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drifting-pieces-blog-blog · 1 year ago

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Nothing and Everything - Part 5

Summary: Certain times of the year are harder than others. This is the first year where they have all been present to face the memories of all the trauma. How can they come together when they each have their own traumas to face?

Pairings: Gen fic (they love Layla and she loves them)

Warnings: Heavy dissociation, Mentions of child abuse, some mentions of violence, Depression, mentions of self harm, Mentions of hospitalization, PTSD.

Word Count: 5016

Part five: What do you do when the protector tells you to run? What if running isn't the answer? Sometimes logic disappears when all you see is pain.

Previous Chapter HERE

You were really mean.

“Shut up.”

Go back and apologize.

“Shut up, Steven. You don’t even know what was going on.”

He seemed so nice. Who was that?

“Go away. It was no one.”

He looked familiar. Do I know him? Is he a friend? Marc knows him, right?

“Mind your own business and shut up.”

It seemed like it should be my business. What did he want? It felt like he was trying to help.

Jake kept walking. Maybe if he ignored Steven, he’d get the message and go away.

Where are we going?

He focused on the sidewalk ahead of him. They had left the more familiar area of the touristy part of London and were quickly moving to the more industrious areas.

Are you mad at Layla? She’s tried calling twice and texted. You shouldn’t ignore her. You know she gets worried.

As if on cue the phone buzzed again and Jake didn’t even glance at it. He was mad at her. Mad that she didn’t trust him. That she would think that he wouldn’t be able to stop Marc if he even thought about hurting them. Mad that she thought Steven was hurting and he couldn’t do anything about it. Mad that she thought he was a danger to them.

Jake pulled out his phone and switched it off.

Jake, it looks like it might start raining. Can we go home? Layla is going to be upset.

Jake started to run. If he could just focus harder he could block out that nagging little voice named Steven.

The voice grew quiet and Jake at last found himself blocked off and alone. It was just the way he liked it. No one to tell him what he was supposed to do or accuse him of being a problem.

Jake kept going. It was what he did. He got them out of trouble. He moved them to safety. No matter the threat, he was there to get them out.

He didn’t want to see familiar faces or deal with problems that weren’t his. He didn’t want to think about Marc Spector or Steven Grant.

All he wanted was to do what he did best and fade into the background. Jake Lockley was no one.

And if he was no one, then he didn’t have any problems that needed solving.

–

Her mantra of “I’m sure he’s fine” had at one point turned into “I’m going to kill him” and eventually devolved into “He’s gone”.

After her conversation with Jean-Paul on the phone, she had tried to call them all day. When her calls started going straight to voicemail she settled for texts. The first two had been marked as seen but since then, they all sat there unread.

It was just like last time. Him leaving one day, walking out and kissing her goodbye and disappearing.

Steven wouldn’t do this to her. Steven would never let them run off like this.

Layla clung to the hope that was Steven.

So who was running? Marc once more trying to quit his life? Jake, who must have been so angry at her? Someone else who woke up and decided to go have their own life?

Fears that she had thought irrational in the beginning started to fester as the sun went down and the rains picked up.

What if Marc really did decide to leave her? What if Jake hated her so much that he convinced them all to leave? What if Steven was mad at her? What if there really was another in there that she didn’t know about? Would she find them months later in another city living under another name?

She wanted to cry but her fear and anxiety clenched down on her too tightly to even let the relief of tears flow.

She messaged Jean-Paul again pleading with him to find them.

It took him a few minutes to respond this time. “Let them walk it off. They won’t go far. If they are not back by tomorrow I will find them.”

She threw her phone at the couch and screamed. Frustration, anguish, fear, and anger. She wasn’t done. She was so angry. She was angry at herself. She was angry at Jean-Paul. She was angry at THEM.

Angry at Marc for keeping so much from her and taking away her decision to be involved in this life. Angry at Steven for being so wonderful that she had no choice but to love him. Angry at Jake for doing so much and not letting her be the one to help.

She was angry at herself for not asking more questions. For not demanding to know what made Marc wake up screaming. For not needing to know what made Jake fight so violently. For not asking Steven why he cried at night.

She screamed again and sank down. She had suffered loss too. Didn’t they know? Didn’t they understand that she carried her own pain? Pain that was so often ignored because she was doing so much to try to make them happy.

How many times did she tiptoe around memories of her father because she was afraid of Marc’s guilt? She wanted to honor him and instead she swept his life and memories away. She wanted to cry for him and instead she smiled and pretended his life hadn't mattered.

She looked around the apartment. She saw books and decorations and piles and piles of things that were not hers. Things that Steven refused to move. Things that Steven clung to out of fear of being erased. Where were her things?

Stashed into a drawer in the dresser. Pushed aside in the closet. Marc’s things barely made a dent. A drawer full of random items and a storage locker full of dangerous things that he clung to. The only one with less presence in here was Jake, who kept his life hidden away in his car.

It hit her then as she tried to find the life of the four people that occupied this space. The whole system was unbalanced.

They were all broken, her included.

It didn’t stop there. Tears fell as she went to pick up the phone and she dialed Jean-Paul again.

He picked up on the second ring. Always there, always waiting. Clinging to a friend that ignored him, hoping all these years for something…

“You love him, don’t you?” She wiped the tears from her cheek. She was met by silence. “It’s okay. I love him too. It’s never been easy to love him.”

“It’s even harder not to.” Jean-Paul whispered.

The rain outside started to fall harder and thunder gently rolled across the city.

“Please, come spend the night. I don’t want to be alone.” She looked out the window wondering where they were.

“Of course.” Jean-Paul sighed softly and she could hear the sadness there. “They will come back, chérie.”

“I know… But things have to change. I can’t keep doing this.” She sighed and brushed her hair back. “What if they don’t?”

“I’ll be there soon.” He hung up.

The unanswered question hung heavily in the air. The other, unasked question sat in the back of her throat heavily.

What if they do?

–

Keep going.

They walked across the desert, feeling the weight of death dragging them down as they bled out into the sand.

Keep going.

They walked across the stone and earth, feeling the water rise and fill their lungs.

Keep going.

They walked across the slick tile floor that smelled of chemical cleaners and medicine, feeling the drugs pull them down as their legs turned to rubber under them.

Keep going.

They walked through the halls of their school, tired and in pain from bruises hidden by their clothes. They hunched inward protectively as things flew at them, launched by yelling and jeering classmates.

Keep going.

They walked through the museum, exhausted and confused as the haze of missing memories clung to them. Sadness sinking deep into them as their fellow co-workers whispered and stared with such unkindness.

Keep going.

A shaking hand reached out to lift the lid of the sarcophagus, feeling how heavy and impossible to move it must be. Twin fists pounded on the wood. They could hear the pounding down the hall from one another. One cried and screamed, the other remained silent. Always silent. Only one of them would be rescued.

Keep going.

Shock kept the pain away. Cold and squeezing down on them as the second bullet tore into their heart. They could feel the emptiness as blood drained from their vital functions, tearing into their lungs till it suffocated them. They would drown after all.

Marc woke up screaming.

The panic surged through him as he flailed, clawing at everything around him in an attempt to get up and flee. Fingers dug into mug and grit and he felt the smear of water against his face.

It was dark and he could hear the rumble of approaching death. He scrambled to his feet, took three steps then fell off a curb into a stream of dirty water rushing for a nearby gutter.

He lay there for a moment, gasping and trembling. Slowly, the confusion faded and he found himself looking up at the dark night sky. The stars were far away and faded, washed out by the street lights around him and the falling rain.

Marc slowly sat up and took in the state of himself.

He was soaked to the bone, cold, and covered in mud. He felt for the essentials. His wallet was at least in his pocket, but his phone appeared to be missing. He had his keys, but there was no sign of their car nearby.

His palms were scraped up from his recent fall and he had a cut on his elbow that didn’t exactly look fresh but it didn’t look older than a few hours.

He was alive and in one piece. He could work with this. Next step: Where the hell was he?

He slowly got out of the gutter and back onto his feet. “Steven?” He tried, though he doubted very much that Steven had anything to do with this. No answer. With any luck, Steven was resting. Marc had a feeling that if Steven saw their state he’d be more than a little upset.

Marc took a slow breath then moved to the next logical conclusion. “Jake?”

Run. Keep running.

It was more of a feeling than anything. Communication with Jake was difficult for Marc. It came in bursts of images, feelings, and abstract thoughts.

Marc took a moment and looked around. The street was empty except for a passing car every now and then. There were rows of closed up shops and buildings. It all looked a little grim and dirty and Marc suspected they were in a rough part of town.

A bar down the street had a flickering neon sign that buzzed loudly, the only place that offered warmth and safety.

“Wonderful.” Marc took a step towards the bar, knowing it would be a mixed pressing and a curse. He could ask where he was and maybe even figure out why they were there…. And then he could continue to drown.

Jake fought back. Their legs stalled and Marc stumbled as he turned around and started to walk back towards the street.

“Fuck… Jake… Jake stop it!” Marc punched a leg and winced at the pain. “Fine. We’ll just stay out here and catch pneumonia. What the fuck happened?”

They stood still and a flurry of emotions washed over him. Anger, betrayal, and fear.

He saw glimpses of things he associated with Layla and some things he didn’t understand.

“We’re running from Layla?” Marc wiped the mud from his face. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

A memory surfaced, quick and violent as it showed him white and bright halls and a chair with straps on it.

Sweat beaded across Marc’s forehead and his heart started to beat faster. “Oh.”

The hospital. The one thing Jake would run from no matter what. Run.

Marc tried to make sense of it. Run from Layla. Run from the hospital. Had Layla tried to have them committed?

It was unrealistic. She would never do such a thing to them. To him. Yet, here Jake was, running.

Marc tried to look at it logically. It wasn’t like it was all those years ago. It wasn’t his parents putting him in a car and driving him there. Wasn’t his parents signing the papers and then leaving him without a word. There were no orderlies there to drag him away and lock him up. No one to drug him and keep him from fighting.

He was a lucid and sensible adult. He was three adults if he was honest with himself. He knew that he could only be held for so long on a committal against his will. He’d looked it up. He knew his rights as a mental patient.

It made him wince that he’d have to look these things up, but the fear never really left him.

Even being committed against his will, they had to have probable cause. Intention to cause harm against himself or others.

Jake didn’t seem the sort and neither did Steven. As far as he was aware, he’d been trying to sleep through any funny ideas that snuck their way into his brain when he wasn’t looking.

He frowned more as the second option came to mind. Self committal.

Jake would never go willingly. He’d burn down the hospital before he set foot in there again.

Marc couldn’t recall signing any forms.

“Steven?” He called out, willing to risk the reserved English man’s wrath to sort this out.

The world blacked out and Marc found himself on a different street, stumbling forward with a determined stride.

Run.

Marc groaned and stopped them, looking around. He recognized less and less. Were they even still in London? The sky was a little lighter. How long had they been walking?

He eyed someone that walked by, bundled up and carrying a large bag.

“Hey.” He mumbled. “What area are we in? What’s the borough?”

The man paused and looked at him suspiciously at first then took in the scraped up appearance and mud. Another traveler of the night.

“Hackney.” The man clutched his bag tighter.

“Cheers.” Marc sighed. “Thanks mate.”

The man nodded then carried on.

Steven was suddenly very awake. Did that man just say we were in Hackney? Hackney?!

The utter shock and disgust was almost palpable.

“Settle down, Steven.” Marc grumbled. “I’m just trying to work out what’s going on. We’re perfectly safe and you know it.”

Safe in Hackney! Steven reached for the front and took it long enough to look down at himself then look around. He was utterly appalled.

Marc took the front back and tried to settle Steven down. “Jake says there was trouble and we had to get away. Do you know what it’s about? Did… Did someone try to put us in the hospital?” He knew better than to accuse Steven outright.

Steven was quiet for a moment as the wheels turned then suddenly Marc felt a mental door slam and his anxiety climbed. He didn’t know what was going on but his nerves were suddenly shot.

All he knew was that it wasn’t Steven that had tried to lock them up, but Steven knew something. Something that Jake had tried to relay to him. There was suddenly a scramble inside and everything blacked out.

Marc came to facing a different direction, walking quickly in a blind direction with the urgency of a man trying to find a familiar location.

“Not in bloody Hackney.” The words slipped out in disgust. “Can’t believe you took us to Hackney. Thought you were the smart one.”

Marc shook his head and tried to push back Steven. “Get us out of here. I want to go home.” Steven continued to prattle on. “Don’t you let him have the body back. I’m going to have words with him once we get home.”

Marc shook his head again and looked around. He had no mental map of this part of London. He’d been all over many of the boroughs, but it was hard to figure things out when it was so dark out, raining, and the landscape kept changing.

As if on cue, he was suddenly running down a different street. “Fuck you. I’m not going back. We have to get out.”

“Stop!” Marc clenched his eyes shut and tried to hold his ground. He was tired and sore and the rain wouldn’t stop coming down.

He didn’t want to be a part of this anymore but he couldn’t stop slipping in. He also couldn’t just leave Jake and Steven fighting for their safety. Steven, who desired comfort and familiarity and Jake who demanded freedom and security.

He gritted his teeth and found a payphone, his fingers fumbling with the controls as Jake tried to fight him.

He pushed in the proper currency and dialed. The phone rang three times before he heard a scramble and thunk before a rushed and breathless “Hello?”.

“Layla!” Steven pushed forward and stumbled across Marc. Jake tried to hang up and suddenly it was like a blank slate slid down over them.

“Steven?” Layla’s desperate voice called over the phone and they blinked slowly, suddenly feeling sluggish and confused.

“I don’t know where I am.” They managed to get out, feeling detached and so far away. “I don’t… I don’t know what’s going on.”

“Marc? Are you alright?” Layla sounded afraid. “Are you safe?”

“I’m cold.” They looked down at the body, wondering if it was even theirs. It had to be. It moved when they moved. A hand came up and they stared at the cuts on the palm. “Hackney? I think… Someone is saying Hackney? There’s a… There’s a sign. Someone doesn’t want to say it. A bus stop. Twenty six?”

He could hear someone else in the background talking to Layla.

“Okay. I’ll find you. Don’t move okay? Can you do that? Can you stay there?” She sounded rushed.

They looked up at the sky for a moment, watching the water come down. “I don’t know. Someone wants to go. I don’t know where we’re going. I… I don’t know. I feel weird. I don’t like it.”

“Please. Please stay there. Can you stay on the line? Keep talking to me, okay? If the line cuts off, you have to call me back.” She was out of breath, running maybe?

“I don’t think I’m supposed to be talking.” They were being pulled in so many different directions. It hurt to try to focus. It was exhausting.

“Baby, please? You don’t have to talk about anything in particular. Just… Just hold the phone. Don’t hang up. We can sit in silence.” She was scared.

“I don’t like the silence.” Someone was also scared.

“Okay. It’s okay. Hey, I heard the cubs won a division the other day.” She was fishing. Trying to ground them? To pull one of them out, maybe?

It hurt and they shook their head, desperately trying to clear things. “Stop.” They looked up at the enclosed phone booth. They were floating here in this sarcophagus.

“We need to go.”

“No! Don’t hang up! Just stay here!”

“I gotta go.” They hung up and opened the door, slowly stepping out as the world under them failed to feel real.

The rain was fake. The sensation of their body feeling cold and in pain wasn’t real. It wasn’t their body. This wasn’t who they were.

Who were they? Who was in control? Was it the man that wanted to run, the man that wanted to stay, or the man that didn’t want anything?

They sat down on the curb and stared up at the sky as cars went by and more and more people started to move around them.

Time was unreal as the sun rose and the rain stopped. The light stretched on forever and steam came off their drenched clothes.

“Marc!” A voice floated around them and time jerked forward awkwardly.

“The body hurts.” He mumbled and held up his hands, showing the cuts.

Someone was pulling them up and wrapping something warm around their shoulders. They were pulled towards a car and time jerked, skipping fractions of seconds.

Someone was resisting the motion and someone else was desperate to get in. They turned away from the car and started to walk away. They only made it a few steps before they stopped and stared down at their hands again.

They blurred again and looked at the woman before them with blank confusion. “Please don’t…” He felt so small. So far away. “Don’t hurt us.”

“Oh, Baby… Baby no…” She wrapped her arms around him and held him tightly, rocking and stroking his back gently. “No one’s going to hurt you.”

They nodded and slowly got into the car, curling up in the seat and closing their eyes as the woman got in next to them and pulled their head into her lap, gently stroking their hair.

Marc felt himself shift and he reached out, desperately reaching for something solid to cling to. They couldn’t do this. They hated this. They hated this sensation. They didn’t know who they were and they didn’t know why they weren’t. This… This body that belonged to no one and everyone.

For the first time in his life, Marc struggled to be real. To ground and fight back.��

“I don’t know who I am.” He gasped and clung to Layla.

“Shhh…” She soothed as she stroked his hair. “It’s okay. You’re safe. You’re safe here with me. I love you. I love you so much…” She had tears running down her cheeks and her fingers trembled as they worked through his curls.

Marc nodded and swallowed, feeling Steven start to relax but Jake still fighting. Multiple times they sat up and reached for the door, visions of them jumping out and running filled their thoughts. Each time, Layla gently pulled them back and continued to whisper soothing words to them as Marc jerked back into control and clung to her.

Time was hard to place. The car carried on forever. There was an awkward skip as someone lifted them from the car and carried them. Strong hands and arms that cradled them like a baby. Marc stared up at the face that he felt he should know. The mustache that curled and eyes that carried deep pain and sadness…

“Frenchie.” Marc wrapped his arms around the man’s shoulders and rested his head there, breathing in the past. He could still smell the faint traces of places they had once been. The wind and the heat at their backs. The campfires and spices of places they slept in. He breathed deeply, lost in memories and a different time.

The whole body jerked when hot water rushed over their body. He knew it was only lukewarm, but it seared them as it ate through the cold numb layer that he built up over night.

He watched old blood, grime, and mud swirl down the drain until the water ran clear.

Stepping out, they dried off with a soft towel that felt too soft and unreal.

Getting dressed was an automatic motion. Their eyes settled on a window and there was a crash as they climbed the sink and pushed the window open, intending to slide out and crawl up onto the roof.

Marc fought Jake as he still screamed about running. He was furious. Their yelling brought in Layla an Jean-Paul who took hold of their ankles and pulled them back inside, crashing them all down onto the floor.

Marc lay back and stared up at the ceiling. He started to cry. “I don’t want to do this… It’s so hard. So hard to fight. Why does it have to be me? Why do I have to stay?”

He laughed a little at the absurdity of it all. “Just give him the fucking car. Let him go. Let him run away. It’s all we do, right? We run away. Just give him the fucking car and let us go…”

“I can’t do that.” Layla clung to him. “It won’t help anything. He’s supposed to keep you safe, but how is this safe? Look at you all? Look what it did to your body? Look what it’s doing to you! Steven doesn’t want to go! How is this protecting you when it’s hurting you?”

Marc lay there and closed his eyes. He felt Jake shift and slam his fists into the floor. He heard someone yelling inside and then felt so very tired. They were so tired.

Steven sat up and wordlessly got up and walked them to the bed. He crawled across it till he could slip into the blankets and curl up into a tight ball. “I hate you.” He mumbled and clung to the sheets as if it might keep them still. “I hate you.”

The body had had enough and they fell asleep at last.

–

“Sometimes I wonder who this man was supposed to be before the trauma.” Jean-Paul was still laying on the floor, his hands over his face as he decompressed from everything.

Layla sat next to him, staring at the lump in the bed across the room. “I can’t think about that.” She sighed. “The trauma gave me the man that I love. It gave me all three of them, for better or worse… And I feel like a horrible person for being thankful for the pain he had to go through to become these people.”

The night was almost over and they had gotten no sleep. She didn’t think she would sleep after everything.

She couldn’t stop hearing the small scared voice on the phone, pleading for help. Most of all, she couldn’t stop seeing the lost look on his face. She had never seen them get so lost before. So mixed up that they didn’t know who they were.

She closed her eyes and the intrusive thought whispered Do you really want to keep doing this?

“Do you want some coffee?” She got up and went to the kitchen.

“Please.” He stayed on the floor. “If he tries to run again, I will be here.”

Layla turned from the coffee pot and started to make her own special brew that Marc joked would have been useful in the army. They would need the energy.

“Do you think he hates me?” She brought him the coffee and they moved to the table.

“No.” Jean-Paul sipped the coffee. He made a face and looked at the cup then nodded and took another sip. “Marc could never hate you. There is too much love in him, though he would never admit it.”

“I meant Jake.” Layla sank down in her chair and stared at her own mug. It had a cheesy picture of one of the pyramids. She was pretty sure Steven had bought it in the Cairo airport.

Jean-Paul let out a long hum as he thought it over. “No…” He at last relented. “Dealing with Jake is like trying to hold water in your hand.”

“Refreshing on a hot day?” Layla peeked up at him.

Jean-Paul smiled. “So refreshing. It will also slip through your fingers if you don’t do it right.”

“I’ve never seen him like that before.” She sipped the coffee and leaned forward to rest her chin on the table.

“Jake is a hell of a fighter, but he also knew when to run. Marc never knew when to retreat. He’d fight till the end. Jake has had to get them to safety so many times in their lives. Away from situations and away from threats, real or not.”

“I set off his flight response.” She mumbled. “He was trying to get away from me.”

“I’m the one that botched it.” Jean-Paul sat back in his chair and set the coffee down. “His worst fear was presented to him and he could see no other response than to run. He didn’t know where he was going, but he knew he needed to get them out. Fear is not always practical, you know.”

She nodded awkwardly, chin still on the table. “I’m sorry I put you in that position. I should have just done it myself.”

He snorted. “Please. It was good to know I am better off retired than still in the field. It was also good to see him again and know that I still care very much for them… And if I can help them in any way, I will always be there to try.”

“Thank you, Jean-Paul.” She slowly sat up and pulled her hair back. “Do you want to stay for breakfast?”

“Only if I’m cooking.” He pushed the coffee aside.

She smiled. “I am sorry I don’t match up to your fancy European taste.”

“I think my taste is exquisite. Why else would I have such wonderful and interesting friends?” He glanced back at the sleeping lump in the bed.

“Hm. Interesting is right.” She got up and plopped a pillow and blanket on the couch. “Get some rest. I need to lay down for a little bit. I think it’s not going to get any easier in the morning.”

He nodded and moved to make himself comfortable on the couch, picking out one of Steven’s books of french poetry to relax into.

Layla slowly sank down into the bed next to the sleeping lump under the blankets. She was more ginger this time as she curled up next to it. Close enough to feel the heat radiating off of him, but not close enough to disturb him. Was this a distance she could learn to respect?

An arm snaked out from under the blankets and wrapped around her waist, pulling her close.

Maybe she didn’t need to. Maybe it was time for her to start pushing for her own comfort too.

Part Six Here

#Moon Knight #Moon Knight fic #Jake Lockley #Steven Grant #Marc Spector #Layla El Faouly #Frenchie #Jean-Paul Duchamp #This one goes hard #Ever gotten lost because you didn't want to go back?#Sometimes it's hard to admit you don't know where you're going

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fancy-a-dance-brigadier · 6 months ago

Note

This is your invitation to ramble about 'Through The Trees' (or any other fic you'd like to more!)

(In response to this post)

Aww thank you friend! I shall gladly take you up on that invitation :D

So, Through the Trees is a Discovery oneshot I’ve been working on that focuses on the early days of Stamets and Culber’s relationship, spanning from their first meeting pre-canon to Culber’s death in season one. One of my favourite things about their relationship is the recurring motif of distance - there are so many instances throughout the show of them being apart from each other somehow, whether that separation is physical or emotional - and I’m using this fic to explore that theme. And since I feel like their relationship was at its most interesting in the first season (and the second, of course), I decided to focus on that era of their lives. Their relationship always struck me as kind of one-sided in the first season, with Culber almost always taking a backseat to the spore drive - and I don’t think it’s malicious on Stamets’ part, he’s just kind of obsessive and socially awkward, and I think he’s always felt more comfortable dealing with science than with people. The fic is from Stamets’ POV, and I’m trying to capture that sense of disconnect, of obsession, of unwittingly taking Culber for granted and just not realising it because there are So Many Other Things Happening. And because I love an immersive POV, I want to weave his distraction so thoroughly into the narration that when Culber’s eventually murdered, it’ll hit both Stamets and the reader in a way that’s kind of intense (only time will tell if I can pull that off!).

As far as progress on it goes, I’ve got all the pre-canon stuff pretty much written - I’m just stalling on rewatching the season one episodes I want to include as part of the story lol. One day I’ll get around to it, and hopefully soon because I really like how this one is turning out, and I’d love to finish it! Anyway, to close out this ramble, here’s a wee extract below the cut:

“Well, I don’t know if you’ve heard of the panspermia hypothesis-”

“That’s the idea that all life comes from microorganisms,” Hugh says - he’s not seeking confirmation, but proving that he can keep up. Paul raises his eyebrows, impressed, and Hugh picks up on the meaning behind his expression and grins. “I’m not as dumb as I look, you know.”

“I never thought you were. Dumb, I mean, or dumb-looking-”

“It’s alright.” Hugh’s grin does not drop. “Go on. Tell me more about panspermia.”

Paul does just that, not skipping a beat now that he is in his element. “According to my findings, fungal spores are the progenitors of panspermia - but they’re more than that too. They make up all the energy in the universe. So, if you understand the biology of spores, you understand what holds our entire existence together.”

“So what, at the end of the day we’re all made of fungus?”

Despite himself, Paul laughs at that. “I wish. It’d make people so much easier to deal with - I understand fungi better than anything.”

“You don’t understand people?” Hugh asks. A barely perceptible change comes over his soft expression - a slight knitting of his brow, a narrowing of his eyes.

“It’s never been my specialty.” His nerves creep up on him again, and he balls up his fists in the fabric of his trousers. “Can we go back to the spores?”

But they cannot go back now. Hugh has seen his vulnerability, a crack in his armour, and Paul can do nothing to erase his memory of it. And there is something about his stare - the gentle gravity of it, the piercing kindness of it - that frightens Paul to death.

#thank you again for the ask!#star trek #Discovery #Star Trek Discovery #fancyfics

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thecreaturecodex · 1 year ago

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Theo Gravois

"Necro" © deviantArt user Asahisuperdry, accessed at his gallery here

[Another in my series of tributes to PCs past, this time moving on to Curse of the Crimson Throne. A game where I got a TPK in the final battle, which had never happened before and never happened again in my long history of running published adventures. Pro tip: do not teleport to the boss room without clearing the rest of the dungeon. Especially when said boss is a bard who can turn you against each other long enough for her minions from the rest of the dungeon to flood into the room. Theo technically survived, albeit dominated, which is part of why I picked him as the PC of choice. Also, as you'll see in the flavor text, Theo went through some shit (and was the first gay character that player made after coming out). So I wanted to finally give him a happy ending.

I ran Crimson Throne the first time around, in D&D 3.5. So mechanically, this version of Theo is quite different than that version. The original Theo was an archivist from Heroes of Horror (the divine class that tended to be most popular at my table), and for most of the game he had the necropolitian template and the Necrotic Cyst line of feats from Libris Mortis. I made him an oracle of Lore because a) he was very bookish and b) the same player played an oracle in both Jade Regent and Shattered Star. The lich oracle curse was used to reflect his time spent undead, and the inflict line of spells, plus various other necromancies, are standing in for the Necrotic Cyst spells.]

Theo Gravois CR 19 CN Humanoid This human has white hair, intense gray eyes and broad features. He wears chain mail and fine robes, and carries a staff, wands, books, and other magical paraphernalia.

Theo Gravois may simultaneously be the luckiest and unluckiest man alive. Theo was always interested in grisly crimes and tragic love stories, but didn’t expect to find himself in one. His fiancé, Ilya Kushnir, was murdered by the crime boss Gaedrin Lamm and fed to his pet alligator. All Theo had to remember his love by was Ilya’s severed hand, still wearing his engagement ring. Although Theo helped bring Lamm to justice, and then was embroiled in the chaos in Korvosa following the death of its king, he still dwelled on the injustice. Eventually, as his own body was wracked by tuberculosis and the city around him was gripped in the blood veil epidemic, Theo transformed himself into an undead creature in an attempt to cut off his grief and all emotions. The culmination of this ritual involved wrapping his love’s severed hand around his heart.

And then Ilya came back to life.

After months of adventures and just before fighting Queen Ileosa the Thrice-Damned herself, Theo and his colleagues were gifted with a Harrow Deck of Many Things. Theo drew the Unicorn, allowing him to undo any event in his past. Of course, he made it so Ilya never confronted Gaedren Lamm, which rippled through reality. Theo had a loving, living fiancé, so of course he never would have made himself undead. Just in time to fight Ileosa and lose. Because now that he was alive, he was vulnerable to her mind-altering magic.

Theo was the only survivor of the fight against Ileosa, and she kept him as a dominated pet until she could complete the ritual to grant herself divinity. The ritual failed by inches, as Theo had used stone shape spells to reshape half of the statues intended to focus the ritual into images of Blackjack, a Korvosan folk hero (the mantle of whom had been taken by no fewer than two of Theo’s close friends). Both Ileosa and Blackjack were transformed into powerful outsiders, Ileosa a devil, Blackjack an azata. And Ileosa, enraged, tortured Theo to death and left his body to rot in the dungeons beneath Castle Korvosa.

And then Ilya had him brought back to life.

Queen Croft of New Korvosa offered Theo his pick of any role in her city he wanted, but Theo refused—Theo distrusted authority before his many woeful experiences, and he is understandably somewhat paranoid about queens. Theo and Ilya now live on a small island in the Ironbound Archipelago, being perfectly happy to be alone together. Theo spends most of his days reading, sculpting, and playing games with his husband. It would take world-shaking events to bring Theo out of retirement. But if there’s one thing Golarion is known for, it’s world-shaking events.

Theo Gravois CR 19 XP 204,800 CN Medium humanoid (human) Init +7; Senses Perception +3 Defense AC 32, touch 21, flat-footed 26 (+6 Cha, +3 deflection, +9 armor, +2 natural, +2 luck) hp 222 (19d8+133) Fort +17, Ref +15, Will +20 Immune death effects; Resist cold 10, positive energy 10 Defensive Abilities negative energy affinity Offense Speed 30 ft. Melee +2 quarterstaff +19/+14/+9 (1d6+6) Special Attacks arcane archivist (2/day),brain drain (DC 29, 19d4 damage, 10 rounds, 4/day) Spells CL 19th, concentration +29 (+33 casting defensively) 9th (5/day)—mass heal (DC 29), time stop, winds of vengeance (DC 29) 8th (7/day)—discern location, mass inflict critical wounds (DC 30), moment of prescience, orb of the void (DC 30), stormbolts (DC 28) 7th (7/day)—destruction (DC 29), ethereal jaunt, greater scrying (DC 27), mass cure serious wounds (DC 27), mass inflict serious wounds (DC 29), vision 6th (8/day)—harm (DC 28), heal (DC 26), mass inflict moderate wounds (DC 28), mass owl’s wisdom, wind walk 5th (8/day)—contact other plane, mass ghostbane dirge (DC 25), mass inflict light wounds (DC 27), planeslayer’s call, slay living (DC 27), true seeing, undead anatomy II 4th (8/day)—aura of doom (DC 26), dismissal (DC 24), divine power, freedom of movement, inflict critical wounds (DC 26), legend lore 3rd (8/day, 1 used)—cure serious wounds (DC 23), inflict serious wounds (DC 25), locate object, magic vestment, remove disease, stone shape, undead anatomy I 2nd (9/day)—align weapon, command undead (DC 24), inflict moderate wounds (DC 24), lesser restoration, remove paralysis, resist energy, spiritual weapon, tongues 1st (9/day)—bless, cure light wounds (DC 21), doom (DC 23), identify, inflict light wounds (DC 23), hide from undead, shield of faith 0th—bleed (DC 22), create water, detect magic, detect poison, guidance, light, read magic, resistance, stabilize Statistics Str 16, Dex 16, Con 20, Int 27, Wis 16, Cha 30 Base Atk +14; CMB +17; CMD 33 Feats Abundant Revelations (arcane archivist), Combat Casting, Greater Spell Focus (necromancy), Improved Initiative, Lunging Spell Touch, Oracular Intuition, Quick Draw, Scribe Scroll, Spell Focus (necromancy), Spell Penetration, Toughness Skills Acrobatics +22, Appraise +15, Craft (sculpture) +16, Diplomacy +20, Escape Artist +22, Fly +22, Heal +14, Intimidate +20, Knowledge (arcana, dungeoneering, local, nature, planes, religion) +30, Knowledge (engineering, geography, history, nobility) +20, Linguistics +15, Sense Motive +20, Spellcraft +30, Use Magic Device +25 SQ legendary, oracle curse (lich), revelations (arcane archivist, brain drain, mental acuity, sidestep secret, spontaneous symbology, think on it) Languages Abyssal,Aklo, Boggard, Celestial,Common, Draconic, Dwarven, Elven, Gnome, Goblin, Infernal, Necril, Shoanti, Sylvan, Undercommon, Varisian Gear tome of leadership and influence +4 (expended), manual of bodily health +2 (expended), belt of physical perfection +4, headband of mental superiority +6 (Acrobatics, Escape Artist, Fly), +1 deathless cold resistance mithril chain shirt, staff of the hierophant, rod of quicken spell, ring of sustenance, ring of protection +3, mnemonic vestment, cloak of resistance +4, amulet of natural armor +2, handy haversack, wand of cure moderate wounds (20 charges), wand of spectral hand (30 charges), scroll of greater spell immunity, scroll of resurrection, scroll of greater restoration, scroll of heroes’ feast, guardian grimoire, (no preparation ritual), 13,000 gp worth of gem dust for material components, silver engagement ring worth 25 gp, 2 eye ointment material components for true seeing, 7 pp, 5 gp Special Abilities Legendary (Ex) Theo’s statistics are built on 25 point buy, and he has the gear of a PC of his class level. These advantages increase his CR by +1.

#theo gravois #npc #monster girl summer #he was a monster; it counts #curse of the crimson throne #pathfinder 1e #D&D #oracle #necromancer

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invisiblegarters · 1 year ago

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Be My Favorite Ep 7

It's Frigay again! Sweet, sweet Frigay, favorite day of the week.

Who would have thought that this show would be one of the major reasons I look forward to this day? I certainly didn't. I know I say this often, but I can't help it. This was so not on my radar that the fact that I am loving it so much just continues to baffle me in the best way.

Let's see if the back half can keep up the momentum.

Kawi's dad stuff still gets me.

Lol Kawi had a whole face journey while he was contemplating talking about the kiss. And aw, Pisaeng. I totally get the need to say the thing before he does, though. And I do love that he just wants to be there for Kawi in whatever way he can. That's lovely and sweet. But man, part of me wonders if Pisaeng is eventually going to be pushing a Pear agenda that Kawi is no longer into. I would be into it.

Speaking of Pear...she's definitely feeling some kind of way right now. I think that Not's words are burrowing into her head. Is it weird that I'm kind of looking forward to seeing her be less than perfect? Please do not get me wrong I love Pear and I don't want her to turn into one of those old BL girls who seems to exist just to cause problems, but I also don't think that anyone can be sweet all the time, even if they are a genuinely lovely person.

Oh, yay dad! So happy that the surgery went well.

And can I just say it - I think that if this were another show, Pear and Kawi could be a good story about moving on from first love (for her). One Kawi got himself a bit more together.

Oooh so last ep Kawi tells Piseang about his magical time travel crystal, and now he has actually traveled to the future in front of him. AH, I hope we're not stuck in the future for long, because you know I want to know if that will be remembered when he gets back!

Idol!Kawi, heh. Why do I find it so funny?

Max looking amazing as always. I want that jacket. Is he Kawi's manager? I'm so glad he's still around in the future because he makes everything 10x better by virtue of existing.

Ooh does this Kawi have an alcohol problem? Sounds like it. And yeah, Kawi is too excited about where he is to really listen.

So dad still died. Yeah, I kinda thought that might be the case.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH NO. I knew they would do this and I hate it. NOT DOES NOT (heh) DESERVE GOOD THINGS. I don't even care if he is Mr. Perfect in this timeline (I bet he's not). I hate it Kawi let's return it okay?

Ouch. Imagine being such a bad guy that Not is preferable as a romantic partner.

I do wonder though if Max and Pisaeng still talk. I hope they do and Max is just not telling Kawi because he doesn't deserve/need to know.

I have to say that I wonder if we'll stay in the future for a bit longer this time - eventually it's gonna take longer for the crystal to work, if it works at all, right? The old man did say that it wouldn't work forever. Kawi better get his shit together before he gets stuck in a timeline that really blows.

Then again...well. Maybe that's part of the point, eh? Isn't that always the point of time travel narratives? That you can't change the past, but the future is still unknown so that is what you should focus on? I don't know if that's the case here - I haven't read the novel it's based on - but pretty much every time travel thing I've seen where someone keeps trying to fix a past mistake seems to go that way. Granted I know I haven't seen all of them. But I think that is why dad keeps dying. It happened, it's going to happen, dad's fate is sealed and done. The end. And no matter how hard Kawi tries, that won't change.

Or maybe I'm talking out of my ass and Kawi can fix it. 😂

Time will tell, but I have to say if he can't, I'd be okay with it even if it sucks.

Not quite the same reason Kwan. My guess is you love Not, which...girl, love yourself more. You can do better. You should date Pear instead. And Not was dating them both. Sigh. He's still the same old asshat. Joy. I almost wonder if Pear knew and married him anyway.

She did know. And is pregnant. Oh, Pear. Honey. I hate this timeline for you.

Max still delivering truths. Truly the best.

I bet Kawi blamed Piseang for the deterioration of his relationship with Pear. I just bet.

And ha, of course Max knows where he is. I knew it.

Aw, maybe Kawi should just let the man fish.

Whatever Kawi did and Piseang still can't let him be upset. Dude is too good for future!Kawi (he's too good for past!Kawi too, but at least past!Kawi is working towards improvement, not taking a wrecking ball to his own life like future seems to have done).

And then a frolic. I do love a good frolic.

Oh Piseang. Your continued crush is both adorable and a little pathetic. I say that with love, because you're still in my top three faves.

Okay look. I appreciate that Gawin can sing. I do. But I also don't need to hear it, especially not when I've already had to hear Krist this same ep. Singing in BL is never gonna be my favorite thing even if they have pipes (which frankly, many of them do not, I'm sorry but there it is).

Oop Kawi's gonna kiss him. He looked way too in love during that song not to. Do you even know what your face is doing, Kawi? Do you?

And there it is. In their matching shirts and everything. And it's another real kiss. What the fuck happened to Krist?

Hahaha oh my god PIsaeng you utter sap.

Looks like it's back to the past next week. Good, because Pear did not deserve that timeline at all.

#be my favorite #episode 7

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leffee · 1 year ago

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More headcannons on your son?

My Vinnie son!! :D

his absolute least favourite season is winter, he hates it with a passion, it's not up to discussion. It has good sides, he can admit it, but the cons outweight the pros greatly in his opinion. With that vague "colder body temperature" disease I gave him, it's way too cold for him most of the time, while normally he gets sick rarely, during winter he gets sick bad approximately every other week and not for 2 days either; it's slippery outside which with his clumsiness is a terrible combinations, not to mention that all of that saps all the energy out of him. He wants to go out, especially with his friends, but honestly he'd much rather wait the winter out at home

besides his hair, his body part he looks after the most are his feet. However, while he cares about his hair completely willingly, he was forced to do the same with his feet. The story is this: he dances a lot, right? He might not be good at it but he does like it. And while dancing you work a lot on your feet and strain them. At one point, he realized that his feet were in a pretty bad state, but being himself he didn't want to do anything about it at first. Eventually though, it came to the point when they really started hurting him, felt tired and had blisters. Not willing to endure it anymore he bought some stuff and ever since then he's been taking good care of them. Damn, that's a lot of talk about Vinnie feet. Damn

it's not normally visible, but somewhere in his hair he has 6 bobby pins, and yes, they are supposed to represent his friends so he can "take" them anywhere. Each one he got from each of them. From some of them he already had had one before getting this idea that he borrowed and didn't give back because they didn't really care about getting it back cause it's just a bobby pin. From those he didn't have one when he came out with this, he simply asked if they could give him a bobby pin. And so they did, until he got one from each of them and started wearing them

he's hyper aware whenever going up or down the stairs because he fell down on them so many times he expects it to happen every time. He's not afraid of falling or getting hurt in general, but it simply happened so much that his consciousness "generously" granted him the habit of focusing only on stairs when on them. Don't talk to him when doing that, he's not going to register that anyway

he can turn both his feet almost 180 degrees so they face backwards (ok, it's actually more like 160 or so, but 180 sounds better and appeals more to the imagination). He can't walk like that but it's a cool party trick. Well, to some it's cool, others think it's gross but perhaps impressive most of the time. It's hard to find anything about this on internet so idk if it's due to lack of some joints or maybe some doubled cartilages but he has whatever that is

this might one of my more random headcanons, but he writes in cursive. Also while we're at it, have I ever said he's left-handed? I might have but I don't remember now. He is

remember when I said he likes Zoe's taste in music? He also likes her own songs a lot, and will, sometimes unconciously, hum or sing them to himself, especially when alone and doing something he doesn't need to focus on too much. The sort of taking a shower or brushing his hair, and he will sing "Not every star is in the sky" or "The Fire Hydrant Song" to himself absent-mindedly

him and Pepper give each other stupid gifts on Valentine's day, acting like they are madly in love with each other, but in such mocking and overdramatic way it's obvious they're just acting. For example, Pepper will kneel on one knee before Vinnie with a McDonald's box, open it, and there will be heart-shaped chicken nuggets inside, then say "I-it's not like I like you, baka! X( But I got you this gift uwu". Next, Vinnie will gasp dramatically and way louder than needed, clutch his shirt near his heart, and pretend to wipe tears "P-Pepper-chan, this is the best gift I ever got!".

whenever he wants to hang out with Sunil but for some reason Sunil can't but is still in his house, in a world where they live right next to each other (because I'm not too sure if I like them living right next to each other or not) Vinnie simply opens his window wide and will bend over it "miserably" and hang like that, and yes, Sunil can see that from one window in his house. Vinnie can stand like that for hours, it's genuinely not an attempt to make Sunil invite him over out of pity or anything, he gets that he might be busy, but that's just him showing his sadness over this. A bit overdramatic maybe. The first time Sunil saw that he just simply smiled sympathetically at first, but then got busy and once he finished 3 hours later, he walked next to the window overlooking Vinnie's house, not even thinking that Vinnie would be still there so he wasn't looking. However, from the corner of his eye he caught Vinnie doing just that and had to double-check to make sure he was seeing what he thought he was. At first he thought that maybe Vinnie took a break and at some point came back but nope, he was there the entire time

he's like the opposite of Minka in this one way at least, because while Minka's scared of small spaces, he personally really likes them, there's something comforting about being squeezed and/or surrounded from every side. Basically, he liked being squeezed, it's nicer when it's hugs and all, but tight spaces are really great too. Fun fact it that there was a period of time when I actually gave him claustrophobia, just way less severe than Minka's but nah, I'm over this headcanon, now he likes it. It's true in some other universe

Idk how to end it, so have a picrew image I made of my beloved

He looks absolutely silly

#lps 2012 #asks #vinnie terrio

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lostonehero · 1 year ago

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Well this was suppose to be a fun chill chapter

It did not turn that way

The beach wasn't a thing living in a landlocked state, but it didn't bother Henry much. He didn't particularly like the ocean when he lived back in Texas. His pool does him just fine, and summer heat was in full effect, so he decided to take the day to enjoy a nice swim.

Micheal had a shirt on with his swim trunks. He still wasn't confident enough to show Evan his scar, so he had to deal with a shirt in the water. He watched Evan walk out on the water.

"Mikey, come on, I wanna go in the water." Evan waves his arms.

Micheal chuckles, looking back to his uncle, who was just in swim trunks. "Did Father dress up?"

Henry hums, looking over. "You don't have to wear a shirt, Micheal. The scar isn't that bad..."

Micheal raises his brow. "That isn't convincing, but I'm fine. Besides, I think Father will throw a fit if he sees my tattoos."

"You have tattoos?" Henry pauses. "Why?"

"I like them?" Micheal shrugs. "So I'm guessing Father isn't out."

"No, not yet, but he said he'll be out soon." Henry smiles. "How's Evan?"

"Trying to get me in the water." Micheal chuckles. "I'm going. I'm going." He smirks seeing Jeremy finally come next to him. He grabs him and lifts him up. "I'm taking you with me."

Jeremy squeaks. "Mike, noooo, I haven't even put sunscreen on." He can't hold back a laugh as Micheal jumps in the pool holding him. "Jerk."

Micheal giggles. "Eh, you love me."

Henry smiles, turning his attention. "Ah, William, you just missed Micheal dragging Jeremy into the pool."

William's breath caught in his throat. When was the last time he saw Henry without a shirt? He always gave him space even though he didn't ask when he changed and when he got ready in the morning. Sure, he was chubby and soft, but he could see the ripple of muscle under the layer of fat, and he knew Henry exercised a lot mostly to get himself to relax. However, he didn't realize this was the result of that.

Henry snaps his fingers in front of William. "You can't have a pool day in a sweatshirt and pants. You've got control over your form. Come on, get changed."

William blinks. "I'm not exactly... I don't have..." He stops, and he realizes he's already in swim trunks. He crosses his arms and huffs.

"You're too skinny." Henry hums. "I should have pushed you to eat more when you were alive. Granted, I wasn't there the last years of your life." He pauses. "Oh well, come on, a swim will do us good in the heat."

William covers his face, trying to calm himself as he is pulled as Henry gets into the water. It wasn't helping as he watched Henry swim he saw his muscles move, and he felt way too out of place. He just had to focus on something else, Micheal looked like he was having fun, and wearing a shirt in the water was an odd choice. Was he ashamed of that scar? "Why does Micheal have a shirt on?"

"He's got tattoos." Henry hums coming up from the water.

"He doesn't want Evan to see his scar." Jeremy says before Micheal pushes him under the water.

"Don't.... fuck" Micheal sighs. "I don't want to freak you out, Evan."

Jeremy comes back up and splashes Micheal. "He's in your head he's going to find out eventually."

Micheal huffs and peals off the wet shirt. "There happy?"

Evan tilts his head. "It's like your zipper."

Micheal sighs. "Yeah, I guess."

"You have a Freddy tattoo?" Evan floats behind him. "It's like the teddy dad got me. You got a doll too like Lizzie had. Why do you have a flashlight?"

Micheal covers his face. "Evan, how about you stop looking."

Jeremy snickers. "Just wait till he sees the pin up man on your thigh, or your...." Jeremy is cut off as Micheal dunks him under the water again

"Jeremy, I will drown you." Micheal scowls and stares at Henry. "I uh..." He frowns and sinks deeper in the water.

Henry chuckles. "Don't be embarrassed, I would have tattoos if needles didn't freak me out. I was planning on getting one for Charlie, but I never went through with it."

William coughs. "I have one." He turns around to show his back to Henry. He has a wrench on the back of his shoulder. "I got it when I turned 18."

"Why did you never tell me? It's a nice tattoo." Henry has a slight blush on his face.

"Wait, Father has a tattoo?" Micheal practically jumps out of the pool to grab the mirror that was left outside.

"Micheal, put that damn thing down." William huffs, but he's already in the reflection.

"Heh, a wrench." Micheal hums. "The purple ribbon is a nice touch." He pauses. "Uncle Henry's right, you are too skinny."

Jeremy pulls himself out of the water. "You're one to talk."

"Fuck you I have muscle." Micheal huffs laying the mirror down.

"You also forget to eat the majority of the time." Jeremy hums, lying himself down on a lounge chair.

Evan frowns. "Mikey eating is important. How do you forget?"

Micheal sighs. "Jeremy, stop."

"I will not." Jeremy says, rubbing himself with sunblock.

Henry sighs. "Speaking of your health, how's your back?"

Micheal crosses his arms. "I know you can see the bump." He sighs. "I'm fine, just aches the water helps." He says as he jumps back in. "I don't want to talk about it."

Henry frowns. "Alright, fine." He knows he can't force Micheal to the doctor, nor can he force the man to talk about it. He would be a hypocrite since he refuses to address his jaw he has 4 new sharp teeth he would rather not think about.

William sighs. "Why is my tattoo a purple hat?"

Henry furrows his brows. "What?"

"On Micheal's back, Evan is the Freddy, Lizzie is the doll, why am I the purple hat that says security?" William huffs.

Henry clears his throat. "Micheal, why is your father the hat? He's asking, not me."

Micheal pauses and floats on his back. "The security guard outfit, remember he would wear it instead of the spring bonnie suit. He had the custom purple one. Also, mom hated it."

William chuckles softly. "Of course he would remember that." He smiles. "At least he didn't get a purple rabbit."

Henry smiles. "Thank you, Micheal."

"I didn't do anything." Micheal sighs. "Maybe I should get springs around the hat."

William frowns. "Now you're just taking the piss out of it, Micheal." His accent thick as he got annoyed.

Henry snickers. "He didn't like that."

"Good."

....

Henry hums lights the grill. He's already cleaned it off and has plans on what he's cooking. Micheal had let Evan take control to play in the water, and Jeremy was having fun entertaining him.

William sighs. "Never understood why you liked this old thing."

"Barbaque is an excellent thing." Henry smiles. "It's a cultural thing. I'm from Texas, and I'll be damned if I can't fire up the old thing and cook some good food."

"The food is messy, and the portions are always so large." William huffs crossing his arms.

"You never ate enough." Henry smiles. "I think I'm going to make some ribs. I've been marinating them in the fridge for the past three days."

William sighs. "And what else?"

"Well, Jen and Margaret will be coming, and that means James too, so maybe some sausages and a steak for Jen." He's been craving meat as of late, which he doesn't understand, but it might have something to do with the new sharp teeth in his mouth.

"Oh joy." William sighs but smiles. "So when's the reunion."

"Well, school is finally out for all the grandkids, so next week, hopefully. It's hard getting everyone together." Henry sighs. "But it will be nice to see them again. You're also not getting out of meeting them."

"I know, I know."

....

Micheal was inside when he felt movement under his skin. Thankfully, Evan was outside with his uncle because he wanted to play with their father. He locked himself in the bathroom. Well, he needed to shower to get the chlorine out of his hair, and dinner wouldn't be ready for another hour the way his uncle slowed cooks things.

Micheal held a knife in his hand. He could feel whatever it was moving under his skin, and it hurt. It was too big. He knew the mass grew exponentially within the last week. He set up a tarp on the floor so he wouldn't cause a huge mess. One breath in and out, and the knife went in.

Micheal bit his hand hard, spilling blood on the counter he leaned over. It fucking hurt, and then a pressure released and his knees gave out as he fell to the floor.

He shudders, and something moved, and he felt it. He kept his eyes closed and removed his hand from his mouth and reached behind him and grabbed.

"Oh fuck." He jumps as the new sensation, and the heighten sensitivity. It was wet and sticky, but he could wrap his hand around it. He forces his eyes open to look behind him to see what he is grabbing and his breath caught in his throat.

A long, thick devil tail stretched and curled around him. He can move it in any direction. It felt like another limb, and he stretched it out and grabbed a shampoo bottle, and lifted it. "Ok." He lets out a breath. "Ok, everything is fine." He accidently crushes the bottle when he hears a knock on the door spilling the shampoo everywhere.

"Hey Mike, you alright? You haven't even started the shower yet." Jeremy is heard through the door, and he pauses when he hears the door unlock. "Do you want me to join you?" Jeremy questions as he opens the door to a naked Micheal sitting on the floor.

Micheal covers his face. "The pain stopped."

Jeremy slips inside and shuts the door. "Are you ok?"

"I don't know." Micheal sighs as his tail wraps around Jeremy's leg. "Shit, sorry. I uh."

Jeremy chuckles. "It's sticky."

"It's covered in blood and shampoo." Micheal stares up at Jeremy.

"Blood, I understand... oh, you crushed the bottle." Jeremy crouches down as Micheal unwraps his tail around his leg. "Can I?"

Micheal nods and bites his lip. "It's sensitive." He covers his privates. "Jeremy, don't rub it!"

Jeremy chuckles. "Are you feeling better?"

Micheal throws the crushed bottle at him. "Fuck you." He smiles softly. "Thank you."

"Come on, let me help you clean up." Jeremy gets up and turns on the shower. "You're going to mop the floors."

"I can manage that." Micheal smiles, finally getting up. "Are you ok?"

"Do you think you can wrap that around my-" Jeremy is cut off as Micheal covers his mouth.

"Can you keep it in your pants until I wrap my head around this?" Micheal gives a breathy laugh. "Or at least I learn strength control."

"Oh, squeeze me as hard as you want. I'll make any noise you want." Jeremy chuckles as Micheal sprays him with water as he steps into the shower.

"You're a fiend." Micheal snickers as his tail wraps around his body. "Now help me with this thing, I need to get used to moving it."

"You got it, sir." Jeremy laughs when he is splashed again. "Or shall I call you a devil because you're tempting me?"

"Jeremy, you need to stop." He says with no real bite and a smile on his lips. "Just help me get the blood off."

"Alright, Mr. Devil." Jeremy giggles as Micheal glares. "Give me the wash cloth. I think I can see bits of flesh that need to come off, and I need to wrap your hand."

Micheal nods. "Ok, thank you." He sighs in relief as Jeremy helps him clean off. "I mean it, thank you. I don't know how you do it, but you've stopped me spiraling. Thank you, and seriously, though the nerves feel raw on it, please be careful."

Jeremy nods. "Sit so I can crouch and clean. I'll take a shower next, so Henry can't hear you clean."

Micheal smiles. "You're the best."

....

"What did you two get up to?" Jen says in a teasing manner, watching Jeremy and Micheal rejoin the group outside.

Jeremy holds up Micheal's bandage hand. "He fell, so I helped patch him up."

Micheal sighs. "I'm fine he's overreacting."

"Mikey!" Evan has jumped back inside Micheal. "Daddy likes the drawings you made me."

Micheal smiles. "I'm glad."

Jen frowns. "Are you ok?"

Micheal nods. "Yes, Jeremy is basically an expert when it comes to medical stuff."

"You flatter me." Jeremy smiles. "Food smells good."

Henry hums. "It will be done soon. Come sit. I know Margaret wants to see pictures of your neice and nephew."

Jeremy chuckles. "There just little babies."

Margaret motions to come over. "That's the point. My grandchildren are teens. I want to see the little guys."

Jeremy takes out his phone going through the many pictures.

Micheal sighs and makes his way next to his uncle out of earshot of everyone else. "Uncle Henry, are you ok?"

Henry frowns. "Micheal, what's wrong? What happened?"

Micheal shifts and only lifts up his shirt slightly to show his new tail is wrapped around his stomach. It's black with splotches of red. "Uncle Henry, what's going on with your jaw."

Henry puts down the tongs before he snaps them in half. "My jaw is fine...." He sighs. "I'm getting new teeth, don't tell your father he doesn't know."

"Do they...?"

"No." Henry sighs. "Look, I know I can't stop this, but I don't want to scare your father or my sister."

Micheal nods he pulls his shirt down. "Are you ok?"

Henry nods. "I know how I'll look when it's done. Do you?"

Micheal nods. "Evan said something about spiders."

Henry nods. "He told me about you too. Is he?"

Micheal shakes his head. "No, he told me about the drawings I made and went inside because he wanted to find the foxy mask again. I don't know how he keeps finding it."

"Your father went to his office after Evan left. How about we keep this between us and your partner."

Micheal nods. "Please."

"Alright breathe Micheal we'll get through this. I would rather this than having your father leave anyhow." Henry sighs. "How about you get first pickings of the feast for tonight."

Micheal nods and gives his uncle a hug. "Thank you."

"Of course, kiddo." Henry smiles.

....

"I found it." Evan giggles, startling Micheal in the middle of taking a bite of his food.

He coughs. "Good job, buddy."

Jeremy snickers. "Did your little brother startle you?"

"Shut up." Micheal sighs.

Margaret smiles. "Hello Evan."

Evan giggles and runs over. "Hi Aunt Margaret and Aunt Jen." He holds up the foxy mask. "I found it."

Micheal nods. "I see now come back over here." He watches Evan walk back, and he leans back in his chair. "Do you want some food?"

"No." Evan hums. "I don't want barbecue."

"That's fine. I'm going to finish eating." Micheal smiles softly. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm gonna play with the mask inside. I found toys, too." Evan smiles then frowns. "Nooo, everything changes when I leave and come back."

"Then you have to find them again." Micheal hums. "I told you my mind is a mess."

"Fine," Evan disappears in a huff.

Micheal sighs, returning to his food. He notices everyone's eyes were on him. "He knows not to go through my memories, don't worry."

Margaret was smiling. "You're a good brother, Micheal."

Micheal has a red on his cheeks. "No, I'm not." He sighs.

Jen frowns and shakes her head. "Don't push him, Margaret."

Henry sighs. "Aren't you worried about what he will find?"

Micheal raises his brow. "Not really, Evan gets pretty focused on searching for the same things. He also gets frustrated when he can't find it and then heads to his room to just play with his own toys. I normally have to find him when I sleep."

Henry hums, his plate is nothing but bones left, yet he was still hungry and kind of wanted to chew on the bones. "And about..."

"I'm in a good mindset, I'm ok." Micheal sighs. "I told him to leave if it happens again, but I don't think he will listen to me."

Jen sighs. "Alright enough, how are the other kids, Micheal?"

Micheal gives a sigh of relief. "They are fine. They made a new game of annoying my mother. They are also taking turns moving around springtrap."

"They are keeping themselves entertained." Margaret hums.

Jen smiles. "Glad they are giving your mom hell."

Micheal nods.

....

It was the wrong door, Evan knew it the moment it opened, and he was stuck. He didn't mean to open Mikey's door, but it was right next to his, and he made a mistake. Mikey was going to be mad at him. Evan tried to cover his eyes, but he was frozen in place, forced to watch the memory unfold.

"Is that me?" Evan tilted his head, staring at the memory.

Micheal was sitting next to Evan in a hospital bed he had bandages wrapped around his red with a red stain. "Hey Ev, I brought your favorites today." He forces a smile taking out a worn book.

"Father says you won't wake up and gets really mad when I ask. But he isn't right. You're like me, you'll wake up, and we can laugh about this." He sighs, looking down. "Mom, won't look at me anymore. Lizzie is still missing, and Charlie is.... gone."

He runs his fingers through his short hair. "Mom buzzed my head, too. She said I don't deserve to have my hair long because guys shouldn't look like girls." He wipes his face. "No crying boys aren't supposed to cry."

Evan frowns. "Mommy cut Mikey's hair, and I cry all the time boys can cry."

Micheal puts the book next to him. "Ev, I think I'm broken. Mom says I shouldn't have made it to this age and that I was a mistake. I'm not normal. I don't like the girls the other guys in my class like." He sighs.

"Why won't you wake up? I always wake up after getting hurt. You're supposed to be my brother, why aren't you like me?" Micheal bits his lip and in a quiet voice.

Evan leans in closer to hear.

"I saw mom hurt father, and he didn't even do anything." Micheal hugs his chest. "Mom hurts me too. It's gotten worse since I hurt you, but once you get better, things will be fine. Lizzie will come back, too."

Evan frowns. "Why didn't I hear this, I'm laying right there." He blinks. "But Lizzie was dead, didn't you know that?"

Micheal wipes his face again. "Ok, you like this story, the frog prince. So a long time ago..."

The door shuts tight, and Evan can move again. "W-wait, Mikey wasn't done." He feels tears drip down his cheeks. "But I'm ok, Mikey." He starts to cry harder. "Mikey, why were you crying? I'm sorry I'll be a better brother."

....

"Micheal? Oh fuck, Micheal!" The sound of glass shattering and Jeremy catching Micheal before he falls on the broken pieces. "Ok ok you're not skinny, your muscle." He tried to joke, but Micheal's eyes have glazed over.

Henry and Jen rush over. "What happened?"

"I can call a doctor. Let me just grab my phone." Jen stops as Jeremy pulls up Micheal's limp body.

"Henry, help me carry him inside." Jeremy huffs and sighs when Henry takes the other side of Micheal.

"What happened?" Henry helps Micheal inside with Jeremy.

"He was gathering the plates to bring inside to clean, and I was following him to help, and we were talking, and he just stopped." Jeremy helped lay him on the couch. "He's crying? Why is he crying?"

Henry shuts his eyes and takes a breath. "I think Evan must have seen something he shouldn't of."

Jeremy swallows the growing fear in his throat. "I'll make sure they don't call an ambulance, Micheal hates hospitals." He mumbles a goodbye as he heads back outside.

Henry crouches down next to Micheal. "You're ok." He wanted so badly to reach out to enter that mind and just fix everything. He didn't. He couldn't get William. He didn't know how to repeat what he did before. He needed to stay positive. He had to, but even still, he could feel the worry eating away at his mind and feel William stirred from his office.

......

Micheal covered his ears it was too loud. All he heard was crying it echoed and grew in intensity. He felt something around his neck, and it was a chain. He knew he had to follow it.

The crying only got louder as he got closer. He didn't recognize the inky black creature with white streaks down its face. He reached out and pulled the creature into a tight embrace.

Finally, silence, then suddenly Micheal was alone, and the chain snapped, cutting deep into his throat. It was painful, and watching his body crack and bleed, and then the sheer refusal of the wounds being healed over almost as fast, causing more pain. He knew whatever had happened was supposed to be fatal.

......

There was an uneasy silence, Henry's jaw felt like it was on fire. Micheal finally closed his eyes. Nobody wanted to address the nose and eye bleed that happened earlier. His hand itched to no end, and he knew if he tried, Jen would tie his hands back, which was fair he barely got out of going to the doctor for it.

William cleared his throat. Evan was in his arms. "I think I know what happened."

The three pairs of eyes stared at Henry as he looked in the direction of William. "When did he get.."

"From how Micheal looks, it's probably been an hour or two." William sighs, he adjusts Evan on his shoulder. "He uh tired himself out."

Henry frowns. "Willaim, what happened?"

"From what I gathered from Evan, he might have seen a memory of Micheal in the hospital while Evan was in the coma. He didn't understand it, which made him upset, and I think he might of git extremely unstable, and he twisted himself around Micheal's own spirit or soul, I don't know what to call it, his being." He sighs he looked exhausted. "I know that's what is happening with us in a sense, but Evan panicked even more and jumped, snapping the connection."

"Killing Micheal." Henry frowns, staring at Micheal he was breathing and curled up.

"But..." William stops. "Evan, it's ok. You didn't know." Soft whimpers come from Evan. "I don't understand what happened or why Micheal can't..." He sighs. "Are you sure you want this?"

Henry nods. Stay together or death. He actually didn't mind that. It meant he wouldn't be alone in the end, no matter what.

William sighs. "I can't exactly fight you on this." He's happy Henry nodded but left that unspoken. "Uh, just tell them, Micheal's body needs to recover, and we're going back to the museum."

Henry nods again, getting up. "I need you three if you can." He sighs. "Watch Micheal, I have to take Evan back to the museum."

Jen holds onto Margaret's hand. "Of course, tell Charlie we said hi."

Margaret frowns. "Don't stay too late."

Jeremy just nods he is sitting on the floor staring at Micheal.

....

Henry is silent as he enters the museum, Evan runs off to fredbear without another word. He looks next to him, where William is floating. "What did he see?"

"Evan doesn't realize that Micheal is truly the reason why he's like this. Evan thinks the doctors killed him." William's voice is quiet. "Evan also doesn't realize Micheal didn't know that Lizzie was dead until he went to work for Circus Baby's. I tried my best to explain what I knew, but he just didn't understand."

Henry frowns.

William rubs his hands through his hair. "Micheal knows Clara hurts - no, did hurt me. Clara's the one who shaved his head. She told me Micheal wanted it short after..." He sighs, and his outfit glitches to a hoodie and jeans. "Why didn't I protect him? Why couldn't I just take them to keep them safe? Why did I call her when I found Elizabeth?"

Henry's hand itched. He took a breath. "William." His voice is low and dangerous. "William, we can not change the past."

William sighs. "I know." He looks defeated. "I know."

"Go back in your office. I'm going to talk to the kids." Henry sighs, watching William sink into his own mind. He puts on a smile he trained himself to do and continues forward.

.....

"Mr. Emily?" Cassady is in the mirror in front of him.

"Ah, hello, Cass, what's wrong?" Henry smiles he has mastered it to look real to fool even himself.

"Well, uh." She sighs. "I know, Mr. Afton, and you are past the point of no return. Don't freak out, but uh, " She frowns, pulling at her pants. "Mr. Emily, are you ok?"

Henry furrows his brows. "Cass, what are you talking about?"

Cassady frowns, and she seems conflicted in sharing something. "We were told not to tell... well, I mean.... you don't count anymore."

"Cassady, are you ok?" Henry sighs. She was the oldest and understood more than the other kids, Fritz wasn't that too far behind her, though. It's funny what a year difference can make.

She huffs. "I'm fine." She frowns, throwing her hands up. "I know Evan accidently killed Micheal, and we know he can't die. We'll Evan doesn't really understand, but he's little." She sighs. "I don't even know what I'm saying."

Henry pauses. "You guys know?"

"Yeah, he doesn't exactly hide it well. Also, Lizzie was pretty graphic with the scooping incident." Cassady shudders. "Enough of that...." She huffs again. "I forgot what I was going to say." He blank white eyes stare at Henry. "Mr. Emily, are you ok?"

Henry sighs. "I'm worried about Micheal." He frowns. "He hasn't woken up yet."

Cassady sighs. "I mean, his body is recovering, I mean...." She sputters. "Ugh, I hate not being allowed to say things." She jumps from the mirror, most likely to her animotronic.

Henry raises his brow. As far as he knew, the kids stayed here unless they hitched a ride. He shook his head. He felt like a mess, and he didn't want to chase after her. At least Charlie is happy. He needed to get back.... he forgot his phone in his haste. He was not going to be returning to a happy crowd.

.....

Henry opened the door to a quiet home, William had returned to his side on the drive home.

"Why are you nervous?" William doesn't look any better than when he left to his mind, he however doesn't sound like he's on the verge of crying anymore.

"I may have forgotten my phone." Henry sighs.

"May of?" Jen sighs. "Don't look so scared. We aren't mad." She hums. "I moved the table with Margaret before she left. Jeremy fell asleep on the floor. Micheal isn't awake yet."

Henry frowns. "Are you ok?"

Jen rolls her eyes. "Henry, don't ask dumb questions. I'm staying over."

"I have to tell you something." Henry shifts. "I uh..." Henry's purple eye glows.

"I want to tell you what Evan discussed with me." William sighs, frowning at the accent. "I'm never going to get used to this accent when I talk. I'm glad you think it's funny, Henry."

Jen sighs. "Alright, come on."

#immortal micheal afton #micheal afton #evan afton #william afton #henry emily #jeremy fritzgerald #five nights at freddy's #fnaf

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dahyeltal · 2 years ago

Note

for the writers prompts: 🗣️❔👻🔍

🗣️Talk about your favourite WIP:

Oh dang this is like making me choose my favorite cat!! Uhh... I have a WIP that follows the events of the AOS movies, but Spock is trans and arrange-married to McCoy. It's based on a Reddit post where a guy falls in love with his husband, who he had an arranged marriage with. They don't fall in romantic love right away, Spuhura and (my personal early AOS beloved pairing) McPike are still mainstays, but they grow and change with each other through the events of AOS. Amanda lives, that's the only major change, and they finally get together officially after Altamid. It is...so long. And I'm having a hard time herding the plot bunnies to actually write it.

❔Choose a random WIP and talk about it: Periodic Relationships!

McCoy ends up being Spock's partner for all but one of his Pon Farrs. (And that 'but one' is up in the air, I am still deciding how I'll handle the one where Spuhura is together.) The first is when they're young adults, and McCoy is trying to get Sarek to sponsor his medical research but ends up nerding out with Spock all night which kickstarts his very first Pon Farr. McCoy is with Joss, but they have an arrangement (though Joss is being petty since McCoy didn't secure funding). The first time kinda sucks, and the morning after breakfast with Amanda and Sarek was awkward, but he promises Spock that if he ever needs help again, he happily volunteers.

The next time was after McCoy's divorce and estrangement from his daughter. He's a wreck. (McCoy also beefed tf up, and Spock is confused at first, thinking he got the wrong address.) Spock wants a romantic relationship with him and convinces him to join Starfleet, but McCoy refuses any future contact outside Spock's Pon Farrs. He needs to do this alone, without Spock or Sarek's help. Granted, McCoy ends up 'doing this' with a certain golden retriever friend named Kirk (which agitates Spock to no end), but he's happy with how everything plays out.

Happy until he can no longer ignore his pining for Spock, that is.

👻Is there a scene that you find intimidating that you have yet to write?

At least five of my WIPs are nearly complete and waiting on a sex scene. I don't necessarily find those intimidating, I just...can't focus long enough to do them? But I also find writing sex scenes with Spones to be highly entertaining because of their sexy banter, so I don't just want to skip them.

But for actual scenes, I have a series called "Love Is..." that I'm slowly writing, and it's McPike. Which means Pike is eventually going to die. I already wrote some tough scenes with him dealing with his injury and recovery from the Narada, but I'm not looking forward to when I have to write about him dying and leaving McCoy behind, alone, trying to make sure Kirk doesn't get himself killed trying to avenge Pike's death.

🔍Give a clue (a picture, emoji, a word, etc) and let your followers guess what a WIP is about.

🧜🏻‍♂️🖖🏻

(I copied and pasted these, I have no idea if they'll show up. But it's a merman and a Ta'al.)

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blu3boi · 4 years ago

Text

TW//blood, gore, vague talk of self harm//

SW for episode 35 of dndads

so i posted this wip of an animatic i’m not finishing to my other social medias and i guess i might as well post it here to. the grant talking to yeet scene was all i could think about for days after hearing it. it’s just such a profound and heartbreaking conversation about the cycle of depression, and being scarred to tell others what’s going on and how vulnerable you make yourself by telling people. ugh anthony is such a amazing story teller and i really appreciate that yeet rejected grant, so many stories try to give mentally ill people a partner to “fix” them. it’s refreshing to have a story where that’s not the case.

#dndads #dungeons and daddies #grant wilson #yeet bigly #darryl wilson #i do want grant to find love eventually but hes got to focus on himself rn #darryl hug your son pls

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scarlettriot · 2 years ago

Text

Heh, yeah, it’s about to be another series folks

Pairing: Demon!Kirishima X Demon!f!Reader

Warnings: Demons (obviously), Character Death (becoming a demon), mentions of cancer, hurt comfort.

Contains: Aged-Up Kirishima, Kiri and Reader both have demon forms. Readers is not described so picture them however you like ♥️, mental break down, and angst!

Word Count: 2.1Kish

A/N: This really was just supposed to be some random ass idea I had but it's kinda gotten out of control... whoops. Hope you all enjoy it though. There will eventually be a part two.

No one knew about the deal with a demon Kirishima made when he was just 15 years old. The one that granted him 20 years of courage and strength to always stand up and protect those in need.

In exchange, at the end of those 20 years, he’d become a demon himself. His mortal life would be over, and his life as a demon would begin. He’d serve for 500 years. Making deals of his own to gain power he could use once his contract was up.

To a 15-year-old just wanting to be brave, the deal seemed worth it. He signed his name, and that was that.

And, so, at the age of 35, Kirishima’s mortal life came to an end, and his life as a demon began.

He left everything he knew behind. His wonderful family, his amazing friends, and his partner, who he loved more than anything. They believed him to be dead, but really, he’d just changed. Become something different.

Still, he belonged to the underworld now. He had a new place to live. A new body that was definitely gonna take some getting used to. He couldn’t just go back and pretend like nothing happened.

But he did good in those 20 years. He made the most of every second! And he couldn’t take back what his younger self had done, so he tried to focus on the good and not on what he lost.

Now, he had 500 years to make new contracts and deals. Every one of them would bring him greater power in the afterlife. But that was so much easier said than done.

The problem was Kirishima retained too much of his humanity to form most of these deals. To take things people held dear because they were desperate for solutions. He still just wanted to help people at no expense to them. And most of the time, he did just that.

It started to break him down, and as his neighbor in the underworld, you watched as every day his shoulders slumped a little further, his head hung a little lower, and you really started to feel for the man.

You'd said hi to him in the weeks since he moved in, and at first, he’d smile and wave. Make some small talk, and you exchanged names. Slowly, you started calling each other friends and opening up to each other little by little, but there was always this sadness in his dark eyes that never really went away. His smile wasn’t as full as you imagined it once might have been.

And, lately, he couldn’t even meet your gaze, let alone say hello. It was odd to see a man so big look so very small. Until the day he came home and didn’t even bother closing his door.

Worried for him, you followed him inside.

“I can’t do this–!” He roared, falling to his knees with tears in his black eyes. You asked him over and over what happened, sinking to the floor with him.

“A– a mother– I felt her calling for help, so I went.” You nodded your head, following his story. Demons could not only sense each other but also souls of the desperate with nowhere else to turn; it made finding those willing to deal easier. “She was in a hospital. Her baby– her little girl– she’s got cancer. She’s only got a few weeks left to live. The mother wants to make a deal; her life for her daughters…”

He wept openly in front of you, his head falling onto your shoulder. “How– How am I supposed to take a mother from their child? How is that fair! But, that little girl could have a life–” Kirishima just broke off into rigid sobs.

Your arms wound around him. You hated the way the system worked. Demons like Kirishima were contractually obligated to obtain years of life from mortals. They didn’t always have to ask for years as payment, but it often seemed like the best deal because those years granted you power and respect, and you gained higher standing within the underworld society. Why would you think to ask anything else of a mortal being? Of course, there was more to it. A deal was never that good. The whole point of contracts was so the underworld could continue to run. Without years of life, the underground would go dark. A portion of every contract would go to ensuring that didn’t happen. Every Contract Demon had a quota to fill, but it was up to them how they achieved it.

Making deals with the helpless and hopeless was never something you could stomach either. But, deals with mortal garbage… well, you rested easy knowing they got what was coming to them. It was a decent exchange; you got some power and met your quotas, and their lives would end abruptly, and they could never torment anyone again. But those deals weren’t enough to free you from your contract so quickly.

“Kirishima, do you know there’s another way out of the years on your contract?”

Slowly, he pulled his head back, “What?”

You nodded, “If a demon doesn’t care about power, they can still help people outside of contracts and dealings. Obviously, the help they grant isn’t as great with the lack of power, but for every soul you aid, a year is removed from your contract.”

“But… the quotas…”

“Yeah, but there are plenty of horrible people wanting deals, you just have to know how to find them, and I can help with that.”

“Why the hells would I want to help awful people? They don’t deserve–”

“Kiri, I know they don’t.” You cut him off, and he quieted, “You give them the bare minimum and then snatch the rest of their lives. It does a lot more good, you meet your quota, and you gain some strength. That strength can be used to help people even more.”

He blinked a couple times like he was processing everything you were telling him. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“It worked for me. 250 years of service, done in 10.”

“Why doesn’t everyone just do this then?”

“Because helping people takes more time. It’s not as easy. And there’s not many demons who retain enough of their humanity to care enough.”

“It’s not that hard, though. I’ve been doing it since I got here.”

You smiled softly because that showed just how much of Kirishima’s humanity really was left. You wouldn’t be surprised if damn near all of it was still intact.

You held his face in your hands and brushed away his tears, “Then you probably already have a few years taken off. C’mon, let’s go to the records office, and we can check.”

It was the most hopeful you’d ever seen the man. He actually stood at his full height, towering over most other demons you passed. He walked so damn fast down the street with his wings tucked in that you practically had to jog just to keep up with him!

The two of you waited in the obscenely long line at the office and were finally called back to a cubicle.

“You’re sure you want to discuss your contract with another present?” The slender agent asked, looking down their nose at you.

Kirishima nodded his head. “Yes, they’re completely fine! Could you just tell me how many years remain on my contract?”

The agent adjusted their glasses and looked at the front of his life. Their prompt laughter made both you and Kirishima frown. “You entered your service just this year! What in the hells makes you think you have any time deducted?”

You reached for his hand, offering some support. “Could you please just tell him what remains?”

They rolled their eyes but flicked open the file. Eyes scanned along the pages, down to the proper section, and then they went wide. “Twenty years…” They mumbled, and both of you thought they meant he had twenty years taken off.

“That’s a really good start! You’ve only been here a couple months and–”

“No,” The agent cut you off to correct, “He only has twenty years left to serve.”

“WHAT?!”

There had to be some mistake. The three of you agreed on that right up until the agent noted what he’d done in his mortal life. “Oh, I see you were a Pro Hero.”

“Um, yes, yes I was.”

“A rather selfless one at that.”

His hand went to the back of his neck. “I dunno about that. I just did my job as best I could.”

“And modest, too,” They mumbled, quickly leafing through the rest of the pages before addressing him again. “Mr. Kirishima, when a person helps or harms an individual, those actions are taken note of. It doesn’t matter where you go for the afterlife; these instances of help and harm are still called into consideration. What afterlife you end up in dictates what is done with these, let’s call them, points.”

“Demons use them to either add years if harm has been done or reduce years if help. Now, an average mortal might help or harm a person or two in their life, it’s negligible really, and they often don’t know it’s happening. The exceptions are usually medical professionals and those in careers that protect people, as you were. Those people, when their time comes due, they usually end up, well, not here.”

The agent pulled out a calculator and began entering numbers. “In your mortal life, three people lost their lives as a result of actions you took.”

You saw the way he shifted uncomfortably in the too-small chair. “Correct. I remember.”

They nodded and continued. “Right. That would’ve technically brought your total to 503; however, it seems as though the lives you saved as a mortal were high enough that the three weren’t even added to your time. So, as a mortal, you saved 468 lives. Since you’ve become a demon, you’ve saved 12. And that leaves you with 20 to go, and your contract will be completed.”

The whole walk home, Kirishima grinned. He was quiet but smiling.

“I– I could go back.” He said the words so quietly you almost didn’t hear them when he closed the door. He looked up at you, “I could go home.”

The last thing you wanted to do was rip away this newfound hope, but he needed to know the risks. “That’s not really wise, Kirishima. Your friends and family, they think you died. Going back would raise a lot of questions because you’re not who you once were.”

His smile still didn’t falter. “I still have my quirk! And I will just stay in my human form! I can just tell them I was on some special assignment.”

“And when you don’t age? When they begin changing, and you remain the same, then what will you tell them?” You took a step forward. “You’ll watch them fade before your eyes.”

For a moment, he chewed his lip, considering your words and what they meant. “Is that why you never went back? Your service was up in ten years, you could’ve, but you’re still here.”

It wasn’t something you ever talked about. There was no real reason why you stuck around in the same apartment you started off in. You could’ve moved out. Start over someplace new, either in the underworld or the mortal realm if you were careful enough. You just never really saw the point. And going back to see people from your old life, it just didn’t work out.

“Let’s just say it didn’t work out like I’d hoped.”

He nodded, seeming to understand what you were getting at but still, “I’ve gotta try.” He looked so earnest as he spoke, “If I’ve got a chance to see my parents again, my friends, to be with my partner and give them the life I never thought I could. Y/N, I gotta try.”

His dedication was admirable. It was one of the many things that had you crushing on the massive demon for weeks now. And, so, you’d stay optimistic for him. Keep hoping he’d find a way to make his happy ending come true. If anyone could make it work, it’d be Kirishima.

“I got twenty more lives to save, and I know you don’t have to by any means–”

“I’d be happy to help you.”

He grinned a sharp-toothed smile. The purest one you’d seen in a really long time. With thanks on his tongue, he stepped forward and wrapped you up in a bone-crushing hug. And you decided at that moment you’d be there for him always, no matter the outcome.

#TW: Demons #TW: Character Death #TW: Cancer #mha #bnha #kirishima #kirishima x reader #kirishima x y/n #kirishima angst #kirishima hurt comfort

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hangovercurse · 4 years ago

Text

Falling Like the Stars

Pete and you had gotten in a fight the night before he left for filming, leaving you to pick up the pieces of your relationship.

Request: “pete and you take it to another room at a party 😉”

Pete Davidson x Reader

Warnings: Smut (18+), cursing, angst

A/N: This is (loosely) based off Falling Like the Stars by James Arthur

Word Count: 3038

In all eight months of your relationship with Pete, you’d never gone this long without talking. Your phone was right in front of you, his contact in your favorites. But you couldn’t be the first to fold.

It had been 3 and a half weeks, 25 days, since he left for filming. Since that stupid fight.

Maybe you pushed him too far, maybe you expected too much of him, but you’d been together for eight months. And you knew you loved him. The night before he left, he’d taken you out on the most romantic date you’d ever been on, and when you guys got back to your place, you told him you loved him. And he didn’t say it back.

He didn’t say anything, he just shut down. After you begged him to say something, anything, he just gave you a frustrated, “what do you want me to say?”

And thus, the fight ensued, you accusing him of not caring about your relationship and him yelling at you for pressuring him into something he wasn’t ready for.

And maybe you were in the wrong, but you were hurt. You had put everything on the line for him, every inch of your soul was bare to him. And he crushed it. So, you fought. And he left. And you hadn’t talked since except a text from him saying he landed safely.

It was killing you inside. But you couldn’t keep this going if he wasn’t as invested as you were. So, you left it up to him to make the first move.

In the meantime, you occupied your mind with work, television, and mindless scrolling through social media. Your timeline was filled with pictures of your fans, activism posts, and fan accounts of Pete that you followed. One post in particular caught your eye, a picture you didn’t even know the fans had.

It was a picture you had taken of Pete on your first date, the morning after the two of you had met. The memory made you smile.

You were outside on Colson’s balcony, taking hits of the cigarette in your hand and watching the crowd of drunken partygoers below you.

Suddenly the sliding glass door opened behind you, and the most beautiful man you’d ever seen walked out. His hair was dark, his eyes even darker. He seemed gentle, kind, but also like he could rip you to shreds without hesitation. It was intoxicating.

“Oh,” he said upon seeing you, “sorry I didn’t think anyone would be out here.”

You smiled, “you’re good. I don’t mind the company.” He nodded, coming to lean against the railing next to you. You offered him the cigarette, which he graciously took.

“What’s a girl like you doing up here all by herself?” He asked.

You raised an eyebrow, “a girl like me?” A smirk made its way to your face when he looked over at you, eyes raking over your figure.

“I mean, someone as stunning as you shouldn’t be up here all alone. You should be down there, stealing everyone’s breath.”

His comment made you blush slightly. “It’s a bit too much down there for me. I don’t mind all the people but none of them are gonna remember anything in the morning. I don’t want to be that person. I want to remember tonight.”

This time, his eyebrow raised. “Is tonight a special night for you?” He asked.

You bit your lip, turning to face him fully. “I’m not sure yet. You tell me.”

He moved closer to you, hand delicately touching your waist. You took his hesitancy as a question of permission, to which you responded by reaching a hand to run up his arm, stopping on his shoulder. The man smirked, moving even closer to you.

“I’m Y/N.” You told him quietly.

His head dipped down, lips meeting yours, and you closed your eyes, taking in the sensation. Your mouths moved together in sync as his grip on your waist got tighter, pulling you closer to him. You brought your second hand up to wrap around his neck, lifting yourself up on your toes to get better access to his plush lips.

He pulled away from you slowly as your eyes opened, finding his brown ones exploring your face. “I’m Pete.” He whispered, before connecting your lips again.

His hands squeezed your waist, lifting you up slightly. You took the hint and jumped up, wrapping your legs around his waist as one hand moved up to support your back. He carried you back inside to the bedroom the balcony was attached to.

His mouth never left yours, his tongue lightly swiping against your lip. You granted him access, the feeling of your tongues colliding a pleasurable one, it made you feel even closer to him.

He set you onto the bed, finally detaching your lips. You whined as he stepped towards the door but stopped when his hand turned the lock. He chuckled at your neediness, rushing back to the bed, and climbing on top of you, forcing you to lay back onto the bed.

Your hands went to his hair, tangling your fingers in the strands. His hands traveled your middle, reaching the bottom of your shirt. He paused before pulling it up, making sure it was okay with you that he did so.

Once the fabric was removed to reveal your bra-clad chest, he smirked down at you, taking in your body. Pete let out a soft “wow,” that you probably weren’t supposed to hear.

It made you smirk, your hands removing the jacket from him before pulling his shirt over his head. The tattoos on his chest and arms revealed themselves, and you took a moment to admire them. Absentmindedly, you reached out to trace one on his arm, making him grin. Instead of saying anything, he reconnected your lips.

His bare skin on yours made heat run from every part of your body straight to your core. You could feel him hardening through his jeans, and you wanted nothing more than to rip them off. Pete had a similar idea, hands moving to unclasp your bra and he pulled the fabric from your skin. His hands remained there, massaging the tissue, and occasionally squeezing your hardening nipples with his fingers.

“Fuck you’re so pretty.” He mumbled against your mouth, moving his head down to press a soft kiss to your neck. One kiss turned into two, then three, and suddenly Pete was kissing a path to your breasts.

Once his lips connected with your nipples, you let out a sigh of pleasure. His teeth grazed the bud lightly, switching between each breast to give them both the attention they deserved.

The hands that you had tangled in his hair pulled lightly, nails scratching his skull in a way that drove him crazy. He finally left your chest, pressing sloppy kisses down your stomach until he reached the top of your jeans.

Pausing, he looked up at you. “Do you want this?” He asked, sweetly.

You bit your lip, looking down at him and taking in his slightly disheveled appearance. “Yes, Pete. Please.” You asked, earning a smile from him. His hands unbuttoned your pants, pulling them down your legs slowly before tossing them across the room. He stood up and removed his own pants, leaving only two sets of thin cloth in between your heat and his member.

His face returned to its position at the top of your panties. He lightly nipped at the skin there, causing a small groan to escape your lips. He smirked, grabbing the top of your panties in his teeth, and dragging them downwards, exposing your pussy. He used his hands to help his mouth pull the material all the way down your legs, your panties soon joining the rest of your clothes on the floor somewhere.

You took in a breath when his hands grabbed your thighs, spreading them apart. His breath hit your heat as he looked up at you, basking in the beauty of your expression. He’d barely touched you and you were already putty in his hands.

At this thought he brought his lips to your clit, sucking on the small bundle. At the contact you moaned out softly, hands gripping the sheets below you. His tongue peaked out to lick at your slit, slowly dipping into your heat.

He switched his focus from your slit to your clit and back intermediately, one hand eventually dancing up your thigh to join him. As his lips sucked on your clit his middle finger pressed into your wet hole. Another moan came from you as his long finger stretched you out.

He smiled against you when he heard your sounds as he pumped the digit in and out of you. When he felt you were ready, he added a second finger. Picking up his pace, he started curling his fingers as he pumped, hitting your walls.

You could feel your climax building, but he pulled out before you could get too close. He sat up on his knees, eyes finding yours. You watched as he slowly licked his fingers clean, climbing off the bed and finding his jeans. He grabbed a foil wrapper from one of the pockets and brought it back to the bed. He pulled his underwear down, exposing his long, hard dick.

You moaned at the sight, excited at the thought of him filling you up. He rolled the condom onto his member, pumping himself a few times. He lined himself up with your entrance, watching your face.

“You still want this?” He asked.

You loved how he kept asking, kept making sure this was okay with you. “Yes.” You let out, softly, the anticipation killing you.

At your consent, he pushed into you, slowly. His large cock filled you up, stretching your pussy out. Pete let out a quiet groan as you adjusted to him. His lips found their way to your neck again, hot breath hitting your skin.

He pulled out slowly, pushing back in as he pressed a kiss to your neck. “Fuck you feel so good.” He mumbled into your skin. He thrusted into you again, harder this time. Your hands went to his back, gripping onto him.

Pete started picking up his pace, dick thrusting in and out of you harder every time. Your nails began to dig into his skin, definitely leaving marks. You let out small whimpers every time he hit the perfect spot in your tight pussy.

More kisses were placed on your neck as Pete pounded into you, your hips rolling up to meet his. The vibrations from his moans against your skin made everything feel so much better, and you knew you were getting close.

The feeling of his cock twitching alerted you to the fact that he was close, too. So, you let out a whine, “I’m close, Pete.”

He hummed against your neck, “me too, baby.” He continued to push you closer and closer to your climax, “mmm, feel so good around me princess.”

His lips came up to meet yours, tongue establishing dominance in your mouth. One hand found your breast, rubbing the bud between his fingers. The stimulations sent you closer and closer to the edge, until you could feel yourself at the tipping point.

The only sound in the room was your lips against his and the slapping of your skin as Pete’s cock filled you up more and more. His thrusts got sloppier and sloppier until he moaned against your lips, his hot seed filling the condom inside of you. The sensation sent you into an abyss of bliss, your orgasm crashing over you.

Your hips bucked into his as you came undone, his cock still thrusting into you but much lazier now. The feeling of a thousand pins spread through your body, creating a warm and fuzzy feeling.

Once you had both come down from your highs, he pulled out of you. He disposed of the condom and grabbed his underwear, pulling it on. He then tossed your panties and his shirt over to you, which you gladly put on.

Pete crashed onto the bed beside you, pulling you into his side. You nuzzled into him, taking in his scent of cigarettes, sex, and chocolate. You pressed a kiss to the side of his chest, the closest place your lips could get to. He chuckled, pressing his lips to the side of your head.

“I figured instead of joining the lame ass party downstairs, we could steal this room for the night. Then maybe I can take you to breakfast in the morning?” He asked, watching for your reaction.

You looked up at him, a smile on his face, “I would really, really like that.”

Breakfast was, obviously, successful, as you and Pete went out for dinner the next day, and then two days after that. Eventually he was bringing you to meet his family and you introduced him to your co-workers. It wasn’t until he took you backstage to Saturday Night Live that he officially called you his girlfriend whilst introducing you to Colin Jost and Michael Che, but you had both been exclusively with each other since you’d met.

You frowned, thinking about those memories. God, you missed Pete. You should have never said anything, you should have just let it go. Now you might never get him back.

But every part of you craved him. You wanted him here to hold you and kiss you. You wanted him to buy you stupid gifts like he did sometimes. You wanted to talk about literally nothing but that be enough for you two.

You couldn’t help but let your mind drift to where it would often go to. You and Pete in a few years, buying a house together. Your kids playing in the backyard. Going to sports games and recitals with them, taking them to see Pete at work. Getting married in front of all of your friends and family.

You wanted all of it. You had never wanted that life before you met Pete, but now it was all you could think about. You didn’t know what your future would look like without Pete, and you didn’t want to know.

So, against your vow to yourself, you called him.

“Y/N?” He asked. He sounded tired, sad. Hearing him made you freeze; you’d missed his voice. “Is everything okay?”

You bit your lip before answering, your voice coming out as a whisper, “yeah I just, I just miss you, is all.”

Pete let out a sad sigh on the other end of the phone. “I miss you, too.” He said. “I should’ve called you, I just wanted to give you space. I know we didn’t leave off in a good place.”

You stayed quiet, tears coming to your eyes as you recalled the night again. “It’s okay, Pete. I shouldn’t have thrown that on you and I shouldn’t have pushed you to say… that.” You whispered. “I’m sorry.”

You could tell Pete was thinking because he didn’t answer right away. “No, I- I shouldn’t have left you like that. We should’ve talked about it more.”

You shook your head even though he couldn’t see you, sniffling. “Pete it’s okay, really. I was in the wrong and I pushed you away. I made you leave.”

“Yeah, but I should’ve stayed.” You could hear the sadness in his voice and it broke your heart. He sighed, “princess, give me like five minutes and then we can talk about this more, okay?” You hummed into the receiver and the line went dead.

You sunk further into the couch, tears pouring from your eyes. You felt like you were crumbling into little pieces without him. And now he was avoiding important conversations with you.

You came to the realization that you should’ve made the night he left; he doesn’t want you anymore. The thought made you breakdown even more, your breathing quickening and sobs escaping you as you buried your face into your hands that were covered in the sleeves of Pete’s sweater.

A few minutes later you heard a knock on your door. Even though you were in no state to answer it, you did so anyways. You found your person standing there, shoulders hunched and eyes red. Pete held a teddy bear in one hand and a heart shaped box of chocolates in the other. He looked as good as ever, but also like he hadn’t slept in weeks.

“I was literally pulling onto your street when you called me.” He chuckled as you led him inside. He set the teddy bear and chocolates on your coffee table, pulling you onto the couch next to him. “I couldn’t stand how we left things so I asked for the next few days off so that I could come see you.” He grabbed your hand lacing your fingers together.

“I mean seriously, Y/N. I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t even focus on the movie because I was just always thinking about you. It was terrifying.”

You smiled a little bit, scooting closer to him. When you spoke, your voice came out hoarse, “I missed you so much.” You couldn’t believe that he was actually here. That he had flown back to New York just to see you. “I’m sorry I made you leave and didn’t say goodbye.”

He grabbed your chin, pulling your eyes up to meet his. “I’m sorry that I was too scared to tell you how I feel.” You gave him a quizzical look. “I was so fucking scared of admitting it to myself, much less to you. But I know now, I’m sure now.”

“What are you talking about?” You whispered.

He leaned in close to you, breath hitting your lips, “I’m not scared anymore.” He said, pressing his lips to yours in a soft, short kiss. “I’m in love with you, princess.”

Your breath got caught in your throats as the words you’d been aching to hear fell from his lips. You leaned forward, kissing him again. “So fuckin in love with you.” He mumbled.

You rested your forehead against his, breaths intertwining. “I love you, Pete.”

#pete davidson #pete davidson x reader #pete davidson imagine #pete davidson angst #pete davidson fluff #pete davidson smut

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yellowocaballero · 4 years ago

Text

Jon's Trapped in Temporal Time-Out: A TMA Time Travelling Tale

Sasha was tipping some whiskey from her secret flask into her tea when Tim poked his head into the breakroom and announced that he had found a corpse.

Sasha and Martin, hunched over their paltry lunches and pathetic lives situated upon a rickety metal breakroom table and equally rickety metal chairs, stared at him.

“Like,” Sasha said finally, “a human one?”

Tim shrugged. “Humanoid? I didn’t want to poke it and see if it was fleshy, so I guess the jury’s out.”

Hm. Sasha put her flask away. The day was no longer boring, so it was unnecessary.

The most relevant questions ought to be asked first. “Should we tell Jon?”

“He might throw a bitch fit about how corpses are unhygienic, so no?”

Martin drained his tea and stood up from the rickety metal chair, resigned. “I’ll get the broom.”

I kept on bitching about how much I dislike the beginning scenes of TMA time travelling AUs so my friend @lazuliquetzal (who wrote the best TMA time travelling fic in the fandom) told me to put my money where my mouth is. It’s nowhere near her level, but in my defense it’s probably even stupider than Reflection. 10K of stupid under the cut.

Sasha was tipping some whiskey from her secret flask into her tea when Tim poked his head into the breakroom and announced that he had found a corpse.

Sasha and Martin, hunched over their paltry lunches and pathetic lives situated upon a rickety metal breakroom table and equally rickety metal chairs, stared at him.

“Like,” Sasha said finally, “a human one?”

Tim shrugged. “Humanoid? I didn’t want to poke it and see if it was fleshy, so I guess the jury’s out.”

Hm. Sasha put her flask away. The day was no longer boring, so it was unnecessary.

The most relevant questions ought to be asked first. “Should we tell Jon?”

“He might throw a bitch fit about how corpses are unhygienic, so no?”

Martin drained his tea and stood up from the rickety metal chair, resigned. “I’ll get the broom.”

****

There was, indeed, a corpse in the Archives.

More specifically, in the stacks. The worst place to die, or least be dumped. Sasha had to admit the logic of it: it was the darkest depths of the library that Martin had informed her was ‘somewhat creepy’ and ‘kind of ominous’ so ‘please stop sleeping there you’re going to give me a heart attack’. After Martin flipped on a few lights that were never flipped on (apparently Elias was a cheapskate, which explained the breakroom) they could all gawk at the corpse to their heart’s content.

Very kindly and thoughtfully, Tim asked Martin if he wanted to stay out of the library and maybe to ‘tell someone’ or something. Both Sasha and Tim had mutually and silently agreed that Martin seemed the type to have a delicate constitution. Granted, he hadn’t seemed the type to win Magnus Anarchist every month by breaking into abandoned buildings with absolutely no shame, so maybe he was the kind that surprised you.

But Martin had just looked a little unimpressed. “Do you seriously think this is my first corpse? I went to university.”

That somewhat intimidated Sasha, who abruptly worried that she had missed out on an essential university experience again. “Is that a typical university experience?”

Martin paused a beat.

“Uh,” he said, “yeah, sure, of course. Hazing, you know.”

“Is that what hazing…?”

“Fraternities.”

Tim, from where he had been standing at the entrance to the stacks snapping on the sterile gloves he had liberated from the cleaning supply closet, looked delighted. “You were in a frat too, Martin? What kind of hardcore frat had corpse hazings? Was it the Sigma Gammas? My frat always thought they were way too crazy, but we were a business one -”

“You know what,” Martin said, “let’s just worry about the corpse.”

After Sasha tied her hair in a ponytail and Martin snapped on his own gloves, they awkwardly approached the aisle where Tim had been trying to find a reference book for Jon. Sasha was worried that they would have to hunt for it a little, or that there would be a bad jump scare, but when they found it she saw that it wasn’t subtle at all.

It was sprawled on the ground, face mashed into the cheap and somewhat gross carpet. Sasha approached it with absolutely no hesitation, which Tim and Martin gladly let her do, and squatted down to get a better look at the figure.

She definitely needed to make a coroner’s report. She was the objective expert in coroner’s reports.

“Tim, can you run back and get one of Jon’s silly little tape recorders for my coroner’s report?”

“Did you just see that on the telly?” Tim asked skeptically. “Because if you did -”

“Oh, here one is. That’s really convenient!” Martin grabbed one off the shelf and pressed play, letting the tape roll. “Good idea, Sasha. We need proof to Jon that we were researching.”

Probably...not what Jon meant for them to be researching, but Sasha liked to believe that it was the intent that mattered. She pulled a pencil out of her pencil skirt pocket, poking the figure thoughtfully. “Report by Sasha James, Archival Assistant.” There, now it was work. “At 1:30pm today, Tim Stoker discovered a corpse in the Archives, thereby referred to as John Doe -”

“Do we have to call it John Doe?” Tim complained, standing next ot her and crossing his arms. “Then we have too many Johns, it’ll get confusing.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Sasha said dismissively. “Ours is Jon, this guy’s John. Completely different.”

“Sasha, I’m not sure that’s how words work.”

“What are you, an English major?”

“Yes! I was an editor for a living!”

“Sorry if I don’t listen to guys who were fired from book editing school -”

“Uh,” Martin said, “have we checked to see if he’s actually dead?”

Sasha and Tim fell silent. Sasha looked at Tim. Tim shook his head.

“Seriously, mate?” Sasha asked, unimpressed.

“I didn’t want to touch the corpse!” Tim cried. “So sue me! It’s not as if he’s moving!”

Pussy. Sasha gently reached out and pushed aside a little of the corpse’s very long and pretty curly hair. What was that, 3C? Jesus, that had to be work. Sasha was 3A and the amount of hair care products she owned was insane.

She waved her hand at the boys for silence and put her thumb against his pulse, concentrating hard. Martin quietly walked over and crouched down too, eyeing his chest.

“I don’t feel a pulse,” Sasha said finally.

“Also, uh, I’m not a doctor,” Martin said, “but he’s definitely not breathing.”

“I told you,” Tim said defensively. “You just look at the thing, and you go - yep, that’s a corpse!”

“Corpse appears to be an ethnically ambiguous adult man with very nice hair,” Sasha said loudly. Martin helpfully held out the recorder to catch her voice better. “Maybe 190cm. Incredibly skinny - potential cause of death. He’s dressed in...some very ratty clothing. Potentially homeless.”

“It definitely smells,” Tim said, pinching his nose. Sasha didn’t blame him - the clothing was an overlarge green hoodie, ratty and threadbare, and his jeans weren’t any better. His boots were worn and soft leather. “Maybe he’s a homeless guy who snuck in and died?”

“That’s so sad,” Martin said softly. “Also a little gross.”

“Have some respect for the dead, guys,” Sasha said, as she poked the dead guy with a pencil. “Tim, go flip him over.”

Tim held his hands up, stepping away. “I couldn’t possibly. Martin loves flipping people over.”

“This again?” Martin asked, frustrated. “This is just like when you made me handle the Rawlings case because you’re scared of the suburbs!”

“They have too many eyes, Martin!”

“I am surrounded by cowards,” Sasha noted for the recorder. Nothing for it, then. Sasha carefully straightened, wobbling on her heels, before solidly wiggling her hands underneath the corpse’s chest. He was cold - dead a while.

It was surprisingly difficult to flip over a limp adult man. Sasha was strong, but the corpse’s flesh was weak, and he was all floppy. Eventually Tim got over himself long enough to help her, making a very disgusted face the entire time, and they were able to finally get a good look at the man’s face.

Abruptly, upon seeing it, they all quieted.

There was something about seeing a man splayed out on the ground that was a little funny, if you worked for the Magnus Institute and had probably encountered a Leitener two years ago and lost all empathy. No more impediments in the search for science. But there was something very different about looking at a person, who had a nose and lips and a very ratty hoodie, and knowing that it was no longer a person. Just a lot of cloth and meat and blood and organs and nice hair that once was a person, back when things were easier and the world was a little less harsh.

But maybe Sasha was caught by sentimentality: after all, the corpse looked a little like Jon.

Judging from the stunned faces of her compatriots as they all bent around the figure, they all thought the same thing. Tim’s jaw was open, and Martin’s hand was covering his mouth in shock.

“Man,” Tim said. “This sucks. And it’s really creepy.”

“He must have been really gorgeous,” Martin said. “That’s so sad.”

Actually, Sasha tilted her head and took another look. He had sharp and severe features, elegant and striking. A large and thin, sharp nose, and equally sharp lips. His face was just as sharp and gaunt, as emancipated as the rest of him. He had strange scars trailing up his neck and curving around his jaw, but it just kind of accentuated the intense atmosphere.

It was probably a pretty stupid thing to focus on, but in her defense it wasn’t really the face of a homeless guy. Well, maybe. Hot homeless people existed.

Sasha frowned. She’s only met one other person this hot.

“Hey,” she said, “doesn’t he look like Jon?”

Both the men titled their heads.

Finally, Tim said, “Nah, he’s hotter.”

“Agreed,” Sasha said. “I think the scars really do it.”

“Uh, guys,” Martin said.

Sasha grabbed her tape recorder out of Martin’s hands, resuming her coroner’s report. “Subject appears to be in his thirties. Weirdly attractive, but that’s probably not as important as we feel it is.” She looked down at his hands, carefully using her pencil to push up the sleeve. “What looks like an aged and badly healed burn scar on his right hand. Supports homeless guy evidence.”

“Knife scar over his throat,” Tim quietly observed. “Someone tried to kill this guy.”

“Guys,” Martin said.

“Well, I guess this is the point where we worry about body disposal,” Sasha said, straightening. “I think Elias could handle this discreetly and professionally, but that might involve letting Jon know. And I don’t think any of us want that kind of stress in our lives.”

“So, are we not even pretending to want to call the cops, or…?”

“Listen to me!”

Both Tim and Sasha shut up, somewhat guiltily. Martin had straightened too, fists balled, looking firm and determined and resolute - everything that Martin wasn’t, really. Martin lived unsure of himself, never expressing his own feelings or ending every opinion with an “I don’t know, maybe, that’s just my thoughts, what do you think?”.

So Tim and Sasha paid attention, and when Sasha nodded encouragingly at him he seemed to find further courage. Solemnly, with the air of a wise man by the side of the road, Martin said, “This guy isn’t hotter than Jon.”

Christ. Sasha takes it all back.

Tim propped a hand on his hip supportively as Sasha rolled her eyes. “Look, mate,” Tim said, “I know that you think Jon’s the hottest person in existence, and maybe objectively he’s fine as hell, but once you know him for longer than three months he loses all attractiveness. It would be like being into the DMV clerk. The really pretentious cousin at all of your family reunions who tries to explain your own job to you. The dude in your English class who thinks he invented feminism.”

“That was you,” Sasha said.

“I am the objective expert in Jon,” Martin said firmly, shutting down the dissent. “He’s, like, my muse, okay? And can I say, as I have spent so many long hours memorizing the curve of his jaw - that’s the same jaw.”

If Sasha had a retort to that, or if Tim wanted to judge Martin for his taste in men further, neither of them had a chance. There wasn't an opportunity to say anything more, because the corpse opened its eyes.

Sasha’s first thought was this: wow, what green eyes.

Sasha’s second thought was: the fuck?

His eyes didn’t focus on her, or snap anywhere. They drifted a little lazily, fixed on the right, but the man was undoubtedly aware. His fingers twitched, he tilted his head from left to right, and his left hand - doubtlessly the hand that still felt texture - clenched the thin and cheap rug. The man’s jaw slackened a little, as if in surprise.

For their part, the Assistants frantically looked at each other, all conveying the exact same thought - you said he was dead!

Sasha froze to her spot, petrified. She could handle corpses, or coroner’s reports, or mysteries. Sasha was intelligent, unkind, firm, socially incompetent, and a Libra. She could handle the dead, but the living? Sasha had no idea what to do with alive people.

But Tim did. He hesitated two moments, reeling back in shock, before he abruptly composed himself. He crouched down to the guy, and modulated his voice to sound calming and firm. “Hey, don’t strain yourself. Are you alright? Do you hurt anywhere?”

The man turned his head in Tim's direction, hiding his expression from Sasha, but she saw Tim’s eyes widen. Martin, standing closer to his feet, wrung his hands - clearly torn on what to do, uncertain how to help. Martin always hated being uncertain how to help the most. Which was pretty unfortunate, because Martin always wanted to help, and Martin was always uncertain.

“Can you speak?” Tim asked gently. “If you can’t speak, go ahead and knock on the floor for me, okay?”

“If we pack him into your car, we can say that we found him on the street,” Sasha piped up. As much as she distrusted NHS, and as much as the NHS refused to touch anybody who had ever stepped foot inside the Institute, they could hardly refuse somebody if they just lied their ass off about it. “They’ll have to treat him then, right?”

“We could make it so much worse if we move him,” Martin said quickly, just as strangely firm. “We need to take our chances with 999.”

“We don’t even know if he’s injured,” Sasha pointed out, somewhat optimistically. “Maybe this whole thing can just, like, not be a problem.”

Yeah, Sasha definitely preferred corpses.

The man was opening and closing his mouth, before he coughed wetly. Sasha clinically noted that it was the first time she had seen his chest move. As Tim reached forward, murmuring gently, and helped the man sit up, she saw that his chest didn’t move at all.

“Alright, let’s try to get you up.” Tim helped the man shift so he was leaning against the bookcase - uncomfortable, but a better position if he started coughing up blood. “We should fetch you some water - Martin, I don’t think he has any injury like that, he just seems out of it. His eyes aren’t focusing on me at all.”

Strangely, the man scoffed at that. The sound made him cough again, but the derision was unmistakable.

The derision was extremely familiar.

When Sasha looked at Martin his eyes were wide behind his glasses, and she knew that he had heard the same thing that she did.

Finally, with a raspy and hoarse voice, the man said, “Well, isn’t this fucking fun.”

Everybody stared at him. His voice...different, definitely, with a less posh accent and strained vocal cords scratching his tones. But when Sasha glanced at Tim, she just knew that he was remembering when Jon had insisted on coming into work with a terrible cold and Martin had to bully him home. He had sounded eerily like…

“Is this your idea of a joke?” the man said.

Tim, from where he was crouched next to the guy, turned his attention back to him. “I’m a funny guy, but last time I checked head injuries aren’t a joke.” He tracked his finger across the man’s eyes, frowning when they didn’t follow. “You definitely have a concussion, mate. If you can walk, we need to -”

“Lord, alright, I get it.” The man raised his burned hand and clumsily rubbed his eyes. “You’re mad at me, I’m sleeping on the couch, whatever. Is all of this really necessary?”

“Uh,” Tim said intelligently. “Mate, I’m not your boyfriend.”

The man waved his other hand in Tim’s direction as he pressed his fingers into his eyes in exhaustion. “I’m hardly speaking to you.” Tim’s jaw dropped in shock as the man angled his face upwards, the crown of his head jamming uncomfortably against the metal shelving. “In my defense, I was doing the best I could with the resources you gave me. It’s water under the bridge. I’ve forgotten about it already! So let’s just get back to our eldritch hellscape.”

Everybody stared at each other.

“We should move this into the break room,” Martin said. “There’s tea there.”

“Oh, don’t be rude,” Jon said, “making Martin into a caricature of himself. You like Martin, you told me so.”

“Counterpoint,” Sasha said weakly, “the bullpen has Jon. And I really don’t want to explain this to Jon.”

“I don’t even know who this one is,” the man said. “What? Not going to tell me?”

“Okay, like, fucking rude, but whatever.”

“I don’t know who you’re talking to,” Tim said firmly, reaching out and putting a firm hand on the man’s arm. The man didn’t recoil or jerk away, just looking down in vague surprise. “But they aren’t here right now. You’re in the basement of the Magnus Institute, alright? I’m Tim Stoker, at your service, and these are my coworkers. I think you have a brain injury. If you can walk, we need to get you -”

“I can’t eat here,” the man said, but he made no effort to remove Tim’s arm. He moved his other hand, pressing it against Tim’s own, as if they were friends. “Cutting me off from my Knowledge -” it was capitalized, Sasha could hear it “ - chaining me to my desk, for - what? You’re not even answering me? Come on!” The man’s voice raised, and for the first time Sasha could hear something ragged in it. “Don’t give me the silent treatment!”

“Jon.”

It was Martin, standing at a distance from the man - from all of them. He was wringing his hands again, shoulders hunched and tense, but his expression was caught in that same mysterious firmness.

The man didn't react. Not in surprise, not in shock, not in unrecognition. He just scowled a little, ignoring all of them.

“Jon,” Martin said, louder. “This isn’t solving anything. Don’t be stubborn.”

“I’m not the one being stubborn, Martin,” Jon - Jon?! - muttered, folding his arms. Like an infant. Like, hypothetically, something Jon would do. “I just don’t think omniscient fear gods should be petty.”

Everybody looked at each other.

“This needs tea,” Martin proclaimed finally, and everybody nodded in silent agreement.

Every nodded in agreement - even, strangely enough, Jonathan Sims himself.

****

This plan had a few complexities.

The first complexity was dealing with Jon - their Boss - himself. In an act of cunning psychological warfare, Martin had gone ahead of them and used his endless and infinite subtle acts of manipulation to guarantee that Jon wouldn’t interrupt them. This situation was already Quite A Bit, nobody wanted to babysit their boss.

Who Sasha frequently felt as if she babysat a bit. Having the youngest person in the office be the very rigid and authoritarian boss was objectively a little funny. But you know what’s not funny? Transphobia.

Eventually Martin came back and waved them forward, and Tim gently yet firmly dragged the man upwards and put a hand on his back.

“Do you mind if I touch you?” Tim asked. He sounded resigned about it - barely expecting Jon to respond. “Let me know how you want me to guide you.”

“Oh, it’s whatever. If you’re going to play it this way.” Jon easily looped his arm through Tim’s, who didn’t bother to mask his shock. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Sasha went ahead of them, watching Tim walk Jon down the aisle - hah! - with his arm looped through his elbow and a hand on his back. It was exactly the kind of care and meticulousness that Sasha always saw in him when it came to others. He literally walked grannies across the street. It was horrendous. She got second-hand embarrassed whenever she saw it.

Tim was loudly, extremely, messily kind. He was a person who adopted lost causes, like young men too grumpy to make real friends and women who only knew academia and never people. Sasha told him that once he got his teeth into something he never let go. It would get him into trouble one day. Maybe it already had.

Sure enough, when Sasha opened the library door for them and peeked her head into the hallway, she saw that Jon’s office door was very firmly shut and locked. Even more incriminatingly, she heard his cute little theater drama monologues starting. Tim had found Jon’s theater aspirations very adorable and he had tried recording them to put on his Snapchat and maybe get him discovered by an agent, but unfortunately the videos made Tim’s phone bleed. They had given Martin ten pounds to taste the blood. Man would do anything for ten pounds, but seeing as they all worked this job that probably applied to all them.

A workplace made out of people who always picked ‘dare’ in truth or dare. It was kind of a miracle they were still alive. Sasha was a little uncertain how she had survived to thirty five, actually.

Once Sasha gave the all clear, Tim was able to bring Jon (Neo-Jon? Nega-Jon? Dark Jon? Mean Jon? No, that was just Jon) into the bullpen. Softly narrating what he was doing, he pulled out a chair and lowered Jon into it.

Homeless Jon hasn’t been blind for very long, Sasha noted clinically. Long enough that he seemed more mildly irritated by it than anything else, but instead of orienting himself or testing out where he was he just kind of slumped in his chair.

“Jon - uh, the Boss is taken care of?” Tim asked Martin, who was rapidly bustling into the bullpen with four cups of tea that he seemed to be under the impression would help. Tim had sat Homeless Jon in Martin’s chair, which seemed to fluster Martin a bit.

“Uh, yeah. Gave him a normal statement to get his guard down, then five of the - you know, weird - statements and said that he has to go through all of them today. He’ll be in there for an hour at least.”

Sasha frowned. “After two he gets a headache and gets bitchy.”

“Three o’clock exactly,” Tim said solemnly.

“Oh, leave off,” Homeless Jon said, “it wasn’t that bad.”

Everybody double taked and looked at each other significantly - which was quickly becoming their predominant mode of communication in a ruthless act of ableism. But Martin just held out a cup of tea, faltering as he clearly stopped to wonder the easiest way to give it to him.

“Can you hold out your hands, Jon? I have some tea for you. It’s hot, so be careful, okay?”

“If the tea’s spiders I’m going to take it out on Annabelle,” Weird Jon said, but he held out his hands anyway and let Martin put the mug in them. He sniffed it cautiously, checking for spiders, before taking a cautious sip.

To Sasha and Tim, Martin said, “I know, he’s going to fall asleep after two. I mean, it might be because I drugged his tea a little -”

Weird Jon spat out his tea back into the mug.

“ - so we shouldn’t be interrupted,” Martin said brightly, clapping his hands. “Now! I think it’s time for explanations, don’t you?” He turned his mighty gaze upon Thankfully Blind Jon, who was occupied carefully holding the tea away from himself. “Drink your tea, Jon.”

Jon drank his tea. His expression twisted. “It tastes just like his.”

Everybody looked at each other. Tim mouthed the word ‘time traveller’ very clearly. Both Sasha and Martin nodded. It was the obvious explanation.

“An explanation now, please,” Martin said pleasantly. “If you’re a time traveller, you can tell us. This is a safe space.”

Jon-from-the-future’s expression harshened in creases. He hadn’t once relaxed, expression permanently tightened in annoyance and disgruntlement. It was ridiculously Jon.

Definitely a time traveller. You didn’t work at the Magnus Institute without secretly spending your life deeply hoping you run into a time traveller. Every researcher upstairs secretly prayed to discover the majesty. Everyone in Artifact Storage eagerly gathered around mysterious clocks and dared each other to touch them. Sasha, Queen of Truth-or-Dare, was the undisputed expert in making other people touch weird clocks and recording their reactions.

“Fine,” Super Time Traveller Jon said. “I know this is what you want. Statement of a stupid punishment by the pettiest little color in the evil crayon box. Recorded by the Archivist, in situ. Statement begins.”

Wow, Jon still had his job in the future? That’s a surprise.

Martin was mouthing the word ‘evil crayon box’ to himself, looking increasingly concerned. The forgotten tape recorder, clenched in Sasha’s fist without her even realizing it, clicked and whirred.

Then the Archivist began to speak.

***

In the hazy amber of a memory, there exists an office.

You can see it clearly in your mind’s Eye, even now. You could likely navigate all of it blindfolded - which you now see that your god has the intention to test. Every corner of it is known to you, in the most subtle and mundane of ways. There’s a dust bunny in that corner, never tidied. A mysterious stain on the far right ceiling. The faint smell of blood, just under the vents. The hot waft of tea; your hands wrapped around a mug.

Through these lonely offices, ghosts roam. They cling to desks and chairs; lingering in favorite mugs or in forgotten hair ties. A metal file cabinet holding neat rows of clothing, blood-stained jackets abandoned. A whiteboard with stubborn flakes of dried marker, forgotten handwriting clinging to life. These imprints no longer evoke terror or grief or pain. They are as familiar as the bloodstains and tea. Even death, eventually, is familiar. After long enough in a nightmare, it becomes indistinguishable from reality.

There is nothing unfamiliar in the Magnus Institute.

Nothing save these voices, emerging from nothing. Every one of your six million senses have been cut off - your hundred eyes reduced to none. You are cognizant only of two familiar voices, and one unfamiliar one. A firm hand, with calloused fingers from leafing through aged paper. A creaky desk chair - Martin’s, undoubtedly, always squeaking as he fidgeted in distraction. The air tastes the same as it used to back then, before the AC broke and no repairman would step inside to repair it. Daisy did, eventually. Three familiar voices, rendered unfamiliar by the harsh tides of wind and cruel plastic hands.

You are afraid of very little, these days. In this world that you’ve built, there is nothing that can harm you. The twisted little puppet strung up in his tower has been long since been disposed of, and the awful and terrifying future has settled into a gentle present. The apocalypse grows tedious after a while, and the buffet of fears start tasting a little samey.

But if anything could frighten you, this would. If anything would petrify you, it would be Tim’s kind smile, which died a year before Tim did. If anything could freeze you to your chair, it would be the sight of Sasha with red-rimmed eyes asking why you never even noticed that she was gone.

The sanctuary of memory corrupted. A mental place of safety infiltrated. A mind turned inside out, exposing its vulnerable flesh to the world.

There is nothing else this could be but your own personal hell.

Your loyal servant crouches on bended knee, giving this final prayer to you. He asks, humbly and with great reverence, one simple question:

Why couldn’t this have waited until after I got my milk?

***

The spell ruptured.

It was almost tangible, like a change in air pressure making your ears pop. Sasha blinked harshly, rubbing at her ears and trying to soothe strange ringing. Tim exhaled heavily and Martin screwed his eyes open and shut harshly, as if he was seeing spots.

The only person unaffected was Weirdly Christian Jon, who was slumped in Martin’s chair with his arms folded over his chest. He was still looking at the ceiling - speaking to whoever he had been addressing this entire time.

“Just one day,” Jon was saying. “Just one day! It was going to be a nice day! We had decided to take a day trip to the Flesh garden and have a picnic! My darling and beautiful husband was going to make us a cake! ‘Walk down to the Hell corner store’, my husband says. ‘Pick us up some Eldritch milk’, he says. ‘Why do I have to do it’, I says, ‘I’m in the middle of something’. ‘We need cake for bridge night with the girls and I’ll divorce you if you don’t do it’, he says. I didn’t even change out of my nightmare pyjamas! What did I ever do to you? How are you still upset about the eye thing?”

Sasha and the Assistants, still digesting the extremely disturbing monologue, let him talk. Sasha was caught up in how it felt exactly like Jon’s little drama monologues. Granted, he had obviously gotten a lot more practice - guy could go to Broadway - but the weird lilting and falling sing-songyness was just the same. And he only ever did that for the very weird ones. The ones that they were pretty certain were actually true.

So that probably meant at one point in the future, if Jon was speaking about the Archives as if they had worked there for years. Probably during the apocalypse. Which was happening. Which Jon had...built? Like, as a personal thing, or in a metaphor for capitalism and the human race? Definitely the capitalism thing - Jon was prone to flights of filing-induced passion that sometimes accidentally resulted in a stapler flying and punching a hole through the wall, but she couldn’t even imagine him even purposefully punching someone, much less being the Antichrist. Unless it was one of those things that just happened to you, like a rare genetic defect.

“Seriously. What was the alternative here? Endless horrorterrors, everybody screaming all the time? It was boring. You eat one Statement about somebody standing in line at a slaughterhouse conveyor belt and you’ve eaten them all. I didn’t do it because I didn’t like you, although for the record I don’t. But you have to admit that having Eldritch Lidls are much more practical than just having a bunch of people lying around screaming all the time. It’s not as if I don’t have other eyes, I hardly miss them. There’s no chocolate cakes in the swirling vortex of mankind’s worst nightmares!”

Okay. They had to find a way to engage with this guy. He was completely ignoring them, probably because he thought that they were mean ghosts. Sasha was only one of those things, and it was hurting her feelings. Judging from the expression on Tim’s face he was thinking the same thing.

Or - wait, Sasha knew that eyebrow. That was the ‘please please please tell the apocalypse has zombies’ eyebrow. Great.

But Martin was just looking thoughtful again. Sasha was pretty proud of him - it was probably very difficult for the poor man to remain coherent in the face of the crazy time-traveller who was definitely hotter than their already objectively unfairly hot boss.

“Jon,” Martin said, cutting Jon’s tired rant about how eggs benedict were much better these days, “Uh, I have an idea? Maybe you can’t get out of the - nightmare by bargaining with it. Do you know how to normally escape these things?”

Jon angled his head down and frowned in Martin’s direction. So far Martin seemed to be the only person who could shut Jon up, which was a hilarious turnaround from normal life. Sasha hadn’t heard anything about Martin being a sad little ghost, but it was hard to believe that Martin was a survivor in the zombie apocalypse.

“You go through the statement and you walk through it,” Jon said, in a very ‘duh’ kind of way. “Give the statement, highfive corpses, whatever.”

“Right, right.” Martin wrung his hands, biting at his lip. “So maybe it’s like that. Maybe instead of asking to be let out - you just have to walk through it. Like - like it’s a maze. Does that make sense? I’m not sure, it’s just an idea.”

Jon pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. “Right as always, Martin.” Everybody’s jaw dropped, and Martin squeaked. “Fine, fine. Let’s...interact with the evil ghosts.” Jon gestured out with his arms, in a very ‘come at me bro’ gesture. “Go ahead and shoot. Hit me with how much you hate me and how disappointed you are that I never amounted to anything and started the apocalypse.”

Finally! Interrogation time!

But before Sasha could finally find out if global warming had killed the world, Tim jumped in. “Are there zombies in the apocalypse?!” Tim cried, way too excited. “Is it like the Walking Dead? Or is it more Last of Us?”

Jon squinted in Tim’s direction. “Define zombie.”

“...hunger for human flesh, shambling, gross looking?” Tim rolled his eyes. “Don’t tell me you still haven’t seen any zombie movies.”

“I’m omniscient, I’ve seen every zombie movie,” Jon lied blatantly. “I just think that you’re - you know, stereotyping. Sometimes people are the undead and eat humans and they’re - they’re very normal people.”

“Yeah, Tim, be sensitive,” Sasha said gleefully. She put the tape recorder on Martin’s desk, deciding that she would definitely need a transcript of this interview later. Also maybe ask more questions about that omniscient thing, but she was sure Jon was just exaggerating. If you asked Jon today if he was the smartest person on Earth he’d probably say yes. Jon wasn’t even the smartest person in the room.

For good measure, she drew out her little notebook from her pencil skirt pocket, flipping through it looking for a clean page. “The Archives have never gotten a time traveller before. This is unprecedented in its history.” Well, she really didn’t know what Gertrude had gotten up to, but she dearly hoped it wasn’t this. “Do you have any warnings? Desperate messages from a ruined world, that kind of thing?”

“I’m not a time traveller,” Jon said flatly, “so no.”

Everybody stared at him in abject pity.

“Mate,” Tim said sympathetically, “it’s 2015. You’re a time traveller.”

“No, I’m in a pocket hell dimension in a period beyond time and space,” Jon corrected arrogantly. “Time travel doesn’t exist.”

“The apocalypse exists but time travel doesn’t exist?” Martin cried. “That’s so unfair! Like, give us something, you know?”

“Your life is very hard,” the extratemporal reject said.

Typical Jon. A classic case of time travel and here he was denying it. Sasha crossed her arms, upset that they were wasting time debating temporal physics when they could be talking about zombies. She was a historian and had priorities. “Your denial ain’t cute, mate. You’re just wasting all of our time.” Jon opened his mouth, but Sasha steamrolled over him. “You want evidence, right? Do you need to, like, touch my face? Make sure that I’m not a sexy ghost?”

“That’s a stereotype that nobody actually does,” Jon said.

“Insensitive as always, Sasha,” Martin condemned.

“How else are we going to prove it to him?” Sasha said, somewhat defensively. “It’s not as if we have any evidence that we’re not sexy ghosts.”

With utmost care and incredible gentleness, Tim reached out an open hand and gently smooshed it into Jon’s face.

Jon slumped in his seat, arms folded, unimpressed.

“No mortal who is not my darling husband has dared to touch me since I became the Antichrist,” Jon said.

“I don’t know,” Tim said, withdrawing his hand and looking at Sasha. “What’s more unbelievable: Jon as the Antichrist or Jon with a husband?”

“Jon’s gay?” Martin cried, face beet red. “Gay Jon? Gay Jon real?”

“So, like, how do you get the Antichrist gig?” Sasha asked as she silently passed Tim a fiver. Her queerdar had never been so wrong. “Is it like an adventurer quest you can do or would you call it more of a rare genetic disorder thing?”

“Definitely rare genetic disorder.”

“Then does that mean that our Jon also has the Antichrist gene?” Tim asked, alarmed. “You’d never think so just looking at him! It’s always the quiet ones.”

“No, this makes sense,” Martin said.

Tim stared at him. “So, is that, like, a negative for you, or a positive…?”

Martin’s silence was incriminating.

“It’s a positive,” Jon said helpfully, startling everyone. They had conveniently forgotten not to talk about one very horny man’s very horny crush in front of sad grumpy time travelling crush. “He’s into it.”

“Wow, Jon,” Tim said, “what would your husband say?”

In a completely pointless show of sass, Jon rolled his eyes. “My useless husband is likely much more concerned with how I managed to get trapped in a nightmare dimension on my way back from the Hell corner store.” He waved a hand absently. “So, if we can hurry this up? Get started on the whole torturing me thing? Right now you’re just on track to annoying me to death.”

“We annoy you to death now!” Tim exclaimed, as Martin’s eyes boggled. “Isn’t that more proof for the time traveller theory?”

“It wasn’t annoying,” Jon said curtly. “I secretly enjoyed it. I always felt a little bad that I wasn’t included. Or wouldn’t let myself be included.”

That, abruptly, made everyone feel a little bad. Not guilty, seeing as Jon neither wanted nor deserved their affection, but just kind of bad. Future Jon didn’t seem any happier than regular Jon. Sasha liked to imagine that if she was trapped in an indeterminate period in time and space in a post-apoc hellscape, she’d at least be having fun.

Everybody looked at each other, equally a little uncomfortable. Tim was the one who finally took control of the situation, as the self-appointed Jon & Everyone Else mediator. He had taken up the mantle years ago and worse it with pride, and occasional exhaustion.

“Look,” Tim said, as reasonably as possible. “Let’s just say, hypothetically, this was super cool and awesome time travel. Let’s also say maybe this was completely baller and you’re from a post apoc future where everyone wears leather.”

“That’s just Melanie.”

“Put it down as one person who wears leather in the future!” Tim cried, and Sasha obediently jotted it down.”But let’s just put all of this in a hypothetical situation where you aren’t...uh, in a bad dream? So would there, hypothetically, be a way to stop the apocalypse or something?”

Jesus christ. What a try-hard.

Sasha crossed her arms, glaring at Tim. From next to her, Martin looked just as peeved. “Seriously, dude? Like we can just up and stop capitalism?”

“I don’t want responsibility for stopping the apocalypse,” Martin protested. “I can barely navigate the bus system. What if the Terminator comes after my mother or something?”

“You’ll be a bit better off, frankly,” Jon said. Martin nodded, conceding the point, before looking faintly disturbed.

“But he said that he caused it,” Tim protested. “Maybe the power of friendship can fix this? I mean, the apocalypse is cool, but I feel like this is the part where we’re all badasses and we fight evil or something.” Tim’s eyes widened. “That’s what the Magnus Institute is for. To stop the apocalypse!”

“Every day I feel a slight sense of emptiness due to my internalized guilt about your death, but you are usually wrong about things,” Jon said flatly, which seemed to both perk Tim up and depress him slightly. “And no. There’s nothing you can do. There’s no one event that precipitated the apocalypse; no rules of engagement. You are puppets on strings, indulging in the fantasy of free will. Yes, Sasha, the apocalypse is capitalism.”

Everybody stood in slightly depressed silence over this. Sasha, personally, was a little relieved. She really didn’t have to deal with the whole ‘preventing the apocalypse’ thing. She’d rather spend the finals days of the world in hedonism, frankly.

Really, the unique providence of the millennial was to live your entire life half-way convinced you were in the twilight years of the world. This hedonism and apathy was second nature. Or maybe the apathy was a Leitner - Sasha had lost track of that too.

“Aw, man,” Martin said, summarizing the abstract and complex feelings deftly and succinctly. “This sucks.”

“Yeah, this blows,” Tim agreed. “So should I buy my muscle car now, or later, or what?”

Then Martin and Tim started arguing over fuel efficiency in the apocalypse, and Jon royally checked out of the conversation. Sasha imagined that he was internally having a bit of a Saving Private Ryan moment where flashbacks of bombshells exploded behind his eyelids or whatever the fuck. The important thing is that everyone was distracted, and Sasha could finally check up on their most important gambit of the day: making sure Jon wasn’t bothering them.

Sasha listened carefully for the sounds of Jon’s little theater monologues, and caught only faint hints of sound. She slipped past everyone into the hallway and approached Jon’s office door, pressing her ear against the cheap wood. But she didn’t need to worry: he was still reciting away, oblivious to the actual interesting shit that was happening outside his door. Jon was a delicate plant, you couldn’t stress him out too much or he would die. Hopefully Martin’s drugged tea would kick in soon -

But Antichrist Jon’s head jerked towards her, directly behind him, and Sasha saw his unfocused green eyes fixate directly on her. No, not on her - on the door, or something beyond it. For just a second, his eyes flared a sharp and toxic green.

“There you are,” Creepy Jon hissed.

Well, sorry for leaving rooms without telling him, but she hadn’t thought that he even noticed, much less got resentful about it. But Weird Jon was standing up with no hesitation, and effortlessly swerved around Martin’s desk and stalked into the hallway. For the first time, his expression looked a little dangerous. It was bizarre and off putting, like seeing a ragged yet murderous two meter kitten.

He reached out an arm and let it trail across the wall, stopping short when he felt it hit wood instead of plaster. Tim and Martin surged forward to stop him, yelling warnings, but Sasha quickly stepped back. She never impeded the timeless march of science and progress. Sasha had done far worse in Artifact Storage for knowledge.

Jon brushed his hand down the door until it hit the doorknob and angrily twisted it, heaving the door open with unnecessary force. Tim and Martin spilled into the hallway as Angry Jon stalked inside, and Sasha eagerly hung in the door frame for a front row seat into the drama.

“This is your fault,” Jon intoned dangerously, directly in the face of a deathly affronted Jon.

In the spirit of the First Directive, Sasha heroically stretched out an arm and prevented Tim and Martin from spilling into the office. It was the right call. Jon stalked forward into the office, hair whipping in a nonexistent wind, expression obscured but undoubtedly thunderous, advancing on the terrified Archivist, as -

He tripped over a chair left carelessly in the center of the office, rocketing forward to land flatly on his face.

Beside her, Martin went white as a sheet. “Oh no.”

Simultaneously, in complete and total unison, Jon and the Archivist yelled, “Martin!”

****

Jon and the Archivist sat across from each other, exuding waves of pure mutual hatred.

Tim had quickly helped the Archivist up, moving the chair forward and getting him situated there. The Archivist’s mood was not improved by any of this. Which was difficult enough to handle by itself, if manageable. Sasha knew how to manage grumpy time travelling blind Antichrists who had gotten lost on their way to the corner store.

She even knew how to handle their boss, who was extremely grumpy about being harassed by a random homeless person with nice hair. Jon hated statement givers at the best of times, much less seemingly homeless ex-corpses. Or, well, Sasha didn’t know if he was an ex-corpse, but he was certainly an animate one.

They were both being so annoying about it Sasha was trying to determine if she should change their nicknames to something more derogatory. Thing 1 and Thing 2? Too long.

Both of them were very grumpy about the fact that Martin had pushed aside the chair for guests in front of Jon’s desks when he deposited the drugged tea, accidentally moving it close to the center of the office. Jon had known this because he saw it happen. The Archivist had known this because he, apparently, knew Martin very well.

Today had really been a bonding experience with Sasha, Martin, and Tim. Their skill at silent communication had reached borderline telepathy. They all looked at each other significantly as the Jons were caught in their mutual dyad of hatred, silently commiserating over the fact that their one goal had been spoiled by the greatest wildcard of all. Sasha privately liked to consider herself somewhat of a wildcard, but she was depressingly aware that the entire Archive team was composed of wildcards. Maybe that’s why half of them didn’t survive the apocalypse.

It was a little unlikely that Jon was a survivor/instigator in the zombie apocalypse, actually. Dude definitely would have bit it if he wasn’t cheating with Antichrist powers. Now, if Sasha had Antichrist powers, this whole game would be looking very different -

“Boss, this is a statement giver,” Tim hinted desperately, hands clenched so hard on the back of the Archivist’s chair that his knuckles were turning white. “Remember what Elias said about statement givers? About how we can’t harass them?”

“I was in the middle of a recording and this man was unnecessarily confrontational,” Jon said crisply. Sasha caught her eye jumping frantically back and forth between the two, trying to reconcile them. Honestly, if it wasn’t for Martin’s horny surety, she wouldn’t have realized that they were the same person at all. The Archivist’s most defining attribute was his big and fluffy hair, and Jon was sadly lacking in the nice hair department. That fade and twists were the shackle around his ankle. So was the sweater vest, baggy tweed jacket, and ill-fitting.“He’s lucky I’m not throwing him out.”

Martin, who looked as if he was having his tenth gay crisis of the morning, didn’t seem to hold the same opinion, but he was king of bad taste anyway.

“Remember what Elias said about harassing confused, blind statement givers? Remember that? Boss?”

Jon looked confused. “He didn’t specify the community of people with disabilities.”

“It was implied? Jon?”

“The optics would be terrible,” Sasha said, before snickering. Martin stomped on her foot. She stomped on his back, which definitely hurt a lot more. “Look, Jon, sorry about all of this. He was just - uh - really insistent that he talk to you -”

“I think if our visitor hassles Jon then maybe, objectively, you can say that Jon brought it on himself,” Martin said, in a daring show of anti-Jon sentiment.

This act of subtle rebellion was the first thing that broke the Archivist out of his cycle of hatred. He threw out a hand, bowling over Jon’s desktop cup of pens and sending them tumbling over the desk. Sasha saw him specifically orient his hand to do so. “Thank you, Martin! Your understanding of paraphysics is always immaculate.”

“Wow, really?”

“Stop complimenting my assistants,” Jon hissed, frantically diving to save his pens. “And stop - gesticulating over my desk! You did that on purpose!”

“Harassing the blind, Jon!”

“You don’t even need to tearfully blame me for how I ruined your life,” the Archivist said flatly. “You existing in my vicinity is torment enough.”

“That’s what I keep saying,” Sasha said, before pausing a beat. “I meant the first part, ha ha ha, obviously -”

“This man is a very normal statement giver who will be leaving any minute now,” Martin jumped in, “so there’s really no reason for us all to fight, when you think about it -”

“If you all don’t get out of my office, you are all fired -”

“You are listening.”

Everybody stopped talking at once, staring at the Archivist. He was still staring intently ahead, straight into his counterpart. Jon was hiding it, quite badly, but he was unsettled. He hadn’t even acknowledged that he and the man looked alike - the thought undoubtedly running through his brain and soundly dismissed - but it was clearly rattling him. But there was something else that was scaring him too - maybe the Archivist’s green eyes, so foreign from his own brown? His intense and furious expression, like cut glass? The particularly strange and heavy feeling in the air, prickling down the back of Sasha’s neck?

He hadn’t even stopped the recorder.

“You are here,” the Archivist continued calmly. “You were listening in. Why you were listening in on him, and his regurgitated aftertaste of Statements, I do not know. I felt you, and I came to you. We cannot forsake each other. Do not hide yourself from me.”

The effect was immediate.

The Archivist’s neck snapped forward, so harshly he cracked his head on Jon’s desk. Strangely enough, Jon screamed too, holding a hand to his temple as if he was suddenly pierced by a blinding headache. Tim immediately bent down to check on Archivist, making sure that he hadn’t hurt himself, as Martin bustled around the desk to check on Jon. Jon batted his hands away, scowling, so he was just fine. But the Archivist didn’t groan, or stir, or moan. He just lay there, still and limp, and when Tim shook him he didn’t even tense.

The air was heavy, a tang of metal in her mouth like the crackle before a storm, and Sasha couldn’t fight a shiver. But she couldn’t take her eyes off Jon, either: the way he stared at the Archivist, hand on his forehead, eyes wide and growing wider.

“Dad…?”

When the Archivist stirred, the spell was broken, and Jon’s mouth snapped shut so quickly it was as if he had never spoken at all. He turned his head and moaned, eyes opening uselessly. They were back to their usual toxic green, no flaring or flashing.

“Mar’in? Where…”

“I’m here,” Martin said quickly, and ducked around the desk to grab the Archivist’s hand and squeeze. For just a second, Jon looked a little jealous. Sasha had the sense that Jon had never been mothered than anyone other than Martin and Tim, and the prospect confused and frightened him so much he reacted aggressively to it. “Everything alright? You hit your head.”

“How many eyes?” the Archivist asked weakly.

“...physically, or functionally?”

But the Archivist just ran his burned hand over his smooth hand, kneading it and feeling the skin. “Still gone. Damn it.” He straightened, grimacing and spitting out a stray tendril of hair out of his mouth. “So it’s true…”

“So what’s true?” Tim asked urgently. “Do you finally believe us about the time travel thing? Because man, I have so many questions -”

He didn’t get the opportunity to say anything. The Archivist reached out a hand, fingers brushing against his shirt, and the Archivist’s hand abruptly clenched on the fabric. Tightly, roughly, the Archivist pulled him down and extended his other arm, and caught Tim in an awkward and lopsided hug.

Tim carefully straightened him and returned the hug, gracing the Archivist with the patented Perfect Stoker Hug, and the Archivist buried his face in Tim’s shoulder. His chest didn’t heave, and his breath didn’t catch, but the element of desperation was pungent and unmistakable.

“You were right,” Jon whispered. “We messed it all up.”

“Sure, yeah, totally!” Tim said, clapping the Archivist on the back in a masculine, yet sensitive way. “So, does this mean the zombie apocalypse is totally a-go, or…”

“Sasha,” the Archivist said, and Sasha chose to ignore her own personal distaste for hugs and being touched so she could step forward and hug him too.

He clutched onto her just as tightly as he had Tim, which surprised her a little. Jon and Tim had probably been best friends in the future, and Sasha couldn’t imagine her and Jon ever truly being close. He respected her as a colleague, but that was probably because Sasha purposefully left her manuscripts around the office and aggressively used as many big words in front of him as possible. Jon had always been an obstacle to her - innocently stupid at best, malicious at worst. To think that he would grip her so tightly…

With meticulous care, the Archivist separated from her. His expression was crumpled, and for the first time Sasha saw something over than aggravation or impatience in Jon’s face. Relaxed and soft, he looked like a different man. No - he was a different man, it was just apparent. The change softened his sharp lines into something a little friendlier; his striking exterior melting into something pretty instead of imposing.

Slowly, he raised his hand a little to tangle it in her hair. He frowned a little, gently tugging at it and feeling it spring back into place. “So it was curly…like mine…”

A lot of little hints snowballed into one strange and foreign realization. “Do you not remember me?”

“Dolls stole your identity,” the Archivist said apologetically.

“Like credit card fraud, or -”

“Metaphysically.” He paused guiltily. “I mourned you as an abstract concept?”

“Like I’m every woman in Hollywood?” Sasha screeched, outraged. This was not trans rights. “Alright, royally fuck that. Feel my hair, mister. Full permission to touch it. Feel that? You call that abstract?” The Archivist shook his head, eyes wide, and Sasha gently moved his hand to rest on the top of her head. “Taller than you in eight cm heels, remember? You asked me how I walked in them, and I said -”

“ - Barbie’s Princess Charm School,” the Archivist said automatically, eyes widening. “I do remember.”

Martin clearly waited around to be tenderly embraced, and was disappointed.

The Archivist stepped away from Sasha, expression creased in furious thought. “So it’s real. So far as anything’s real, I suppose. But I don’t understand how -” the Archivist’s eyes widened, and he snapped his fingers in realization. “The manhole!”

Everybody stared at him.

“I’m sorry,” Jon said pleasantly, “what is going on -”

“I was walking down the street, and I remember hearing city work!” the Archivist said brightly. “They were doing their monthly ‘clearing the gators out of the sewer pipes’ maintenance! And the Beholding told me that there was an open manhole, and I said oh it’ll be fine, I’m a demigod on Earth, I don’t fall down manholes - and then -”

The door to Jon’s office dramatically crashed open, and everybody jumped straight in the air. Jon, whose office had seen two more incredibly theatrical entrances than usual today, immediately bristled and opened his mouth to earn them all another harassment complaint, before he abruptly shut his mouth.

It was Elias, their miniature and unspeakably boring boss extraordinaire. He stood in the doorway, one hand clutching the doorframe, suit jacket askew and chest heaving. Had he ran down here?

“Is someone here?” the Archivist asked.

“Uh, yeah,” Tim said, stepping forward cautiously. “It’s our boss, Mr. Bouchard. Elias, we’re taking a statement, can we help - ?”

“How did that get here?” Elias asked, voice strangely tense and coiled. “How did you - not even I could -”

“That makes sense!” Martin cried, thumping a fist on his open palm. “Elias wants to time travel just as much as everyone else in the Institute!”

“I’m sorry,” Jon said, pathetically behind, “time travel -”

“Did the time traveller sensor alarms in the basement go off?” Sasha asked, surprised. “I thought only Artifact Storage had those.”

“Uh, Mr. Statement Giver, are you okay?” Tim asked, but it was already too late.

The Archivist had turned to face Elias, expression unreadable. Sasha felt that crackle again, weighing down the air, and she saw the Archivist’s hair puff and frizz slightly with a green crackle. His neon green pupils shone again and spun, like an infernal wheel.

“What’s wrong, Elias?” the Archivist mocked, as energy coursed through him. “Upset that Mama has a new favorite?”

And Sasha saw in that moment that the Archivist, who possessed the most inhuman green eyes she had ever seen, had eyes the same shade as Elias.

“Oh, man,” Sasha said, “is Elias a time traveller too?”

“Only in the most mundane way. Can’t even get a little bit of special attention, Elias? Sad!” It was second-hand thrilling to watch someone mock their boss, living the dreams of everyone in the room. Even if it was a little weird how much Jon seemed to hate this guy - nobody hated Elias, just like nobody liked him, and nobody had any strong feelings at all besides unpromoted women.

At the door, Elias’ expression was slack in - amazement? Was amazement the right word? He was staring at Jon as if...words didn’t even describe it. At least in any way that Sasha wanted to think about.

“Mr. Bouchard, I swear I can explain,” Sasha, who could not explain, said hurriedly. “We found this corpse and we were going to tell you, but -”

But the Archivist cut her off, as if nothing was less important than explaining himself to Elias. “Did you want to know how to stop the apocalypse, Sasha?”

Sasha froze. Martin and Tim did too. Jon, who nobody had actually bothered to brief since he was kind of the fifth most important person in the room, dropped his pen. “Uh,” Sasha said, sweating. For the first time she understood the possible upsides of not knowing something. “I mean, if I have to, but you said that it was inevitable -”

“Oh, yes. But, just once every one or two centuries, a man comes along who fancies himself fate.” The Archivist raised a hand, eyes spinning and spinning, as Elias stood frozen in the doorframe. “I’ll be honest, Jonah. This isn’t to save the world. That’s so last year. I just really fucking hate you.” Something cracked in the air. “Ceaseless watcher, smite this -”

The door slammed shut. Sasha heard Elias lock it behind him. They all stood around as footsteps quickly echoed through the Archives, and another door slammed. Which was probably being locked too.

They stood in silence, the Archivist having clearly heard the slams. He let his hand fall, but the energy didn’t cease crackling around him. He didn’t look resentful or disappointed - just thoughtful.

“Everything in due time, I suppose. I guess it is pretty unfair to get to smite that man twice,” the Archivist said thoughtfully. “I’ll give someone else a turn.” His mouth twitched wryly. “You know, Sasha, there’s one other way to prevent the apocalypse.”

“Is it work?” Sasha asked tiredly.

“You may kill the man who arranged the dominos,” the Archivist intoned, before hanging his head towards a petrified Jon. “Or you may kill the man who toppled them over.”

Sasha stared at Jon. Jon stared back, frozen like a deer in headlights.

Martin silently passed Sasha a penknife from Jon’s desk.

“I’m very qualified for this job,” Jon protested weakly.

“Queen of feminism, I very much support you,” Tim said quickly, putting himself in between Sasha and Jon in a heroic display of stupidity, “but, maybe, killing your boss to take his job, is perhaps, maybe not that much of a great idea, just a thought?”

“The job’s being the Antichrist,” the Archivist pointed out, crossing his arms.

“The direct action against sexism, xenophobia, and transphobia is very admirable,” Tim said, eyes held up as if he was placating a tiger, “but think of it this way - if you kill the Antichrist, then you become the Antichrist, like in - uh -”

“Pokemon,” Martin volunteered.

Tim snapped his fingers. “Pokemon! So you shouldn’t -” He halted, turning back to Martin. “Pokemon? Seriously? That’s becoming champion -”

“A - alright, alright! Everybody stop!” Jon shakily stood up, brushing aside the empty tea mug right next to him. “That’s enough of all of this! I may not know what’s going on, or who this man is, or why he looks like me -”

“Hm,” Martin said, eyeing the empty tea mug.

“ - why he looks like a homeless person, why he barged into my office and insulted me, why you are all defending this atrocious behavior, why you are calling it the work of time travel, which does not exist and you have no proof for it anyway -”

“Jon,” Martin said, watching Jon’s arm tremble, “maybe you should -”

“Shut up, Martin!”

“Don’t be rude to him!” the Archivist snapped.

“You’ve been rude to him twice today!”

“I’m allowed to be rude to him! He’s even ruder to me! I’m the nice one!”

“ - and you were glowing in my office, which is just frankly rude,” Jon continued viciously, steamrolling over the Archivist. “You gave me a terrible headache, you hugged my assistants very inappropriately for the workplace, you made my boss walk in before trying to smite him, you encourage violence against my own person in revenge for a job that I definitely deserve -”

Both of Jon’s arms were shaking, and Tim’s eyebrows were slowly raising. “Boss, you should sit down, I think -”

“ - I want an explanation!” Jon yelled, slamming the desk. “And I’m not going to stop until you tell me what’s going on!”

Then Jon passed out.

Everybody watched it happen. Everybody, save perhaps the Archivist, had noticed that it was about to happen: at first a tremor, then a shake, and then a final collapse. Like a marionette with his strings cut, Jon slumped over and crumpled solidly on the floor.

Everybody stood in disaffected silence. Martin carefully stepped over and prodded Jon with his foot. “Out cold.” He shot a considering gaze at the empty tea mug. “Sorry, guys. Looks like I accidentally used the delayed action sedative.”

"It’s alright,” Tim said magnanimously. “At least that problem is solved now. Maybe we can convince him this was a bad dream when he wakes up.”

“If he insists it was real, we’ll just ask him for evidence and refuse to believe him without it,” Sasha suggested.

“Isn’t that kinda gaslighting?” Martin asked. “Isn’t that, you know, a little morally dubious -”

“You did drug him,” Tim pointed out.

“I mean, hardly the first time?”

“Maybe Martin should be the Antichrist,” Sasha said thoughtfully.

The Archivist’s face was doing something extremely interesting, yet inscrutable.

“I really don’t want to be Antichrist, though,” Martin said apologetically. “Does it even pay?”

“Jon did say it was a job…” Sasha said, already considering herself in the role. “Do you guys think I’d be sexier as the Antichrist? Be honest.”

“Yes and completely,” Tim said immediately, before realizing that he said that too quickly. “I mean. I’d never objectify you. I respect women. But -”

“Oh, I see how it is,” Martin said, throwing up his hands. “When you think being the Antichrist is kind of hot it’s normal and M/F of you. But when I do it, then it’s ‘gross’ and ‘get that away from me’. Great double standards, guys.”

“It’s not the fact that it’s a guy,” Tim protested, “it’s the fact that it’s Jon -”

“Oh, when you think being the Antichrist is kind of hot then it’s normal and cis of you,” Sasha said heatedly, “but when Tim respects trans women, then it’s ‘gross’ and -”

“I respect all women,” Tim said, equally heatedly, “but I do want to acknowledge the systematic marginalization of trans women within the community, especially trans women of color like yourself -”

A hoarse wheeze echoed through the office.

Everyone froze, terrified by the haunted sound, but after a second Sasha realized it was the Archivist - Jon - who was laughing.

They had never heard him laugh before. He was practically wheezing with it, bent over with his hands on his knees, with a strained cackle that fizzed with static around the corners. He was smiling broadly, his grin splitting his cheeks, for the first time that Sasha had ever seen.

He straightened and threw his head back and laughed too, a greater belly-laugh that was so hysterical and fragile and free that it struck something strange and raw in Sasha’s heart. He rubbed his face with his hand, still laughing, and eventually broke into coughs.

“I understand now,” Jon said, when he stopped coughing. “I thought that you had deposited me here in revenge. You had sensed that I was happy - that the green skies were beautiful, that your large eye seemed kind that day - and that you found it a waste of emotion. But that wasn’t true, was it? It must have been an accident. I’ve never been happier to hear these idiots arguing, and you’ve lost me like a toy behind a bookshelf. The strange stupidity of it! I’m enchanted.” He sombered a little, expression falling from hysterical glee into a soft and resigned happiness. He held up his hand, feeling the crackle of electricity run across his palms. “But you See me now. The foolish man brought you down upon us, and I intercepted your lightning bolt. His eyes, mundane and paltry, are closed, and you feel my consciousness in replacement of him. I can feel you already - my Eyes opening, the Reality that we built together calling me back. When your infinite grace re-aligns with every one of my atoms, forming the fabric of my world, I’ll snap back.”

Just like that?

Sasha had thought that there would be an...adventure, or quest, or something. At least a research binge. Some kind of heroic group effort. But the Archivist was a stretched rubber band, held tightly and out of position, and after long enough straining against its center it had to snap back. A telly flickering in and out, blaring the song of a dead channel.

“Do we have time to group hug or something?” Tim offered weakly, undoubtedly thinking the same thing as she was. “Last goodbyes? Anything?”

“Howl’s Moving Castle moment?” Martin asked urgently. “I’ll find you in the future, right? We’re still together there, right?”

“Martin,” Jon said, strangely fond, “we were never apart.”

Martin turned a unique shade of red.

But it was Sasha who Jon turned to, face angled to the sound of her voice. His expression was still distantly fond, but there was something strange in it too - a wry recognition, a subtle knowledge, a faint recollection of a joke that only he knew.

“Sasha,” Jon said, “so long as you’re brave, and buy ten fire extinguishers and hide them around the office, things will be just fine. Buy twelve fire extinguishers, just to be safe. And don’t ever go inside Artifact Storage again. Not even for Alicia’s birthday party. If it’s a choice between worms and Artifact Storage then choose worms, the scars add a certain appeal. I cannot stress enough, not even if you lose your jacket in Artifact Storage -”

“Are you sure you don’t have anything to say to me?” Martin asked desperately, almost crying. Sasha, personally, wanted to circle back around to the worm thing. “Sad goodbyes? Waving a handkerchief? I thought you said I was alive? Don’t you have anything?”

Jon rolled his eyes. “Goodness, Martin, if you insist. There is something I’ve been meaning to tell you. In fact, I do believe it’s about time.”

Martin’s mind clearly projected very loudly ‘I’ve been in love with you this entire time’ in blatant wish-fulfillment. Everybody held their breaths.

Jon drew himself up to his full, imposing height, and sternly looked at all of them. “I’m tired of holding my tongue about this, Martin,” Jon said finally, and Martin qualified. “For the last time, I don’t load the dishwasher wrong. I load the dishwasher correctly. It’s you who’s always insisting that the cups go on the bottom. It’s a freakish way to live your life, and I’ll never forgive you for -”

Static blared in Sasha’s ears and overwrote her mind, and she screamed. The sensation was a pickaxe driven into her ears, an unforgivable rip and tear, and she heard her screams echoed in concert.

Then the pain abated, and was gone.

Sasha, Tim, and Martin were left standing in an empty office, accompanied only by the unconscious figure of their boss. There was nothing left of the Archivist, nor any suggestion that he had ever been here - just a drained mug, some scattered pens, and a lingering sense of malaise and confusion.

Everybody looked at each other, feeling strangely and uniquely connected. It was hardly Sasha’s strangest Magnus Institute experience, but maybe it was the funnest.

“Well,” Tim said finally, “at least one day this week wasn’t boring.”

“Yeah, I didn’t even have to get drunk today.” Sasha sighed. “We definitely have to gaslight Jon about this.”

Martin was already carefully lugging Jon onto his chair, arranging him so his arms were folded on the desk with his cheek resting on his forearm. “We’ll pretend it was just a weird dream.” He propped his hands on his hips, satisfied. “Hopefully this convinces him he needs more sleep.” Martin gasped in sudden realization. “Maybe he becomes the Antichrist because he needs more sleep! Guys, I have a great twenty step plan for saving the world.”

“Oh, come on, we said that was too much work.” Tim shrugged and opened the office door, holding it open and gesturing for them all to come out. “I think if we just friendship Jon to death, all of our problems will be solved.”

Martin just shrugged, following him out. They really did have paperwork that they needed to get back to. “Both are vital components. But...hey, it’s not weird to put the mugs on the bottom rack, is it? There’s not really that much of a difference, right?”

“Mate, you’re a fucking freak.” Tim looked backwards at Sasha, who was still standing in the office, dazed. “Sash, you coming? Let’s go day-drinking.”

“Yeah,” Sasha said, “in a sec.”

He shrugged and left the door propped open, and Sasha heard their bickering fade slowly as they walked down the hallway.

But she couldn’t help staring at Jon sleeping at his desk, chest falling in and out, inhaling and exhaling slowly through his nose. His short, carefully maintained hair and meticulous fade. His baggy tweed and ill-fitting slacks. The subtle and shameful kind of earnestness, the desire mixed with fear mixed with hope mixed with genuine desire for a better future. He just wanted to be happy, to not be afraid anymore. He seemed weirdly human, when compared with his inhuman self. Or maybe it was the other way around.

The tape recorder on Jon’s desk was still running. Sasha squinted at it, taking a second to listen to the staticy hiss. It was familiar, in the strangest possible way. It felt familiar -

Sasha reached out and grabbed the tape recorder, stuffing it in her pencil skirt pocket. “Just remember,” Sasha whispered, “I’d make a great candidate for Antichrist.”

She ran to go catch up with her coworkers, shutting the door behind them and leaving Jon sleeping contentedly in his office, head pillowed on his arms, dreaming strange and comforting dreams.

#i know I say 'this is the stupidest thing i've ever written' EVERY TIME BUT #my writing #tma #the magnus archives #the magnus archives fanfiction #tma fanfic #tma time travel au #crack #jonathan sims #sasha james #tim stoker #martin blackwood #elias bouchard

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you-did-well-moon · 3 years ago

Text

Day6 Reaction to s/o learning their instrument while they're away

Type: Fluff, angst in Dowoon dont know what happened wasnt me

Word Count: 2.865

A/n: I took some creative freedom with why they were away but that is it. Keep in mind, I have no experience with instrument except for when I played the piano in 5th grade for like two weeks. Anyways, I hope you enjoy! - Moon

TW: small cuts, fight, second hand embarrassment

Sungjin

Sungjin was absolutely and devastatingly exhausted. His own guitar case felt like it was weighing him down tremendously, and he had a huge headache. Jae and Wonpil arguing in the back of the car was not helping in any way. It has been going on since they left the airport. He rubbed at his temples tiredly pressing his head against the cool window from his place in the passenger seat next to their manager.

Still, he couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips as he thought about seeing you, probably curled up in the couch cheeks puffed from the snack you were inhaling. The pounding in his head lightened at the cute sight he would soon get to enjoy as he played with the loose threads of his old button up shirt.

True to Sungjin’s imagination, your form was sitting on the couch. Not true to his imagination, you were actually bent over something in your lap, lightly humming and bopping your head to the rhythm being produced by your still clumsy fingers. The guitar in your lap had gotten lighter as the days went by without your boyfriend, and in replacement of his touch, leaving your fingertips warm and tingling, it was small cuts you hadn’t bothered to bandage as it disrupted you when playing.

You missed Sungjin an abnormal amount. The cold spot in the bed or him making weird faces at you through the mirror in the mirror when brushing your teeth. You missed all of it. With a slight tremble in your chest you started playing the chorus to “You Were beautiful”.

You were so focused on trying to get it right you didn’t notice the door closing only to startle when you slightly looked up through your lidded eyes seeing the shadow looming over the coffee table. With a small yelp of surprise you jumped immediately looking up only to find your boyfriend staring at you with wide eyes.

His surprised expression made you shrink into yourself. You threw your head into your hands in pure embarrassment letting the guitar gently slide off your lap, hitting the floor with a soft thump. “Can you just pretend you didn’t see that I can’t believe I even tried learning all that by myself I” you cut yourself off with an un-pleased sigh shaking your head and looking at him with pleading eyes.

Your boyfriend continued in his frozen state for about five seconds before breaking out in the biggest smile rushing around the coffee table in which you panicked trying to get away from him with a squeal, but being too slow im the excitement that was usually in a much dormant state in Sungjin. The wrinkles near the corner of his eyes deepened adoringly, and his chest shook with soft laughter while he held you close.

There was a fond twinkle in his eye as Sungjin forgot any tiredness that clung to his bones and kissed the tips of your fingertips while maintaining eye contact. He kept your hands encased in his when scolding you for having such low faith in yourself and softly encouraging you. He would probably put little stitch band-aids on your fingertips and continue teaching you, sitting you on his lap and scolding you when you lose focus with a sharp poke at your ribs smiling when you giggled. This man just fell impossibly more in love with you.

“You shouldn’t say those things, look at you love, learning all alone and doing so well. I'm so proud. Would you rather have the elmo band-aids or the stitch band-aids… I don’t know about you but Elmo kinda creeps me out. Just five more minutes little love then you can go mug Young k with Dowoon. Don’t look at me like that! You finally have a teacher and you take him for granted. The audacity-”

Jae

Jae was a thin hair away from just ripping his hair out. He didn’t believe the kpop industry would take very kindly to him going bald, but he had come to a point where he didn’t really care about what people thought anymore. But thinking about you not being able to play with his hair anymore while he drifted off to sleep with his head on your chest severely upset him.

Jae had gotten stuck in another limbo, stuck in the studio and in his own head desperately trying to finish any of the unfinished songs left in his computer files. He missed you so much, he eventually called it quits, deciding to go home to you, who he hadn’t seen in days.

Just the thought about seeing you energized his previously exhausted self. He never could get sick of you. Every day, every week was a new adventure, a new chapter, all with his favorite person in the world. The night sky, although beautiful, seemed to mock him, reminding him of how late it was, meaning you were most probably asleep.

Opening the door to his apartment, he heard soft music. He briefly recognized “I Need Somebody”, and thought you were playing it from your phone. All his thoughts came to a halting stop when he saw you perched on the bed, in his shirt, playing the melody of the previously mentioned song.

You had hair falling into your eyes with your eyebrows slightly scrunched trying not to mess up and heavily focused. Jae had loudly yelled in surprise, causing you to flinch and look up shocked at the sudden surprise. When you saw it was just him, you had comically thrown your hands in the air yelling at him about how it was supposed to be a surprise.

The irritated look on your face vanished as you went up to give him a light hug with a kiss, softly smiling at him. Meanwhile Jae, was completely out of it, lovestruck eyes while he instinctively returned your affection.

“Come Jae, you look like you haven’t slept in ages, your eyes are so sunken babe”, you had softly whispered to him, rubbing the soft skin under his eyes, the way you were always soft with him when he came back from the studio. You slept in the same bed for the first time in what had been days, Jae tightly clutching on to you.

He may have not been completely there at the moment, but in the morning when he had time to process everything, he was a changed man. He wouldn’t stop laughing and giggling excitedly, eagerly wanting to hear everything you had learnt. He even poked fun at you when you made a mistake. But it was all lovingly as he also praised you non stop while looking at you with his messy hair and big smile next to you on the couch. He had so much inspiration now. To finish what had been left behind.

“Pop off queen who gave you this much talent, you couldn’t even tell me what bass was last time we talked, which was like a week ago. Might just make you play when I don’t feel like playing. Give you a wig and people won’t know the difference! Why are you booing me, I'm right?”

Young K

Young K’s foot tapping on the floor of the car was the only sound that filled the car aside from the soft sound of the car’s engine and tires. He was absolutely spent, having to have stayed in a different city for a show he was invited to that was filmed far away from his home.

Far away from you. Young K could tell his manager was starting to get irritated, but Young K was already massively annoyed and too far in his own world to really care. He missed the pine scent of his sheets, and he missed you.

It was not a good combination. When he got to his place he quietly thanked the manager, getting his bag before trying to ignore every urge telling him to run into the building and fall into his soft bed with you in his arms. When he opened the door, your keys were there, so he knew you were in the building. That thought filled him with more relief than it should have.

He did have to admit, hearing “I smile” this early in the day was odd as you usually saved the more mellow songs for later in the night. Young K told himself he had many euphoric moments in his life, but seeing you staring at a sheet of paper with so much determination and a bass guitar in your arms came pretty close to the top.

The absolute warmth that exploded in his chest was a feeling he would not forget in a long time. He could feel his lips slightly curl up in fondness as your hands shook while your eyes wavered unsurely between your hands on the strings and the video on your laptop sitting further on the edge of the bed. Your face scrunched up before you sighed and stared dejectedly at the instrument on your lap.

“Why so sad love?" His voice made you instantly sit up, pushing the instrument gently off your lap. You crawled to the edge of the bed where Young K had already gotten closer where he met you tenderly running his hand through your hair, and he curved his hand around the back of your head bringing your forehead to his abdomen.

He brushed his thumb over where your hairline met the sensitive skin of the back of your neck immensely enjoying being back at your side. Your hands were clutching the back of his shirt, and your simple touch brought a warm feeling to his chest. You both leaned back as Young K’s chest started to rumble with laughter “You should have waited for me, it would have been easier if I could teach you”, he softly said, pushing your hair back from your face causing you to lightly laugh.

“I wanted to surprise you, but I didn’t get that far anyways. Can’t become a prodigy in one day I guess”. Young K smiled again, promising to himself to help you as much as he could as he put his hand fondly on top of your head.

“You’re doing so good, just move your finger up a little, you’re plucking the c chord instead of the e chord during the chorus, don’t look at me like that i’m trying to help?! I wouldn’t put you on my level, but I think you’re doing really well. I’m hungry now, what do you want? No- What do you want? I am okay with anything just tell me-”

Wonpil

Wonpil was trying his hardest not to think about you. From the way you got excited when you got to see the moon in the cloudy sky to the way you smiled when you saw the neighbor’s cat while getting the mail.

He was happy to be on a trip with her sister, he hadn’t had much time to be with her in recent, well forever really. While you had been invited, you hadn’t been able to attend due to work. Wonpil did his best to keep his mind off you and enjoy the trip, he just hadn’t spent this long without you in a while.

Even so, he still had a fun time with his sister and her boyfriend creating many memories. He didn’t regret it, but he was extremely happy to come back to you. Opening the door to your apartment, he dropped his suitcase by the door, an excited smile tugging at his lips as he traveled through the apartment with his arms spread knowing you would embrace him as soon as you saw him. He felt so giddy, he didn’t even notice the broken keyboard sounds ringing throughout the living space.

His smile fell in a comical way, his face morphing into one of confusion instead. He recognized a broken rendition of “Mary had a little Lamb”, and tilted his head as he opened the door to your room seeing you with really big headphones on your head staring down at the keyboard with the most offended look on your face.

How dare this keyboard not give you its secrets! Wonpil couldn’t help the laugh that escaped his chest, not mocking you, but he just thought you were so cute. He lightly touched your shoulder causing you to jump, and the slight movement of your head caused the headphones to slide off your head. It didn’t matter much. You instantly dove into his arms, pressing the side of your face against his chest.

He felt warmth flood his chest as his hand encased the back of your head while he pressed his lips to the top, closing his eyes in bliss enjoying having you in his arms again. He leaned back from the brace as his eyes flashed with amusement and yours with slight embarrassment. He lightly laughed, eyes crinkling. He cradled your face in his hands, a teasing lilt to his voice, “What were you trying to do, hmm?” He could feel your face grow hot under his finger tips.

“I was just trying to surprise you. I felt bad for not being able to go with you”. He shook his head, hands playfully pinching your cheeks as you whined. “You shouldn’t act that way, I understood from the beginning. It must have been hard for you. Here, come, your lovely boyfriend will make this easier for you”.

“Y/n the keys will not bite prEsS dOWn, no, no keyboards do not have to be oiled, this is a musical instrument not a mechanical vehicle. You are so cute. What am I gonna do with you? No, you can not play the keyboard with your forehead, DO NOT put your foot on the keys. I don’t care if it’s for the vine.

Dowoon

Dowoon was beating himself up. Looking back at what happened a few hours ago made his chest tight. He couldn’t help but wince at the words both of you had thrown at each other. You had been with each other for so long, and when his lovely mother asked him when he would propose, although with good intentions, it put pressure on him.

He was still young. He had mentioned it to you in a joking manner, but there was a misunderstanding and you thought he was blowing it off as he didn’t see a future with you.

Somehow feelings were hurt, and the fight escalated. And Dowoon decided he was a coward because it was when you had started stuttering through your words and avoiding eye contact, he knew. He knew he had pushed you across a line that might not be able to be crossed again.

He panicked. He was really good at doing that wasn’t he? He left. He took a bus and went to the nearest hotel he could find. There he was sitting on the edge of the too perfectly made bed with his head in his hands.

Had he just ruined his precious relationship because he was scared of what the future could or could not hold? Why did he have to run away? Why couldn’t he just stay? Most importantly, how badly had he hurt you?

With a sigh he stood up, and he got on the bus back to your apartment. Staring at the door, the fact you were just on the other side and hurting is what pushed him to open it with the key you had given him. Opening the door, he was met with silence and darkness. Have you already gone? He walked through the apartment, hope dwindling with every step.

Then he heard a soft thump thump thump. His heart seemed to match with it, and as he walked to his studio which held his spare drum set, he thought of what he could say to make it better. Opening the door, he saw you softly hitting the drum with one stick, as if testing the waters and humming along to “When you Love Someone”. Dowoon couldn’t fight the sad smile that broke out on his face, and the absolute warmth that filled his chest.

Why did he ever even doubt your future with him? There was no person more perfect for him than you. He stood next to you, softly taking your hand in his and guiding your hand to the right beat, although a bit broken. When your sad eyes looked up into his, forgiving in nature but still frustrated beyond belief, he knew he could still fix things. You were you, and Dowoon was Dowoon. You always somehow found your way back to each other.

“No no, put your hands higher on the stick, no lower, now higher...a bit lower. No, Y/n drum sticks do not belong in my throat. What do you mean I have no room to talk, I thought we were over the fight. I would marry you in this life and the next! Why are you looking at me like that? I am not cute, I am handsome and overflowing with testosterone. Oooh are those gummies?

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sleephyjhs · 4 years ago

Text

When You’re Expecting (Taehyung Headcanon)

pairing: taehyung x pregnant!reader

warnings: mention of fertility & pregnancy complications

note: i’ve been craving to write a bts x pregnancy series for a while so here we go !! if there’s a specific member you’d like to see next, shoot me an ask :)

m.list

FINDING OUT

even before finding out you were pregnant, you both had so much love for your child

there was nothing either of you could have wanted more than a baby

it was always at the forefront of your mind how much you wanted a little human of your own

it was approaching a year since you began trying seriously

a few false hopes and two miscarriages later, fertility drugs were looking to improve the chances of conceiving

the raging hormones which came with the drugs were all worth the positive test

early september - sickness had hung around your throat for days

headaches lasted longer than usual, and crying at the most mundane things had become an unwelcome habit

in the bathroom cabinet, you’d collected a small stockpile of electronic and stick pregnancy tests

one of them would eventually show positive, right?

taehyung sat on the bathroom tiles with you

waiting two minutes felt closer to waiting two months

he crossed his legs, bouncing his knees impatiently

your knees came to your chin; high hopes weighed heavily on your heart

the alarm set on his phone beeped quietly

your heartbeat rose suddenly to your throat

taehyung reached out for your hand as you turned to read the results

two blue lines - as clear as day

they became less clear as your eyes coated with thick, salty tears

he began to chuckle as his happiness trickled down his cheeks

“we did it baby! we’re gonna have a baby!” he whispered, choked up by his own anticipation

no words were left swirling in your mind

your jaw hung open as though the hinges were faulty

shakily, you lifted the electronic test to triple check

pregnant.

as you crashed into taehyung’s open arms, memories of the past loomed in your mind

it was only inevitable

a positive test was a familiar joy to you both

however this familiar joy had only ever been followed by crippling devastation

as much as you tried not to think about it, you couldn’t help but retain maternal caution

however, this time also felt different

taehyung’s spirit, your spirit - it was as though fate didn’t want to disappoint you any more

someone out there decided it was finally your time to grow a mini human to bring into the world

of course, no time was wasted in contacting the maternity clinic

seeing your baby on a screen was now a top priority

just to see their little head, maybe even hear their heartbeat

just to know they were okay

just to know you were keeping them cosy and safe, that’s all you needed

taehyung couldn’t hold his excitement

from leaving the house to reaching the hospital, his toothy grin never wiped from his cheeks

he never said anything at the time since his main focus was always on comforting you

but losing his babies near enough tore him apart

even when you tried to comfort him, taehyung restricted himself just to protect your wellbeing

of course, the worse had already crossed his mind

but it wouldn’t get the better of him

it couldn’t.

you soon learned you were already 6 weeks pregnant

the midwife had to point out where your little baby was hanging out; they were such a tiny thing after all

briefly, you took the opportunity to hear their heartbeat

it was faint over the machine, but fast

there really was a life within you.

“there’s something else, if you just look over here...” the midwife prompted, turning the monitor so you could grasp a better view

taehyung leaned slightly over your chest to peer closely at the smaller monochrome screen

with the mouse, she circled a second bean shaped figure

“the fertility drugs increase the chance of twins. looks like you guys got lucky!”

twins. you were having twins.

THE PREGNANCY

like with most pregnancies, you were advised to wait until the 12 week milestone to begin announcing your impending delivery

and even though he understood the importance of patience right now, taehyung could hardly contain his excitement

it didn’t help that a little bump had already begun to grow

keeping a secret was much more difficult when the evidence was near impossible to hide

already, taehyung spent early mornings talking to his little angels

telling them stories he seemingly made up on the spot

or even borrowing some from his own childhood

“you know they can’t hear you yet? it’s about 7 weeks until they’ll be able to, honey.”

“i know, i’m just practising for when they can.”

of course, you wouldn’t admit that you did the same when you were alone

you attended more midwife appointments than other expectant mothers might

the pair of you much preferred being on the safer side

in the car, when on a quieter, less congested road, taehyung often reached over to cradle your still-growing bump with a free hand

you slotted your fingertips between his for additional sappiness

“you two have so many people waiting for you here, hmm? many people are already so in love with you both. me and mummy included.”

on a sleepless night, you’d made a small pact with tae

it was a rash decision, but sincere nonetheless

“no matter what, they are always going to know how wanted they were. always.”

taehyung hardly needed reminding of this, but it was still a weight off your shoulders

as you tried to conceive, the pregnancy diet had already been implemented into your daily routines

however now that you were carrying two precious babies, there really would be no more ‘cheat’ days for you

no more extra half cups of coffee on slower mornings

although you usually took over the role of head chef in the house, taehyung dedicated extra effort into preparing you both healthy and yummy foods

sautéd rice with green vegetables and lean meat/tofu appeared to be his go-to

but you still opted to supervise just in case

finally being able to announce your pregnancy was another heavy weight lifted from your mind

the other members were over the moon for you both

particularly when they reminded themselves of the struggles you had experienced previously

and also remembering the utter devastation of their taehyung when he had to break it to them

all of them kept their eye out for little gifts and outfits

each week, taehyung came home with a new stack of pale rompers or neutral-tones teething toys

these babies would have the best uncles; at least that much you could be certain of

announcing your pregnancy on social media was a looming task, but one he was determined to pull off perfectly

for filler content between schedules, the members had been asked to film a 5 minute vlog of their daily life

well, what a perfect opportunity!

towards the end, taehyung made sure to include some shots of your now protruding bump overlaid with some more vintage camera settings

safe to say, that day you had broken the internet

love, congratulations and blessings poured in from every corner of the earth

a few comments complimenting how much pregnancy suited you touched you especially

self image is commonly effected by the progression of pregnancy, and you were no exception to that

although it was amazing how your body grew and made a little home for your tiny babies, it was still quite strange to see yourself changing so quickly

your favourite clothes didn’t fit around your doubled bump anymore

and your skin seemed to hate sharing nutrients with two extra people

but for the days where you struggled to love yourself, taehyung easily filled in the gaps for you

sneaking up behind you in the bathroom

(although the mirror kinda gave him away)

he’d wrap his arms around your just-moisturised bump and carefully rest his chin on your shoulder

“tell me all your worries honey.”

you gushed over how much you missed wearing your favourite jackets

and how strange it was to look at yourself in such a new and confusing way

“i know it’s normal, and i know i have to do it for them. but i guess it’s just weird - i don’t look like myself anymore”

he sighed and planted a kiss on a spot of bare skin

those small kisses still tickled you like they always had

“well, you definitely look different,”

you really hoped there was a second part to that sentence, mostly for tae’s own good

“but why does that have to be bad? not gonna lie, it actually kinda makes you hotter. maybe we should make babies more often!”

“make~?”

LABOUR AND DELIVERY

originally, you had wanted to try and stick to the natural route for as long as you could

but after a few contractions, that idea was immediately out of the window

to help steady yourself and wait out the pain, you held onto the kitchen island and swayed to your own pace

eventually, taehyung joined you

copying the same movements while timing your contractions

“they really must be desperate to come out, huh?”

“well do you think they could hurry it up a bit?!”

the pair of you had been prepared for this for over a month

the hospital bag was ready by the door with all of your essentials packed tightly inside

not forgetting the pots of instant ramen taehyung insisted he must bring in case of an emergency

just as he was readying to back out of the driveway, taehyung took a mental stock check of everything packed in the back

“do you think we have everything?”

“i love you but stop talking please.”

thankfully, he understood well that the sheer pain made you cranky

so long as he assured himself that it was ‘just the contractions’, he’d be just fine

as much as he couldn’t wait to announce he was about to become a father to everyone, he kept himself grounded when walking you to the maternity ward

one corridor in and you’d suggested that a wheelchair might be a better mode of transport

breathlessness and contractions didn’t sound like a favourable mix to you

the assessment of your fast dilation granted you an immediate spot in the labour ward

you’d picked this suite specially due to its expansive space

the option of a birthing pool was still available if you so needed it, but the mood lighting and access to aromatherapy was what attracted you to the room in the first place

a serene paradise for your angels to be born into

it was perfect

taehyung explored while you adjusted to your new surroundings

of course, it didn’t take him long to find the birthing ball

“what’s the difference between a yoga ball and a birthing ball?”

there obviously was none, but you took a few seconds to try and be smart with him

“well, sit on that and you might have a baby the size of a watermelon come out of you soon.”

taehyung cradled his torso and pulled a shocked expression, which was enough to make you giggle and cause another contraction

less than a few hours passed, and you had already attempted to scream the building down once or twice

“get these babies out of me. no i’m serious, i need them out.”

realising your deadpan expression, taehyung soon attended to you at the head of your bed

stroking your slightly sweaty head and patting a ice cold flannel on your clammy forehead

he braced himself for a crushing hand grip which came about sooner than he’d prepared for

you weren’t the biggest fan of commotion, and so being surrounded by nurses and doctors was close to being your worst nightmare

taehyung focused his voice into your ear, trying to minimise the tension coming from below your pelvis

his motivational words were broken up by short bursts of pushes

many of which were followed by a string of curse words which just slipped out

and then, there it was.

the first piercing cry belted across the room

a tear or two may have happened to slip from your eyes

finally the moment you’d waited for, nearly two years in the making, was here

the first of two, a little girl who already had a head full of the most luscious black hair

taehyung wanted to hold back his happy tears in order to show some kind of strength

but you and him both knew he’d never hold it back for long

within the space of 4 minutes, the second baby was born into the world.

but this time, there was no immediate cry

the whole world seemed to slow down in that moment as you waited

and waited

midwifes gathered around the new infant, looking for any kind of obstruction

but, soon enough, your son said his first hello to the world

#taehyung #kim taehyung #bts #bts taehyung #bts v #bangtan #bts reactions #bts imagines #bts one shot #bts drabble #bts headcanon #bts mtl #bts imagine #bts reaction #bts pregnancy #taehyung dad #taehyung x reader #taehyung x oc #taehyung pregnancy

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archived-kin · 4 years ago

Text

late with lucifer

note from kin: i just realised that the title sounds like a talk show ffs

anyway get ready to get SAPPY (and also get ready for a low-key out of character lucifer)

fandom: obey me!

character(s): gn! reader, lucifer, satan, beelzebub, belphie

pairing(s): lucifer/reader

warning(s): brief existential dread right at the end but i think it’s relatively light

genre: fluff all the way (with maybe a teensy bit of angst???? i accidentally got kinda deep towards the end)

Deciding to commit yourself to a bona fide workaholic music nerd who would sooner chop his own hand off than skip a single working day for potentially the rest of eternity has been... a choice and a half, to say the least. Yes, he’s a sweetheart most of the time, and you love him more than possibly any being in the known universe (though jury’s still out on cats and the dragon you met a couple of months ago who brings you giant mouthfuls of leaves every weekend), but you’d be lying if he didn’t have qualities that make you want to drop kick some sense into him sometimes. And one of those qualities happens to be his absolute refusal to just take a damn break.

“Just one more hour,” He keeps telling you whenever you ask him if he’s finally finished with his mountain load of paperwork. “One more hour, and then we can spend some time together.”

It has been five hours since Lucifer went to his study to ‘get a bit of work done’. Five hours of attempting to finish the mountain of books Satan has recommended you in the corner of the library, probably irritating the poor guy to no end with your constant restless shifting. You're surprised that he hasn’t up and left to go read in his room in peace - then again, it’d be hypocritical of him to tell you off for moving about. You’d think a bookworm like him would be so absorbed by his beloved books that he wouldn’t be able to move at all, but he fidgets about so much when he’s reading that you’re surprised he hasn’t somehow worn a hole through his favourite armchair yet. At any rate, you’re pretty sure you can see him getting ready to flip himself upside down for the seventh time this evening in the corner of your eye.

You try once again to focus on the lucrative business deal happening in Chapter 52 for the fourth time in the last ten minutes, but your brain just doesn’t seem to be listening to you right now; no matter how hard you try to register what’s going on, the words just don’t want to be processed. Finally, checking the clock on the wall for what feels like the hundredth time this evening, you decide that you might as well go bother your busy bee upstairs. It’s been at least a fortnight since you’ve been able to spend a full evening or night with him, and, if you’re honest, it’s beginning to get a little on your nerves.

Satan barely looks up from his book as you hop to your feet and begin making your way out, though he does lift a hand to wave a brief goodbye. Contrary to your prediction, he has not flipped himself upside down, but is now sitting the wrong way around on his armchair instead, facing the seat’s back, with his book carefully balanced on its head. Unconventional, but you’ll give him credit for the creativity.

The House of Lamentation is oddly quiet for a Friday night, but you’d guess that’s because Asmo and Mammon, the two loudest members of the house, have taken it upon themselves to celebrate the arrival of the weekend by going out for the night and probably blowing their savings in the process. Well, Asmo will be blowing his savings - Mammon will most likely find a way to put his spendings on one of his other brother’s tabs, or worse, yours. Then again, you don’t buy things often, so you suppose you can spare a bit of cash. (Knowing Mammon, though, he’ll probably buy enough to put you in debt for the rest of your life.)

On your way through the corridor, you’re struck by a sudden idea. Lucifer’s been shut in his study ever since he got home from the R.A.D., which means he most likely won't have eaten anything. At any rate, you know for a fact he wasn’t there for dinner with everyone else, which means you now have a much better excuse for going to see him other than just wanting to. Lucifer may be a stubborn demon, but he's never been able to resist a mug of tea and some biscuits on long nights when it's you offering them.

Beel is rustling about in the snack cupboard when you slip into the kitchen - no surprises there, but it is a little odd that he’s going for the lighter foods rather than something more filling. You'd comment on why he's down here so late into the night - he should really be in bed - but then again, it's Beel. He'd listen to his stomach over his brain any day of the week.

“Oh, hey,” He greets as he retreats from the cupboard with an armful of what look like several cookie boxes stacked on top of each other. “Did you get hungry as well?”

You shake your head and pull two mugs out of the crockery cabinet. “Nope. Just thought I’d bring Lucifer some tea and biscuits, you know?”

“He’s been in his office for ages,” Beel agrees with an earnest nod. He glances down at the heap of cookies in his arms, then pauses. “Ah… here.”

You look up as you fill the kettle with water to see him holding one of the boxes in his arms out to you. “...what’s this for?”

“There aren’t any biscuits left in the cupboard,” He says by way of explanation, shaking the box he’s offering to indicate that you should take it. “So you can have these.”

“Aw, you don’t have to do that, Beel!” You gently push the box back towards him and give his arm a fond pat. “I’ll just bring him something else. Go ahead and eat the cookies, okay?”

On any other occasion, Beel would most likely have accepted your offer without hesitation (the day that Beel rejects food will probably never come, but you have a sneaking suspicion that a black hole would rip this reality apart if it does), but it must have been a really good day for him in terms of being fed, because he actually continues to try to give you the box. You’re tempted to coo at the big softie’s uncharacteristic generosity, but you’re not particularly sure how that would go over with him. If being in a relationship with Mr Pridey McPrideface upstairs has taught you anything, it’s that you can never take a reaction for granted.

“No, you have it,” Beel insists, shifting so that he doesn’t drop the rest of his biscuits and stubbornly attempting to shove the box into your hands. “I’ve got plenty right here.”

Your surprise must show on your face, because a moment later he smiles a little sheepishly and adds, “I promise I’m not sick or anything. I’ve still got lots right here. One box won’t make that much of a difference.”

You think it over for a moment as the kettle begins to bubble aggressively behind you. You’re a staunch believer in the fact that one should never deprive Beel of his food, partially because he’s an absolute sweetheart who deserves the food he eats, and partially because something bad could and probably would happen if said food is taken from him. Then again, you’re not taking the food from him, strictly speaking - he’s the one offering it to you. That exempts you, right? At the very least, you have a counter-argument if Belphie tries to persecute you for taking his beloved twin brother’s biscuits. (He probably wouldn’t - the kid adores you - but it’s good to be prepared for possible trials.)

“Ah, fine...” You eventually relent and allow Beel to press the box into your hands. Your compliance is well worth it - the beam on his face and the little pat he gives the box in your hands in satisfaction could probably cure multiple strains of cancer. “You’re the sweetest, you know that?”

He flushes slightly. “I-it’s not that big of a deal…”

“Oh, that’s nonsense,” You tell him firmly over your shoulder, beginning to busy yourself with the teabags and sugar as the kettle hisses to a halt. “Personally, I think I’m going to remember it for the rest of my life.”

You smile to yourself as Beel laughs a little bashfully behind you. “Thanks…”

“No problem, bub,” You reply, pausing in your work to turn around and shoot him a wink. “Hey, chuck me a spoon, would you?”

He nods and does just that - literally. He throws the spoon across the kitchen with such precision that it lands perfectly in your outstretched hand.

You thank him and begin to pour the hot water into Lucifer’s mug. He says that he likes his tea as is, without any bells or whistles or fancy additions, but you’ve been doing this thing for long enough that you know that he actually prefers his tea with a teaspoon of honey and just a splash of lemon. He just refuses to actually say it out loud.

(To be honest, you’re not sure why he does that - does he think tea with honey and lemon is a wimpy drink or something just because you told him it’s often drunk as a remedy for a sore throat in the human world? Knowing the way his mind works, it’s probably something along those lines, but still, it’s a weird conclusion to make.)

You finish preparing Lucifer’s tea quickly - you’ve done this so many times that the movements have become second nature to you at this point - and start making your own. The drinks are finished a minute or so later, and with that you begin setting up your little snack tray.

After a moment’s debate, you decide that today is worth going the extra mile, and start to carefully arrange the biscuits on a pretty plate. It’s a bit of a hassle to get them into the right formation, but it’ll be well worth it once you get them to their intended receiver - Lucifer always gets the fondest little smile on his face when you bring him his biscuits in patterns, and that man doesn’t smile nearly enough for your taste. Personally, you’d quite like it if he smiled like that all the time, but then again, their rarity is what makes them so precious to you.

Ah - you’re starting to get sappy again. That’s a surefire sign that you haven’t spent enough time with your beloved demon lately. Well, it’s a good thing you’re going to see him now, isn’t it?

The door to Lucifer’s study is still as tightly shut as it was five hours ago when you approach it, but you doubt he’s actually locked it. He’s stopped doing that ever since your visits while he works became a regular thing - he hasn’t said it out loud yet, but you know that it’s his way of showing you that you’re always welcome to come in.

Unlocked as it is, though, you can’t exactly turn the doorknob to let yourself in. You’re a human of many talents, but being able to balance a heavy tray in one hand is not one of them. Lucifer’s tea wouldn’t make into his study - it’d just end up all over the floor.

“Lucifer!” You call softly through the door, mindful that he might be having another one of his work-induced headaches, “I’ve brought you some tea! Open up!”

For a while, the only reply is silence. You know there shouldn’t be any reason for him to be, but you can’t help but worry briefly if Lucifer’s somehow angry at you. Then again, Lucifer’s always liked to play the fashionably late card against you - whether to tease you or to disguise something, you’ll never know.

It turns out that your little worry was unfounded - a few moments later, the door swings open to reveal your favourite demon in all his exhausted-looking glory. Lucifer, who looks like the physical manifestation of work burnout, offers you a tired smile, and stands back to let you enter.

(Here’s a little secret - Lucifer would never tell you this, but he’d perked up like a kid when candy is offered the moment he heard your voice. Still, gotta put up the cool front, right? Even if that means waiting restlessly right next to the door for a minute so that you don’t think he’s over-eager…)

“Thank you.” He murmurs as you bring the tray over to his desk and set it down on one of the few patches of wood that aren’t covered by papers.

You dramatically pretend to swipe sweat from your forehead as if you’ve just finished a ten-mile run and shoot a smile up at him. “All in a day’s work, love.”

He smiles softly and leans in to gently press a kiss to the crown of your head. His pale cheeks have darkened slightly - Lucifer’s always been a softie when it comes to the host of sappy nicknames you’ve given him. One gentle ‘sweetheart’ and he’s melting like an ice cube on a hot day. It’s the sort of thing that people like Mammon and Levi would probably call gross or something, but you honestly couldn’t really care less about that. It’s not harming anyone else and it makes both of you happy, so why shouldn’t you give your lover as many endearing pet names as you can come up with?

“What even is all this?” You ask, peering at the papers scattered across the desk as Lucifer moves over to have a look at the plate of biscuits. You look up just in time to spot the way his eyes light up slightly when he sees the flower you've arranged them into.

“This and that,” He replies vaguely, hovering a single gloved hand uncertainly over the plate, as if trying to decide which biscuit he can take without spoiling the pattern.

“That’s hardly an answer at all,” You complain, plucking three broken quills from among the documents and waving them at him. “Why do you keep using these? A pen would be way more efficient.”

“Official documents should be written in the traditional way,” Lucifer tells you. He takes his time chewing the biscuit he’s finally chosen before continuing. “And Diavolo prefers quill and ink calligraphy to look at.”

“Honestly…” You round the edge of the desk and reach up to brush some powdered sugar from the corner of his mouth. “You don’t have to do absolutely everything according to him.”

Lucifer blinks down at you, lips parting slightly in half awe and half surprise as you smile at him. “Ah…”

His smile widens slightly, and he gazes at you with so much fondness in his eyes that you almost feel a little weak at the knees at the very sight. Lucifer really is a dangerous demon - in more ways than one.

“Well, c-come on, then,” You prompt him abruptly, not wanting him to realise how much his gaze has affected you, because you just know it’s going to give him an ego boost. He pauses in surprise as you start tugging him over to the big armchair beside the fire - the one that the both of you can fit snugly into together. “Let’s have a drink together.”

“I still have papers to fill out—” He attempts to say, but cuts himself off as you shake your head and stubbornly attempt to push him down into the seat. It doesn’t work - Lucifer’s much stronger than you, after all - but he does at least seem to appreciate the effort.

“You’re taking a break whether you like it or not,” You insist, starting to smack lightly at his arms in an bid to get him to listen to you. “Papers can wait. I’m more important.”

That does get a little chuckle out of him, and he finally relents, sitting down with a subtle sigh. “That goes without saying.”

You laugh, suddenly a little more hot around the collar than you’d have liked. “You said it!”

Pausing to retrieve the tray with the tea and biscuits and set it on the table beside the armchair, you quickly join Lucifer in front of the fire, snuggling in at his side and letting out a blissful sigh as you feel him start to draw circles on your arm with his fingers. It’s a sort of habit that he’s developed over the last few months - you’re not sure if he even realises that he’s doing it.

The two of you stay like that in comfortable silence for several minutes. Lucifer’s tense shoulders relax more and more with each passing moment, and soon enough, he’s sprawled out against you, pressing his cheek lovingly into the crown of your head.

It’s only at moments like this that you get to see this softer version of him, so you always cherish it when it happens. Lucifer may be a slightly passive-aggressive panther who could kill most beings with a swipe of his hand if he sees fit, but, every now and then, he’s a sleepy panther who’ll roll over and let you scratch behind his ears.

Conversation is usually sparse at times like this - the two of you are content enough in each other’s presence that you don’t really need to make small talk. Today, however, Lucifer seems to have something he wants to vent about.

“Belphie has been missing a lot of his homework again lately,” He murmurs. You make a noise of affirmation to indicate that you’re listening, staring at the mugs of tea sitting on the table and pondering whether the two of you will actually manage to part for long enough to drink them.

“Is it anything important?” You ask after a moment, playing absent-mindedly with his left hand. He doesn’t make any move to stop you as you mess about with his slender fingers, so you assume that he doesn’t mind.

“Mostly essays,” He replies, shifting slightly and letting out a quiet sigh. “He’s never liked writing them, but he hasn’t had so many missing before.”

You make a thoughtful sound. Now that you think about it, wasn’t Belphie confiding in you about this the other day?

“It’s just hard to sit down and concentrate sometimes, especially when I’m always so tired,” You remember him saying resignedly over hot chocolate and marshmallows. “It’s not like I don’t want to turn all my homework in on time. Sometimes I just can’t.”

“Well, you shouldn’t force yourself to do them, either,” You’d replied, giving his shoulders a sympathetic pat. “Needs over school of course. If you need to sleep more, then sleep more - if you feel like you can’t write the essay, then don’t write the essay. I’ll talk to Lucifer if he gets mad at you.”

He’d given you a grateful smile then, and turned back to his hot chocolate with a marginally brighter look on his face.

“Belphie’s been having a lot of nightmares lately, so he isn’t getting as much sleep,” You say slowly. “I told him to go ahead and take as many naps as he has to. His needs are more important than schoolwork, after all.”

Lucifer takes a long while to answer, but you don’t mind. It’s only fairly recently that he’s really come to terms with the idea that he doesn’t need to be so hard on his brothers - that it’s okay to put their comfort before whatever image of respectability he’s trying to keep up for Diavolo. The change has been somewhat jarring, according to Satan, but it’s not an unwelcome one, and you’ll gladly take responsibility for it with your constant reminders and careful explanations that Lucifer’s younger brothers have their own problems that he needs to give more leeway for.

“...did he come to talk to you about this?” He asks finally.

“Yeah.” You can’t see his face, but you can practically hear the frown beginning to pinch at his brows. “I know it might not seem like it sometimes, but he does want to make you proud. He’s never wanted to disappoint you.”

He takes a deep breath and releases it with a low hum. “...Belphie has never disappointed me.”

“Seems that he doesn’t realise that sometimes, though,” You sigh, tracing the seams of his glove with your index finger. “He’s a good kid, really.”

Lucifer doesn’t give a verbal reply, but he does hum again. You shift slightly and turn to look up at him; he looks back at you with sleepy, half-lidded crimson eyes. “Take it easy on him, okay?”

He gazes at you in contemplative silence for a long while, blinking slowly like an affectionate cat. Finally, he nods, and you beam proudly, dipping your head to rest on his chest, carefully positioning yourself so that his buttons don’t dig into your cheek.

“I’ll speak to his teachers,” He says quietly. “We should be able to arrange something.”

You smile against the fabric of his waistcoat, taking his hand in yours and giving it a squeeze. “That’s progress. I’m proud of you.”

He doesn’t respond, but you know full well that he loves it when you say that to him. He didn’t in the early days of your relationship, mostly because he’d thought you were patronising him, but now that the two of you are so much more familiar with each other, he’s learnt to recognise that you don’t mince words; you say what you mean, and you mean what you say. Which is exactly why, as the Avatar of Pride, he absolutely loves it when you tell him that you’re proud of him.

Lucifer himself is deep in thought. Struck by a sudden warmth spreading through him, quite independent of the crackling fire before him, he wraps his arms around you, resting his cheek against your head. It’s at moments like these, when you’re so close to him, that he realises just how fragile humans like you are.

It terrifies him sometimes, knowing that the unforgiving march of time means that you cannot be with him forever. One day you will leave, and you will grow old and fade away without him, because, no matter how much he wishes otherwise, you belong to a different realm. You are not a demon, and he is not a human; your worlds can collide briefly, for a single, beautiful moment, but then they will continue to move in their own orbit - and perhaps they will never meet again.

Some would say that, for this reason, he never should have fallen in love in the first place. Relationships like yours have always had a sort of taboo, even in the Devildom, because all beings are not created equal; humans have such short, meaningless lifespans compared to demons and angels, such little power, always depending on leaders and faith in a deity that they cannot prove the existence of. That is what demons tend to think of humanity, and until he’d met you, Lucifer had felt similarly.

But your life has been anything but meaningless, and the power you hold over him and his brothers is far stronger than any amount of potent magic that any being holds. The seven lords of the Devildom would lay waste to all three realms should anything happen to you.

Lucifer had never thought that he had the ability to love so deeply and so purely, but then again, he’d also never thought that a human like you could exist. It seems that he��s been wrong about a lot of things, and he can only pray that he will be wrong in his prediction of how this will end.

But you’re with him now, curled up against him with a content smile on your face. For now, you’re here, and while you are, Lucifer doesn’t want to waste time on worries.

Your story is yet to reach its ending, and if Lucifer knows anything, it’s that he will stay by your side until then. As long as your worlds are still connected, he will continue to love you, and he will love you long after your worlds separate again.

He’s sure of it.

#unedited #obey me #obey me x reader #obey me imagines #lucifer x reader #swd lucifer #swd satan #swd belphegor #swd beelzebub #fluff #lucifer is one of those characters that you can interpret in SO many ways and i love that for him #he's pretty fun to write as well #existential dread #we love a good big brother lucifer #for those of you reading these tags here is a hint for the next obey me piece #remember the simeon with a himbo bf piece?#we're getting a part two baby #(warning: the part two is likely not going to be anything remotely like what you're thinking of)#;)

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