her the basics of woodstyle. At first she could only summon twigs and vines. Her wood produced too much foliage, inhibiting its use as a building material. She persevered. By the end of the month, she was by his side, reimagining and rebuilding Konoha, coaxing the surrounding forest to regrow.

Sakura and Yamato faced the empty land where the council building once stood.

"I have an idea," Sakura said, "though it isn't traditional."

"By all means," Yamato said.

Sakura pressed her hands together. Wood coiled into the air and formed a new type of building. It was small and modest with an unadorned facade. A large window opened upon the council gathering space. Where the gate once existed, she created a square for the citizens of Konoha to gather. The council's discussions could no longer occur in private, outside the public eye.

It was no trivial responsibility to possess the skills to rebuild a village. If she could carve out a window when before there was none, create a new space for people to breathe, she would.

"Sakura, you have too many jobs," Ino complained.

"I am a simple student," Sakura denied, though Ino was right. In Tsunade's absence, Sakura's role in the village took on more of a political nature than ever.

After the council appointed Danzo as the temporary Hokage, she and Shizune fought to maintain Tsunade's policies and legislation under his strict rule. During council meetings, she served as Tsunade's representative. In between these responsibilities, Sakura squeezed in training and shifts at the hospital.

This meant Sakura did not have time in her schedule to eat dinner with both Ino and Naruto in one week, so she requested they meet together. Her two friends disrupted the peaceful evening of every Konoha resident with their public debate over where to eat before Ino finally threw up her hands.

Naruto slurped his Ichiraku's ramen. "You're a student, a shinobi, an architect..."

"...a medic, a politician," Ino picked up. She considered. "A large-forehead-bearer."

"Pig," Sakura responded fondly. She eyed Naruto. "Dobe," she said, using Sasuke's word without thinking, and the cheerful mood dampened.

Ino set her teacup on the table with a soft clink. "Have you heard anything?"

Naruto sighed. "The teme is up to some shit."

Sakura chewed her lip. The last they'd heard, Sasuke had formed a team and joined the Akatsuki. Five years or so, Sasuke had promised. Over four years had passed since that day.

Just as a lump formed in Sakura's throat, Ino squeezed her shoulder. "Let's walk to the square, later," she suggested. "It's great, but I think it could use a few more places to sit."

They walked to the square. Sakura twisted wood into benches and placed them according to Ino's vision.

"Beautiful work. But what about trees? Some shade would be nice," Ino said. "Don't you think, Naruto?"

"Eh? But it's night––ow," Naruto gasped, as Ino elbowed him in the ribs. "I mean, absolutely. Could use some greenery, and all that."

Sakura's hands flew through the signs. Trees sprouted in each corner of the square, growing taller than the nearby council building, than any building in the village.

The transformation was immediate. Soft murmurs of rustling leaves replaced silence. A bird landed upon a branch. From where they were standing, the newly born foliage obscured the faces carved into the Hokage Mountain. In the silver wash of the moon, it appeared as if they grew over the mountain itself, a tangle of wood and leaf and stone.

Without speaking, the three of them sat together on the nearest bench, inaugurating the new space.

"This was a good idea, Ino," Sakura said.

Ino and Naruto raised eyebrows at each other.

"Do you feel better, Forehead?"

Gazing at the treetops, Sakura found herself smiling. She felt better.

Sakura was listening to a council meeting with detached resentment when news broke of Danzo's death.

Tsumiki Kido, Danzo's closest confidant on the council, called for a moment of silence. As councilmembers bowed their heads, Sakura's heart raced. She and Shizune shared a careful glance.

When the moment was done, Tsumiki shook his head. "It is clear Uchiha Sasuke has outgrown his usefulness."

"He is a criminal and an enemy," another voice chimed in.

Sakura already knew there was a future waiting for Sasuke. He would live to meet her on that bench. Still, her blood ran cold.

"The boy has shown his true colors," Tsumiki replied. "Who will his next target be? How else will he terrorize our beloved village?"

As evenly as she could manage, Sakura said, "Konoha will never be the same after Danzo-sama's loss." She lowered her head, and faces around the table followed suit. "He displayed the Will of Fire until the end. It is evident he made a great sacrifice for the village, a sacrifice we must not undermine."

Tsumiki frowned and opened his mouth.

"Don't you see?" Sakura interjected, meeting the eyes of each councilmember. "Danzo-sama could easily defeat any enemy. In his wisdom, he understood that Uchiha Sasuke's continued wellbeing is in the best interest of the village. The Uchiha clan's doujutsu, the Sharingan, is a valuable tool. Only Sasuke possesses this skill, now that his brother Itachi is dead."

When several heads nodded, Sakura frowned and looked to the ceiling. She twisted a strand of hair around her finger, as if in thought. "I'm happy to volunteer to look through our archives on the Uchiha clan. I'm certain I'll find useful information that illustrates how having an Uchiha in service of the village is beneficial. Perhaps I'll uncover other skills, other histories, that are useful to know. We keep good records, after all."

The younger members of the council did not blink, but Sakura watched key faces twitch. Their eyes bored into her, wondering if the words archive, Itachi, records, all said in the same context, were a coincidence.

As silence fell, the public square outside remained lively. Two elderly civilians took a seat upon one of the newly crafted benches. A shuriken thunked against the large window overlooking the meeting space. Children's laughter sounded, then a group of young Academy students raced to retrieve their object.

Tsumiki's lips pressed together in a thin line. "That won't be necessary."

All talk of retaliation against Sasuke ceased. Discussion turned to Danzo's funeral preparations, then to candidates for the next acting Hokage. Sakura suggested Kakashi. The council grumbled, but it was a good suggestion.

"You spoke well, but that was a risk," Shizune said later. "They will be upset."

Sakura was scrubbing her hands after a surgery when she heard that Tsunade was awake.

She burst into the room. Shizune lifted her tear-streaked face and smiled. Tsunade sat upright in her bed, young and fresh as ever, as if awaking from a catnap rather than a deathly coma. Her teacher was not physically affectionate, but she returned Sakura's tight embrace with no reservations, and brushed the uncombed hair away from her face.

"You've both been busy," Tsunade said, after Sakura and Shizune explained everything she had missed. She eyed Sakura, inspecting the dark circles under her student's eyes. "Don't give too much away. You can't heal or fight or fix this damn village if you don't keep anything for yourself." .

Sakura was on the battlefield. She saw his shadow before she saw him, that familiar line of his shoulders. .

Up next: Sasuke and Sakura meet again.

Notes: double cliffhanger...don't be mad? :) though i hope some of your questions are starting to be answered.

also, we're more than halfway through now! this chapter through the end were the hardest to write--thank you for following along with me!

#sasusaku #sasusaku fanfiction #sasusaku fanfic #ss fic #ss #my ss #my fic #the time being

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raendown · 4 years ago

Link

Todays follower milestone gift fic is for @sparklemagpie with the prompt word importune. Can you tell I had fun writing this one?

Pairing: ShikamaruTemariTayuya Word count: 1966 Rated: T+ Summary: For the two women in his life Shikamaru will do whatever it takes. As long as they're happy he's happy. When they're not...well, when they're not you get situations like this one.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

KO-FI and commission info in the header!

Just The Right Cherry On Top

Shikamaru would have told anyone who asked that it didn’t start off as begging. No one was really asking, though, and the shreds of pride still buried in the back of his mind somewhere told him that was a problem. If no one was asking questions that usually meant they thought they already had the answers. But they didn’t. They really didn’t. When it came to his two girls Shikamaru was smugly aware that he was usually the only one with answers.

Well, answers to questions like ‘are you sure they’re not trying to kill each other’ or usually ‘how can you stand to live between that’. The questions about what might be going on in either woman’s mind were ones he didn’t even try to guess at. He knew when to back away from a problem he would never figure out.

Right now he didn’t so much have a problem as he did have a disaster. He knew very well that relationships took work, that his work would be doubled when he agreed to marry both of the most important women in his life, and since he had not a day went by when he didn’t consider that work so very worth it. For the most part their days were happy. Blissful, even. Shikamaru was as flawed as any other human being but among his flaws pride wasn’t usually the one that tripped him up. Disaster only really happened when pride snuck up on the other two parts of his soul.

Tayuya, as usual, was the first to start throwing insults. And of course Temari, when faced with a hot temper, flared her own with the kind of heat usually accomplished only with the most deadly katon. Standing on the other side of the kitchen with a frying pan in one hand and his face in the other, Shikamaru briefly wondered if there were any missions available that would take him far away until these two crazy goddesses sorted their own shit out.

There weren’t. He checked. Discreetly, of course.

After the first couple days of cold silence it became obvious that this was one of those fights they needed him to bring them back from, when pride and stubbornness and sheer petty spite held both of their lips shut, eyes refusing to meet, tempers refusing to back down. These were the kind of fights that reminded Shikamaru why the three of them really worked as a full unit, one single whole, any weakness in one covered by another. Knowing that never made it any less annoying trying to be the cover to their weakness. They might need him but in those moments they sure didn’t want to need him.

“What’ll it take this time?” Shikamaru could hear the exhaustion in his own voice but that’s just what happened when he hadn’t gotten more than three consecutive hours of sleep for the past week.

“Nothing,” Temari snapped. “Maybe this is just it!”

Drawing a hand down his face spoke louder than words how little he believed that. If he looked really close he could see the lines of aching tiredness in Temari’s expression that told him she didn’t believe it either.

“Right,” he murmured. “I’ll just go talk to her then.

And so he did, though it would be hard to express just how unsurprised he was to get a very similar reaction from Tayuya.

“Fuck that bitch and her high horse!”

“You could if one of you would say sorry,” Shikamaru couldn’t help pointing out.

“Oh no fucking way! Not with a ten foot god damned pole!”

“What if I said please?”

So that was how it started. Or got to the middle, really. Much to the contrary of what other people seemed to think, Shikamaru was not so whipped as to just fall on his knees and beg any time he encountered the slightest of resistance in their relationship. He had some self respect. In the face of these two boneheads, however, self respect was a concept he was more than willing to throw out the window in favor of a full night’s rest, something he would not be getting until their home saw peace again.

One instance of saying please did nothing. Twice did little more than that. Somewhere around the fifteen ‘please’ he switched tactics and added a cherry on top. Tayuya rather harshly reminded him that she hated cherries and described in very colorful detail where he could stick his polite words. Clearly another tactic was needed.

As a smart man Shikamaru very carefully ignored all of Naruto’s well meaning suggestions like sending his wives flowers pretending they were from each other. Maybe that would have worked on someone like Hinata who was determined to look at the world and see the best in everyone but Shikamaru had married two people determined to look at the world through a cold lens of cynicism. Gods but he loved it. Loved the both of them. He just didn’t love the fights. Naruto meant well but the one and only time any of them had seen Hinata truly mad had been the middle of a battle against the reanimated body of a dead man handing Naruto his own ass. It was great for the two of them to finally find happiness. When he thought of their calm and sweet relationship Shikamaru sometimes just couldn’t help but wonder how they didn’t get bored with no one around to throw a plate or two.

Since being nice about it didn’t do much his next step was to try being firm. This time he went to Tayuya first because if he could crack her then honestly he was pretty sure he could crack the whole world. His efforts in this round were about as successful as the first.

“Go ahead and try to tell me what to do one more time, Nara.” Right up in his face Tayuya was all fire, in her hair and in her eyes and in every move of the arm currently jamming in to his chest. “I’ve had just about enough of being ordered around for one lifetime, you hear me?” Oh he did. He did hear her. He also heard the undertone of heat and it wasn’t until an hour after he left their home in the daze of post orgasmic bliss that he realized he’d been had. Maybe Choji was right and he did think with his dick a little too much.

Going to see Temari hadn’t exactly had better results - although he’d known better from the start than to consider either one of them ‘better’ than the other in certain departments. After making it very clear how much she both enjoyed and scorned his attempts to law down some kind of law Temari rode him against the nearest walls and sent him off afterwards with a few choice words about how she really didn’t mind wearing only his marks on her skin from now on. Since he hadn’t been the one to bring that up Shikamaru saw through it right away. They missed each other, a blind man could see that. Getting them to admit it was the hard part.

So that was a bust on trying to put his foot down but if he were honest Shikamaru hadn’t expected any different. The next thing he tried was bribery. After the harsh years both of his wives had experienced it was entirely understandable that they should enjoy being waited on hand and foot. Usually the offer was an irresistible one to them; hence why he didn’t make it very often, a special treat for special occasions when he needed to remind them just how precious they really were. When not just one but both of them turned him down this time Shikamaru had to take a nice long walk through the woods and feed the deer for a while, wondering if maybe the magic offer had lost its touch at last. Or if maybe he was the one that had lost his touch. It took a good long while and three different deer taking curious nibbles of his ponytail before he shook himself and stood up with a little more steel in his spine.

Clearly this problem was running out of control and that meant bringing in the biggest weapon he had at his disposal. One didn’t spend a lifetime best friends with the Yamanaka heir without picking up some tricks.

“Please?”

“No.”

“Please please?”

“I said no, fuck off Shika.”

“Uhhh, please and please and please?”

Tayuya actually stopped walking to round on him with furrowed brows. “You get hit upside the head or something? This is- you’re acting like a damn child!”

“Maybe.” Shikamaru clasped his hands together and lifted his eyes to the clouds above them. “How many times I gotta say please? Cause I will. Give me a number, I’ll do it.”

“For real?”

“Please, please, please, please, plea-”

Ignoring the baffled looks of anyone passing them by was a lot easier than ignoring the sharp voice that spoke from the doorway, rough at the edges under the heavy weight of defeat and sadness.

“He might not look like it, but he’s really just a child in a man’s body.” Temari studiously did not look at her wife when Tayuya whipped around to stare at her, missing the ripple of yearning that went through all those well honed muscles. “You probably shouldn’t test it. He really will just keep going.”

“Sounds annoying as hell,” Tayuya ventured.

Neither of them seemed to notice when Shikamaru fell silent, still, waiting with baited breath.

“It’d probably be less painful if we just give in. He already did that to me for two hours this morning and I don’t know if I can listen to it for much longer without violence that I’m pretty sure I would regret.” The proud set of Temari’s jaw was that of a queen making concessions. The dark warmth of her eyes when they finally canted sideways was that of a wife who missed the touch of her beloved.

“Good fucking god, two hours? Yeah, hell no. I ain’t listening to that. Let’s just get this over with or something then.”

“For the best.”

Despite that agreement it still took about five solid minutes of staring wordlessly in to each others’ eyes before either of them made any more toward the other. In the end they moved at the same time, reaching out with the same hand, laughing in a fondly awkward way as their fingers entwined. The moment would have been utterly beautiful if Shikamaru hadn’t breathed in very deeply just to let it all back out in one great rush.

“Finally,” he muttered. Both of his wives frowned at him.

“Wait.” Temari narrowed her eyes as though only now realizing what she’d done. “How did you do that?” She didn’t seem to appreciate the sheer exasperation filling him up in place of all the soft pleading he’d been wearing for days now.

“You don’t just hang around with Ino for this long without learning how to annoy someone in to giving up.”

Before either of his wives could say anything Shikamaru was spinning on one heel and marching out the door, grumbling under his breath while he rummaged around his flack vest for a pack of smokes. Troublesome women and their troublesome tempers. At times he really did wonder why he put up with it. Two sets of footsteps rushing after him was a good reminder, though he thought he would be well within his rights to make them do a little begging after all the trouble he’d gone through just to bridge the gap between their overinflated prides. Worth it, absolutely worth it, but damn if they weren’t trouble sometimes.

#rae writes #follower milestone #shikatematayu #shikamaru #temari #tayuya

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howaboutleeches · 4 years ago

Note

since you don't have anon on I will be brave: Jules, mafia au, meetcute, "are you sure this is legal"

Dangerous Affairs

Word Count: 1,768

It was early. Like early early. Your boss had called you almost at midnight asking you to come earlier the next day. You were aiming to get a promotion, and in other to facilitate things, you had to make your boss happy, and that’s why you agreed. But damn, 5am is way too early.

You worked in a really cute flower shop, very well-known around Vesuvia. It was a cute but very popular place, especially after the Countess ordered a bunch of flowers from there, which made everyone want to do the same, of course. That made the shop get busier, and you as well.

You fished the keys out of your pocket and unlocked the front door, doing your best to not bump into any vases, or else you knew it would come out of your payment. You quickly got in and turned on the lights, noticing how you and one other shop were the only ones open at the time, as expected at such an early hour.

White roses, pink note. White roses, pink note. You kept repeating that to yourself along the way and inside the shop as well, keeping in mind exactly what you had to do. Some company was celebrating their anniversary and one of the employees would come by around 6am to pick the flowers up.

It could've been at any time of the day, but there would be way more things involved so they booked to pick the flowers at first dawn to start things as soon as possible.

Going to the back of the shop, you quickly located the flowers and the note, starting to bring the large vases to the front, where they would be easier to bring outside. It took way longer than you expected and when the last vase was brought to the front, a ray of sunlight hit your face, noticing it was time to start the real work.

You sat on the counter and it didn't take long until a large van pulled up in front of the store, displaying the company's name on its side. You moved yourself to open the door and make sure it stayed like that, starting to bring the vases outside. You could feel your arm muscles burning from carrying all that.

Luckily, the trunk door was unlocked, so all you did was open it and start putting it all inside. But the second part turned out to be harder than you expected. Dragging the vase was one thing. Lifting it was hard work. You did your best, with grunts and all, and started to lift the vase, it being a few inches from the floor.

The vase became weightless, and your back became warmer. The presence behind you came so suddenly you didn't even hear it. Large gloved hands held the vase from behind you, carefully lifting and placing it inside. With one swift motion, one of the roses was removed from the vase.

You turned around to see whoever it war the person who helped you and a tall figured man stood behind you, his red hair charmingly falling on his face. Upon seeing your face he smirked, and the rose on his hand was gently placed behind your ear.

"A rose to a rose. Don't worry, they won't notice one of them is gone. And besides, it looks way better on your than on those dull vases" He smiled and slightly bowed, keeping his eyes on you.

Words weren't formed on your brain as you watched him walk to the store and start to lift those vases as if they weighed nothing. You took the opportunity to check inside the van, seeing all the other things the company must've had bought for the celebration.

It surprised you to see other flowers there. You've seen them somewhere, in some book. You cautiously entered the van, getting close to the flowers and gave them a sniff. Your eyes widened in realization.

"Beautiful, isn't it? I'm afraid we had to order that from...another flower shop. You see, they're not very common"

The voice from behind you made you jump. You couldn't understand the situation. He was acting so calm about it, and you felt as if the situation wasn't exactly quite what it seemed.

"You do know what those are right?" Your first words to him. For a few moments, it was like he got distracted by your voice. He took a few seconds to snap back to reality.

"Well, flowers, aren't they? And they look stunning. Will definitely have an impact" He smiled innocently, but his eyes told a different story.

"Nerium Oleander. This flower is extremely poisonous!" You exclaimed, feeling unusually worried about the stranger's well-being.

"Oh, are they? Well, the company told me to get them so...." He simply shrugged, seeming unbothered by the fact.

"Are you sure this is legal? You could get into some serious trouble for caring this around" You replied, still inside the van. He seemed to be blocking your passage, but maybe not on purpose.

"Absolutely sure dear, don't worry about that" He placed the last vase and extended a hand to you, which you gladly took, pulling you out of the van "I think I was supposed to come inside to leave the payment?"

"Oh yes, sure thing" I nod and walk inside, holding the door for him.

Once we get in the shop again, I go behind the counter and start to look around for the spreadsheet with all the information regarding the price. I found it on a nearby chair and turned around to grab it. Turning around, I placed it on the table along with a pan and slid it closer to him.

"Just please put your signature there and we're all done" You gave him a tired smile.

He looked up at you and smirked before leaning down a bit, grabbing the pen and writing on the paper attached to the spreadsheet. You could see his eyes rasing a bit, eyeing your name tag. He finished writing, his writing was truly beautiful, and handed you the sheet back, a warm smile on his face.

“It was a pleasure meeting you this morning Y/n. I thought this morning would be dull, but your presence sure made it exciting”

He gave you a side smile and turned around in a swift motion, walking towards the door. You felt your head on the clouds while talking to him, his mere presence making you feel calm. So call, so peaceful and so careless that you forgot to ask for his name.

You heard the bell on the door, signaling that it had been closed and quickly lunged forward. You opened the door again, noticing the mysterious man already getting in the van. You quickly rushed to the driver’s side and knocked on the window, catching him by surprise. He jumped a bit on his seat and opened a smile again. As he rolled down the window you noticed he was different.

His work vest was unbuttoned and open, showing a fancy suit underneath it. His hair was slightly pushed back and he had sunglasses tucked on it, apparently very expensive ones. You gave it a curious look before he put his face closer to yours, bringing you back to reality.

“Y-You never said your name....” You said softly, still trying to figure that man out.

From the other end of the avenue, you hear police sirens. Although very low, there were definitely many. Six cars at least. He chuckled, unphased by the sound, and smirked.

“My name? You’ll know it very soon” He reached inside the car, opening the glove compartment and pulled out a black business card, holding it between his middle and index finger “Make sure to watch the news tonight”

And with that, he winked and took off. Not even two minutes later, several police cars passed you while you were still outside. Their noise caught your attention and you finally looked down at the card.

One side was completely black, the paper was a shiny tone, making it glisten as you moved it. When you turned it around, you saw something written in denim letters, a color close to blood.

J. Devorak

You could’ve sworn you heard that name before, you just didn’t know where. You shrugged and went back inside, keeping the card in your pocket the whole day. Work went by relatively fast and you dragged yourself home. Only in the middle of the way you reminded what the stranger from earlier had told you. Make sure to watch the news tonight. With that in mind, you rushed to your house, almost tripping in the way as you quickly made your way through the streets.

You quickly unlocked the door and searched for your remote. Once in your hand, you turned the TV on, browsing through the channels and selecting the most famous news one. Almost immediately, the anchor turned to the camera, a serious expression on her face.

“Now, we’d like to address a serious issue that happened this morning. An attack happened during a famous event this morning. The event consisted of the anniversary of the Wisecrest Company, owned by Kellaway Wisecrest. He had been accused of stealing donation money for personal usage recently but walked away freely. Apparently, someone decided to take justice into their own hands. A large number of poisonous flowers were delivered to Wisecrest’s personal room right before the party began, disguised with other non lethal white roses”

“Needless to say, he did not participate in the celebration. During the time, he was unconscious in his room. While that happened, someone hacked into his personal archives and leaked all his information, confirming to the crimes. Wisecrest is now being held in prison, waiting for his trial. The police believes that the Vesuvian mafia could be involved, making Julian Devorak one of the main suspects”

You could feel your jaw dropping. The man who did all that, the same man who charmed you this morning, worked for the mafia!?

“Julian Devorak is a very known mafia leader, also known as “The Mafia Robin Wood”. If he is in case responsible, this wouldn’t be the first time where he did something like this. As the investigation progresses, we will keep the public informed”

As you heard the anchor changing the subject, you slowly pulled the card off your pocket. But now it was different. Where it before was written J. Devorak, now showed, in the same denim letters Jules. And on the back part where there was nothing, a phone number.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I really hope you enjoy this, I’m sorry for the delay.

I hadn’t noticed about the anon part 😅, but it’s available now!

Have a nice day! 💕🌻

#thearcana #thearcanaimagines #the arcana headcanon #the arcana #the arcana imagine #thearcanaheadcanon #julian imagine #julian x reader #julian devorak x reader #julian devorak #julian devorak x mc #julian devorak imagine

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anistarrose · 4 years ago

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Chapter Summary: Barry gets a job offer. Kravitz sees a new side of the moon. Taako has a long-overdue chat with his umbrella.

Characters: Kravitz, Taako, Barry Bluejeans, Angus McDonald, Magnus Burnsides, Merle Highchurch, Noelle | No-3113, The Raven Queen, The Director | Lucretia, misc. BoB cameos, Julia Burnsides, Garyl

Relationships: Taakitz, Angus McDonald & Taako, Barry Bluejeans & Kravitz, Kravitz & Angus McDonald

Lately, I’ve been thinking of this fic as a story told in two acts. They’re not necessarily going to be equal in length, but this chapter is definitely the end of Act One.

***

“That’s basically the whole story, Your Majesty,” Kravitz concluded, after several minutes of talking at speeds that no being who needed to breathe could hope to match. Barry and Noelle stood on either side of him, mustering the most innocent expressions he’d ever seen on the faces of a lich or a robot, respectively. “Not that I’d blame you for having follow-up questions, because… well, holy shit.”

Holy shit, indeed, the Raven Queen agreed. A projected image of her visage was floating above a circle of five perfect raven feathers, having been carefully arranged on the cave floor by Kravitz. Istus said we were approaching unprecedented times, but…

She sighed. Well, I must admit that with the apparent exception of Istus, we gods hardly think about what lies outside our planar system. It’s… inconvenient, uncomfortable, how we hold so much power in this world yet understand so little about what’s beyond it. This threat, this Hunger, is news even to me — but didn’t you already know that, Barry, from all the Celestial Planes you’ve seen invaded before?

Barry nodded. “Yeah. I never saw stuff like that directly, of course, but Merle’s a cleric, so… he had his ways of knowing it was never a pretty picture.”

The Raven Queen let out a sigh, like wind escaping from beneath a whole flock’s wings. Then I have more important things to do than reconcile your undeath with the laws of this world, and you have more important things to do than defend yourself to me. Barry, Noelle, you are free to go at least until the apocalypse is averted — but if we get through that, and only then, I’d like you to start thinking about accepting jobs in the Astral Plane. Whatever state the world is in after the Hunger arrives, Kravitz and I will probably need your help.

Barry went dead silent, while Noelle’s whole display lit up with excitement.

“Are we talking afterlife office jobs,” she asked, “or something more along the lines of what Kravitz does?”

“We’ve got plenty of open positions, honestly,” Kravitz explained. “You could probably pick either.”

“Huh,” Barry finally muttered, so soft that Kravitz could’ve missed it. “I — I appreciate the offer, but — I gotta know one thing before I even consider it. Will I have to — to bring in any of my family? Anyone from the Starblaster?”

I’d like to speak with them all eventually, and I may ask you to facilitate that, the Raven Queen replied, but they won’t be punished.

Barry nodded. “Okay. That’s… that’s something I’m willing to consider, then.”

I hope you find out what happened to Lup. Her location is concealed from even me, but I know she’s never entered my domain, so I believe you’ll find her out there somewhere.

Barry’s eyes flickered, shedding drops of light that ran down his face for a few seconds before they coalesced back together. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

It’s the least I could do. From here, my priority shall be to warn the rest of the pantheon, but we’ll be in touch. The Raven Queen’s visage disappeared with a clap of thunder and a gust of wind that lifted the feathers into the air, carrying them back to Kravitz’s waiting hands as her voice boomed throughout the cave one last time. Good luck, my children.

“That went well, right?” Noelle asked when the echoes faded. “That felt pretty good for a conversation with the death goddess.”

“She’s a lot more reasonable than most gods, I think you’ll find,” Kravitz concurred. “But what’s the plan now? Because other than heading up to the moon, and bringing the boys back down for you to tell them what little you can, I haven’t got a lot of ideas.”

“I dunno either. I don’t like keeping them in the dark either, but it’s very little we can tell them aside from —” Barry paused. “Wait. You can go on the moonbase?”

“Yes? At least, no one’s tried to stop me. I guess I can see why you wouldn’t be allowed up there, but —”

“It’s more than a ban and a wanted poster keeping me off! It’s an anti-undeath ward —” Electricity crackled inside Barry’s silhouette, and he let out a laugh that could’ve woken the not-yet-reanimated dead. “But you, Kravitz, apparently possess enough celestial energy to balance out the undead elements of your soul — which is perfect! It changes everything!”

“Uh,” Kravitz began, reflexively taking a step back, “I think I’m missing some context here —”

“That ward’s the only thing stopping Barry from sneaking onto the moonbase and stealing the ichor he needs to inoculate his family!” Noelle explained, totally unperturbed by Barry’s mad scientist laugh. “I couldn’t steal it for him because the same ward keeps me from leaving my fuse for very long, and this robot body’s not exactly stealthy — but you can decorporealize for as long as you want on the moon, right?”

“I’m not sure I’ve actually tried,” Kravitz replied, rubbing his chin as the puzzle pieces fell into place, “but I’ve never had issues getting through anti-undead wards before, corporeally or otherwise!”

Barry rubbed his hands together, smoke and sparks pouring out from between them — but for the first time, Kravitz was sure he saw a glint of a smile flash on Barry’s face.

“Then what are we waiting for?” Barry asked. “Let’s head back to my place and plan a heist!”

***

“So what do we do now, Fantasy Columbo?” Taako asked, staring at the Umbra Staff in his hands. “I didn’t hear any jingles start playing for solving some sick higher power’s umbrella lich puzzle — how does this help us? What does it change?”

This should have been a revelation, Taako knew. This should have changed everything. But his mind was lagging behind his racing heart, struggling to fit together puzzle pieces that he knew should connect. Struggling to understand why he cared so fiercely about an evil ghost of an evil wizard being trapped in the arcane focus he’d looted her corpse for.

“I… I guess we should try to communicate with her?” Angus suggested. “She’s a Red Robe, so she must have something to do with —” He gestured wildly from his notepad, to Taako’s head, to the incinerated coffee table. “With all of this. Right?”

He removed his glasses, wiping off drops of sweat, and Taako realized that Angus, the smartest person he knew, had ran into an uncomfortable mental wall of his own — and after just a split second of looking at Angus’s pained expression, Taako made a decision.

“Hey, kid. I need your arguably expert opinion real quick — Magnus and Merle aren’t smart enough to be memory-wiping masterminds, right?”

“Oh, absolutely not, sir. We both know they’re no good at keeping their lies straight.”

“Could you check in on them for me? And try to bring ‘em back here — but, uh, only if you can do it without Lucretia or Davenport spotting you, and I need you to really focus on looking out for them. I don’t know who else I can trust with this —”

With a huge, determined smile on his face, Angus saluted. “I won’t let you down, sir!” He looked far less pained as he slunk out of the room, and Taako breathed a sigh of relief.

“Okay. Kid’s gonna be alright with his mind off of this, and now we can have some peace and quiet, Lup.” His mouth lingered on the name Lup but his mind didn’t, giving no thought to the affection he instinctively voiced. “So… let’s chat?”

***

Lucretia’s office looked just as Barry had described, and not all that different from the Reclaimer’s dorms in terms of architecture. The sole occupant was not the Director herself, but a mustached gnome man who sat at the oversized desk, focusing intently on a game of solitaire. He didn’t even look up as Kravitz’ soul drifted past, steering clear of the desk and floating right through a heavy, closed door.

Kravitz kept inside the left wall of the corridor — Barry may not have reported any traps in this stretch, but the puzzle that Barry had reported was nowhere to be seen, and Kravitz knew a suspiciously empty-looking hallway when he saw one. He phased through a second door at the end of the chamber, ignoring the computer that looked even more foreign to him than his Stone of Farspeech, and recorporealized inside a second office.

This close to the source of the ward, a spinning disk imbued with radiant energy, Kravitz could finally feel its influence — a faint burn and refreshing cold that coexisted, an antipathy towards his undead body and a resonance with the Raven Queen’s blessing. Tempted as he was to knock down the disk and short-circuit the ward, it wasn’t poised do much besides mildly distract him, and he was making this visit with a much different goal — one that he’d expose, if he ended up dramatically trashing someone else’s holy symbol.

At the far end of the office sat a murky tank, and above that tank, an alarm was ringing. A few feet to the alarm’s left, a needle punched holes in a steadily scrolling paper, recording what Kravitz inferred to be times and intensities — and there was a lot of information to infer from, because the paper output had not just reached the floor, but piled up to almost waist height.

A massive volume of alarms had clearly been accumulating, and someone — presumably Lucretia — was far too busy to check on every message. Ever since he’d died, Kravitz had been notoriously bad at keeping track of dates, but a quick comparison with the dates at the bottom of the pile and the dates of the current output revealed that the alarms had started trickling in last night, before a massive influx took shape only about an hour ago.

This was all very interesting to the part of Kravitz that loved a good mystery, but his pragmatic side won out, knowing this alarm could attract unwelcome attention at any moment. He switched his attention to the contents of the tank — which appeared just like Barry had said it would, but was still plenty fascinating. A jellyfish floated in murky ichor, illuminated from within by a dark purple nebula pattern, and recoiling away from Kravitz as he rested a hand atop the tank.

“Now, now. It’s alright,” Kravitz murmured, in the same tone he might use to calm a distressed soul. “No need to be scared…”

The baby Voidfish hummed two chords, far lower and louder than Kravitz had expected from such a tiny creature — but music, at least, was something Kravitz knew he could work with. He summoned his scythe in the form of a lute, plucking out a peaceful melody he’d been fond of for hundreds of years… and only a few bars in, the Voidfish began to echo him, humming along with increasing volume.

“I’m just here to do my friends a favor,” Kravitz promised. “It won’t take long at all.”

The Voidfish seemed to relax, so Kravitz let go of his lute, allowing it to float at his side with a faint blue aura suspending it in air. He pulled a canteen from beneath his cloak, slowly submerging it in the tank until it was full to the brim with ichor — probably a slight excess, but he’d rather have too much than not enough.

“See? All done,” he whispered, reattaching the canteen’s cap. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

The Voidfish hummed the refrain of his song once more as he reformed his scythe, and as if to say farewell, waved a tentacle in his direction as he stepped through the portal off the moonbase.

Just a moment later, the very second Kravitz’s feet hit solid subterranean ground, Barry was at his side with a barrage of questions. “How did it go? Have you got the ichor? Did anyone see you?”

“Good, yes, and no in that order,” Kravitz replied, handing Barry the canteen. “The only thing I’m worried about is… well, you’ve seen how Lucretia has an alarm system in her office, right? It’s going a little haywire right now — and has been since last night.”

Barry’s relief morphed into frustration mid-relieved sigh. “I was hoping we could avoid that, since the boys haven’t had a run-in with me in a couple days — but I guess someone’s still trying to remember something, and it won’t be long ‘til Lucretia picks up on it. We gotta get a move on.”

“I did talk to Taako about the stars disappearing last night, come to think of it,” Kravitz recalled. “I hope he’s not still hung up on that, but it sounds like he might be.”

“Shoot, that coulda done it. No fault of your own, obviously.” Barry sighed again, picking up a couple of scrolls from his desk and placing them on a much more neatly organized bookshelf. “Sorry for the mess, by the way. You and Noelle have been my only visitors so far this whole decade.”

Kravitz had seen Barry’s home before he left for his heist on the moon, and it had already been pretty respectable as secret lairs went. Aside from the stalactites and the dubiously legal cloning pod, it had looked more like a disheveled academic’s study than a necromancer’s dungeon — but in Kravitz’s absence, Barry had apparently gotten up to some spring cleaning. He’d draped a sheet over the pod, which was still glowing bright green and far from innocuous, and somehow gotten his hands on a decent-quality couch, either from a pocket dimension or a conjuration spell or gods knew what else.

“Before you got involved, my plan never involved the boys coming in here while they could remember me,” Barry admitted. “They’d still be far from seeing me at my worst, but — well, I dunno if I can make this place look welcoming, exactly, but I’d rather not make them worry about me ‘cause of it.”

“If it helps, this is easily the nicest cave I’ve ever seen a lich holed up in,” Kravitz said, which got a quiet laugh out of Barry.

“Yeah, I bet it is.” He opened the canteen, pouring a modest sample of the ichor into a glass vial. “Hard to believe this is happening so suddenly, but… I think now’s the time. Lucretia could catch on at any minute, and I — I’ll be ready by the time you get back, I think.”

“Good luck remodeling,” Kravitz told him with a nod, and tore open a portal back to the moon.

***

“So… let’s chat?” Taako suggested. He didn’t know what kind of reply he was expecting, but he had to admit it stung when the Umbra Staff didn’t move an inch.

“Okay, what you do isn’t exactly chatting. That one’s on me. Can you just give me a sign, a little poltergeisting or something, if you’re listening?”

Still nothing, which continued to hurt more than it should have.

“Are you mad at me? I thought you smacked me in the face today to get my attention! ‘Cause you wanted to talk, but…” He glanced away from the umbrella in his lap. “I guess you really hate Kravitz, don’t you? And I was helping him hunt you, even before we started dating…”

He sighed. “And you’re only here because I stole from your grave! What was I even thinking? Of course you hate me, and maybe I half-deserve it —”

The Umbra Staff twitched in his hands, subtly yet so abruptly that he jumped to his feet with a yelp and dropped it onto the floor. It spun over ninety degrees as it fell, landing to point at the shelf of seldom-used spell components that Taako and Merle shared.

“You… want me to cast something?” Taako knelt on the rug, gently wrapping a hand around the handle but not raising the umbrella from the floor. He didn’t feel even the slightest movement. “Hey, if you’re not mad at me, then… do something. Do anything.”

He thought the handle might’ve trembled slightly, but wasn’t sure — it could’ve just been wishful thinking. “Okay, flip side. Do something if you are mad at me.”

This time, he was certain there was no response. “Okay, I’ve narrowed it down to either ‘you’re not mad’ or ‘you don’t want to talk to me,’ but I don’t get why you’re being so subtle about this. I mean, I’m not asking you to cast Sunbeam on my boyfriend again, but I know you could be giving me more obvious signs than —”

He happened to glace back at the component shelf, noticing the chest of spare wands he’d stockpiled — arcane foci, just like the ones the Umbra Staff consumed — then just like that, it clicked, and there was finally one quirk of his rogue umbrella that Taako had an inkling of an explanation for.

“Unless… you can’t give me a bigger sign because I haven’t beaten a magic user in a while!” he gasped. “You’re not trying to ignore me — you’re running out of power!”

He unlatched the little chest, grabbing two cheap wooden wands and snapping them both — and sure enough, the Umbra Staff inverted with more vigor than Taako had seen from it all day, swallowing them whole.

“Better?” Taako asked, and a tiny pink flame sparked to life at the tip of the umbrella. Lup must’ve summoned it with a variant of Prestidigitation, because it smelled less like smoke and more like comforting home cooking.

“Now I know why you chose me instead of Merle at the cave! You’re an adoring fan of Sizzle it Up!” Taako teased, and the Umbra Staff bonked him on the head. “Okay, fine, maybe not. Gods know that’s not the only thing I’ve got going for me over Merle.”

He glanced around the room, rubbing his chin. “I was going to say you could turn that flame on and off real fast, send me a message in Fantasy Morse Code, but then I remembered I don’t actually know Fantasy Morse that well. Maybe you could, like, burn something into the wall —”

The flame atop the Umbra Staff intensified, excited.

“But I guess we’d run out of space real fast — never mind explaining it to Lucretia, yikes! We’d be toast… just like the walls.”

The flame died down, replaced with a disembodied, glowing red Mage Hand. With an upturned palm, it made a motion that Taako guessed was meant to convey a shrug and a then what?

“Oh, you didn’t tell me you could do Mage Hand from in there too! I can work with that!”

He made a beeline for the dorm kitchen, ripping open a fresh bag of flour and dumping it directly onto the counter. “I really don’t wanna leave written evidence, so you write stuff in this, and I’ll erase it when you’re done. Sound good?”

Lup squeezed his shoulder, then traced four words in the flour.

I’ve never hated you

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Taako muttered, pretending he couldn’t feel his whole chest seizing up. With a bare hand, he wiped the flour flat, and only sent a little flying onto the floor accidentally. “I… I wanna let you out. Because this is a really inconvenient way to talk, but — but also ‘cause I know you didn’t mean to get trapped in there, and living inside your arcane focus sounds like it’s the pits. Is there a way I can free you?”

yes but not right now

“Why not?”

no liches on the moon

“Oh, have they got wards to block you off or something? I guess we wouldn’t be able to talk at all if I freed you, and that… that wouldn’t be great.”

I’d miss you :(

“Yeah, I can imagine,” Taako replied, and he said it before he meant it. The figure of speech slipped out right away, ingrained after years of overwhelmingly insincere conversations, but his emotions caught up to him more slowly — starting with the loneliness and the longing, before they ate away at him and left an emptiness behind, a dread of never being whole again and a temptation to tear the whole world apart, because what would he have left to lose?

It ended with a throbbing skull, with static clouding the peripheries of his vision, with a mind that couldn’t fathom why missing someone would hit so close to a home that should have never existed. The last year notwithstanding, he couldn’t remember a time where he’d be caught dead missing someone’s company… but now all he could think, all he could feel, was I’m not losing you again.

“There’s gotta be a workaround — right, Lup?” he managed. “Like, is there a way I could take the wards down?”

maybe, but

Lucretia would notice

“I’m gonna go out on a limb, and assume… she wouldn’t be too thrilled to know you’re here.”

Lup took longer to reply than usual, erasing the first few letters of her response to start over several times.

it’s so complicated

don’t think I can explain

“Right. Of course. ‘Cause of the Voidfish.” Taako rubbed his cheek, expecting to wipe away stray splotches of flour — but instead, he felt his fingers grow damp with tears that he knew weren’t just from the pain of his headache.

“I — I don’t know what to do, Lup. I want to help you, but Kravitz is probably in danger because of me so I have to make sure he’s okay, and I know he won’t like me helping you — then there’s Angus and Magnus and Merle, too, I have no clue if any of them are in as much trouble as us. And I just… I can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to this. That the worst of all the bombshells still hasn’t dropped, and I’m about to lose all you while I still don’t know who I am, or who I can trust besides —”

The fingers of Lup’s Mage Hand interlocked with his, and it was a strange sensation — fuzzy and only about half-tangible, as simple magic constructs were expected to be, but warm like a living hand despite the lack of flesh and blood. Taako couldn’t say how long he was silent, just focusing on just that warmth and the inexplicable nostalgia that accompanied it, before he finally asked: “What do you think I should do?”

Lup withdrew her hand slowly, but didn’t hesitate nor erase as she traced four new words:

find Barry

trust Barry

“…I’m glad I’ve got you, Lup, ‘cause I never woulda come up with that on my own,” Taako muttered, chuckling in spite of himself. He didn’t doubt for a second that Lup’s advice was worth following, but he had to admit it was ridiculous how every time a problem came up in his life, someone insisted it could be solved by tracking down a denim-clad lich. “Do you know any of his favorite hangouts, or —”

As Lup’s Mage Hand zipped back into the Umbra Staff, Taako didn’t quite notice the scythe rending space behind him, but he whirled around at the sound of feet hitting the ground and an incredulous voice speaking up.

“Uh, Taako?”

Kravitz carried himself with considerably less poise than usual, wearing a tattered suit that had presumably once seen better days, but he appeared otherwise unscathed, and Taako’s heart jumped for joy.

“I — I — I’m sorry?” Kravitz’s words sounded less like an apology, and more like a sincere question of whether or not he should be sorry for intruding. “I should’ve just portalled to the hallway and knocked. I didn’t mean to walk in on — on whatever this is —”

Before he could stammer another adorably confused word, Taako rushed in for a hug — never mind how crazy he knew he looked, covered in flour and inexplicably teary-eyed over an umbrella.

“Holy shit, I can’t believe — I was so worried about you. I thought for sure you were in trouble and it was all my fault — it was all because —”

Kravitz slipped a cool, but unusually not cold hand under Taako’s hat, mussing up his hair to match the rest of his appearance. “I won’t lie, Taako — there were moments today where I was worried for me. But it turned out to all be a misunderstanding, which is always a pleasant surprise in my line of work — and even better, if you can believe it, one of my new friends knows what’s up with those deaths you can’t remember!”

Kravitz was beaming, but Taako’s blood ran cold like he was the dead man walking. Just when he’d been so sure, so relieved, that he hadn’t dragged Kravitz into the Voidfish conspiracy after all, it turned out that Kravitz had sleuthed his way right to its very center.

No wonder he gets along so well with Angus, Taako thought wryly. Two constantly endangered nerds of a feather.

“This friend can explain it much better than I can, so we’ll visit him by portal — but Magnus and Merle need to hear the truth, too,” Kravitz went on, still seeing no reason not to be enthusiastic. “Are they available?”

“Oh, those clowns? They’re off playing kickball with Angus or something — should be back soon.” Taako knew how Kravitz thought, and knew that Kravitz believed he was doing the right thing by digging up these secrets. He was fulfilling an oath to his goddess and helping Taako get some closure, which should have been great news as far as Kravitz knew — but now he was on the moon, speaking openly about truths a Voidfish had suppressed…

And Taako was conspiring with a lich, soon to be two liches, behind Kravitz’s back. He wasn’t expecting to like the truth behind his eight deaths, if he could even wrap his mind around it — and he had a feeling that when it came time to be judged by the Raven Queen, Kravitz would like the truth and its consequences even less, regardless of whether Taako could think clearly enough to defend himself.

So he withdrew from the hug, wiping the flour — and the incriminating mention of Barry — off the counter with a swoop of his hand. “Oh, drat! Did not mean to do that, ‘cause now I’ll have to mop the whole floor —”

“Okay, Taako. What’s wrong?” Kravitz asked firmly — and Taako didn’t know why he’d thought he’d be able to stall for time, given how Kravitz knew him pretty well, too. “You’re not in trouble with the Queen — I mean, we’ll probably have to invent and then fill out an entirely new form of paperwork about you and your pals, but I told her everything and she’s not mad, I can say that much. Same goes for Magnus, Merle, and — uh, forgive me, just Magnus and Merle. It’s been a long day.”

“Okay, that’s the second piece of good bird news you’ve dropped on me in like twenty-four hours, and I appreciate that,” Taako sighed. “But — okay, listen. We’ve got to be quiet about this, for both of our safety, but I think — I know I’m dealing with more than just memory loss here. I’ll try jumping through your portal and talking to your friend, but I really don’t think I’ll be able to understand —”

“Oh!” Kravitz gasped. “I think I know what you’re talking about — I ran into it with Angus earlier, and we should definitely have a way around it.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “My, uh, my new friend didn’t know if you could understand that there was a second Voidfish — but you heard that, right? It wasn’t garbled?”

Taako nodded frantically. “Yeah, and we’ve gotta get off the moon. If Lucretia finds out we know, I — I’ve got no idea how far she’ll go to keep this under wraps, and that’s the worst part. She’s already suspicious of me, and I —”

He felt a tug from his umbrella, and he cast Message as quickly and subtly as he could, hoping the Umbra Staff’s propensity to absorb magic like a sinkhole would somehow pull his unspoken words to Lup.

I’m not going to tell him about you. Not until I get more information.

Her reply must’ve hardly escaped from the umbrella, being little more than a distorted whisper — Be careful. Love you — but Taako’s legs almost gave out beneath him when he heard her voice, and Kravitz winced.

“We’ve really got to get you out of here, don’t we?” he murmured, taking Taako’s hand — and Kravitz’s skin was definitely warmer than usual, because of course this frankly adorable development would happen when Taako had a million other things on his mind. “You said the other boys will be back soon?”

“I hope.” Taako led the way into the living room, giving a wide berth to the remains of the coffee table. “I sent Angus to go find —”

On cue, the rattle of a doorknob and the sound of Angus’s voice rang out from the hallway. “Sir? We’re back! Could you unlock the door?”

The next sound was the telltale thump of a small child being affectionately shoved aside, followed by Magnus exclaiming: “Hey, I’ve got thieves’ tools now! Gimme a shot at picking it!”

Kravitz pursed his lips. “Don’t Magnus and Merle have their own keys?” he muttered under his breath.

“Of course they do,” Taako sighed, and the door swung open with a snap of his fingers and a Knock spell.

“Magnus, look!” Merle cheered. “You did it!”

While Magnus and Merle high-fived, Angus’s eyes lit up at the sight of Kravitz half-alive and well.

“You’re okay! I’m sorry I didn’t end up finding Noelle, but Taako said he was worried about you, so I started worrying too — did you have a nasty fight with a necromancer or something?”

“…Yes and no,” Kravitz responded after a moment of hesitation, “but I can explain that whole incident later. Right now, I need you all to come with me to —”

“A cool skeleton rave!” Taako butted in. “And… there’s also supposed to be skeleton dogs there! So you guys will definitely wanna get in on it!”

“Yes, exactly!” Kravitz corroborated without missing a beat. “It’s one of those, you know, very rare skeleton raves that receives the Raven Queen’s approval. Once in a century opportunity, so you won’t want to miss it!”

Magnus rubbed his chin. “I dunno about this. How do you pet a skeleton dog?”

“Only one way to find out!” Taako told him, then breathed a sigh of relief when it got an approving nod from Magnus.

“Fair enough! I’m sold!”

Angus narrowed his eyes, so Taako grinned and winked, hoping it came across as equal parts conspiratorial and don’t you dare blow this for me. It must’ve worked, because after a few seconds of surely intense mental calculations, Angus plastered on a convincing innocent smile and gave Taako a thumbs-up.

“Thanks for inviting me on this fun diversion, sir! I’m sure you could’ve come up with a more convincing lie if it was a trap or a prank, so I’m all in!”

Smiling awkwardly, Kravitz turned to the the lie’s final mark. “Merle, my bud, how about you?”

“Are we buds now?” Merle grinned. “You know what, sure! Anything for my bud!”

“Then away we go!” Kravitz tore open a rift and immediately stepped through, beckoning for the others to follow with the single arm that remained on their side of the portal. Magnus leapt through almost immediately, Merle hot on his heels, while Angus approached the rift more skeptically.

“Well, sir,” he announced softly once Magnus and Merle disappeared, “you and Kravitz owe me an explanation… but I trust the both of you.” He took Taako’s hand, and the two of them stepped through the portal together, emerging in a cold, dimly lit cave.

And Taako thought he’d been “moving fast” through a lot of things, lately — through worldview-shattering realizations, into a romantic relationship, into unofficially and semi-accidentally adopting a boy detective — but nothing could’ve prepared him for how fast everything moved in the next minute.

Kravitz faced Noelle and a now-familiar disembodied robe, very obviously struggling to suppress a mood-inappropriate laugh. “Can you believe I was planning to lie to Magnus about skeleton dogs, but then Taako interrupted and independently came up with the same fib?”

“That’s love, baby!” Taako exclaimed, in the moment before the absurdity of the situation dawned on him. “Wait. Why’s Barold here?”

As the rift fizzled and disappeared, Magnus drew Railsplitter, only to whirl around on himself with no idea who to aim at or threaten. “Hey, did we just get kidnapped? ‘Cause I’ve gotta say, this is the last combination of people in the world I expected to team up and kidnap us.”

“It’s not a kidnapping,” Kravitz began, “it’s just —”

“Did you kidnap a child, Kravitz?” Barry interrupted, gesturing at Angus. “When was that ever a part of the plan?! We didn’t need to involve —”

“With all due respect, Mister Bluejeans,” Angus butted in, “Kravitz didn’t technically kidnap me! I knew perfectly well that he was bullshitting, but I decided to come along with him anyway, out of my own free will!” He turned to face Kravitz, adjusting his glasses. “That said, he did deceive and therefore truly kidnap Magnus, Merle, and maybe even Taako by the sound of things — so if he could go ahead and explain his presumably very good reason for doing so, that would be just dandy!”

Barry sighed. “Real smartass kid you’ve dragged into the fate of the universe, huh, boys?”

“He was already involved enough in things that he deserves to know. We’re bringing him up to speed too,” Kravitz declared, and Barry shrugged.

“Alright, sure — but why the hell was there a child on the moon in the first place?!”

“He’s the world’s greatest detective,” Noelle spoke up, and Angus beamed. “I told you about him, remember? He’s the one who figured out that you were amnesiac when you were alive —”

“Oh, I do remember that, though I don’t remember you mentioning his age — so I guess it’s my bad, then, for assuming a secret lunar society would give a flying fuck about child labor laws!”

Kravitz ignored them both. “Merle, Magnus — I’m so sorry for the deception, and Taako, I’m sorry for not saying that Barry was my new contact. I didn’t want anyone eavesdropping on us on the moonbase, and I swear, I will explain myself as soon as I physically can —”

“Hey, hey, it’s cool!” Taako’s words were intended not just for Kravitz, but for Lup within the Umbra Staff, which had started trembling at the sound of Barry’s voice. “I would love an explanation, but I needed Barold’s help anyway, sooo… doesn’t this work out pretty great?”

“Needing Barry’s help is a new one, sir,” Angus commented, but no one in the room looked more incredulous than Kravitz and Barry themselves, who both froze in place.

“Um, that’s — that’s news to me too?” Barry stammered. “But if — if you don’t need any convincing, then…”

He floated a little taller, robe a little less ragged, voice a little more hopeful. “Let’s get you inoculated, bud.”

A glass vial appeared in Taako’s hand, and he sipped the dark liquid inside without a second thought, even though he gagged while passing the vial on to an apprehensive Magnus. No memories rushed back to him like he’d braced himself for, but he thought he felt the nature of his headache change — less like the roar of static, and more like the pressure on a dam about to burst.

“You should really sit down for this,” Barry told him, resting a cold hand on Taako’s shoulder. “Take it as slow as possible. You obviously figured out a lot, more than I thought you would, but you still won’t be ready for —”

“Relax, it hasn’t even hit me yet!” Taako interrupted. “So in the meantime, I can catch you up on this whole funny story about… my… umbrella…”

The metaphorical floodgates shattered, and the deluge of memories swept him off his feet.

Growing up bouncing between relative to relative, growing skilled as chefs and wizards on the road. The IPRE entrance exams, the best day ever, the Hanging Arcaneum, “back soon” —

His head burned as the static was expunged from his mind, displaced by visions of days and months and cycles that just kept hitting him. He was dimly aware of someone, two someones, clutching his arms and lowering him to his knees on the cool cave floor —

“Stay with us, Taako!” Kravitz pleaded, holding Taako’s left hand. “Listen to Barry —”

“I’ll walk you through everything,” Barry — the animal kingdom, learning to swim, “what if she’s just gone?” — promised from his right, clinging to the same arm with which Taako held the Umbra Staff. “Just don’t think ahead. I’ve been through this before, and I can get you through it now, as long as —”

“B-but — but Lup!” Taako cried. “How could I forget —”

“I know, bud,” Barry whispered. “I forgot too. I understand —”

“You fucking don’t understand!” Tears fell from his eyes, but his mouth twisted into a cautious, still half-disbelieving smile. “Barry, she’s right here!”

“What?!” The cave was plunged into red and black, blinding lights and impenetrable shadows, as the lich at its center seemed to fall apart and come together all at once. “WHERE?!”

Taako closed his eyes, and with a strength he didn’t know he had, snapped the Umbra Staff over his knee.

#taz #taz balance #taakitz #kravitz taz #taako taaco #barry bluejeans #lup taaco #angus mcdonald #taz balance spoilers #fic: ftrala #rosalia writes fic

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