#looks for martin. they say hes sick. he RUNS to save him | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

zaceouiswriting · 1 year

Text

Lost Love

Character: Derek Hale x male reader, Death/Dea (original) x male reader, mentioned Lydia Martin, Jackson Whittemore, and Eli Hale. (Scott never gets a mention)

Universe: Teen Wolf

Warnings: None

Authors note: Hello. I've finally dealt with another request, (Only three months after receiving it, I'm really late with my requests) and well, I may have to apologize. I had a lot of creative issues with it, from the timeline to all of the characters that were supposed to be involved. I might also forget a character, but since it's been three months, I don't feel like rewriting everything again. So I’m sorry @arekmaximoffkq but I hope you can enjoy it anyway.

"We can't win this alone!" That was a statement no one would have ever expected from their fearless True Alpha. No one ever thought that Scott McCall could feel hopeless by a threat. That was until the Legions of Darkness and the Hunters under Monroe, who could never be stopped, made a pact. It was a fragile one considering the Legions are supernaturals.

Either way, they found a common enemy. Scott McCall. Although the Legions have made massive strides to dominate the world, beginning in North America, he causes them too many problems with his alliance network.

"Before anyone says anything, I've already asked the Asian Dragons Alliance and United European Tribes, but apart from a few smaller groups within them, they can't help us much. They also fight the Legion on their continents.”

"We've never lost to anyone, Scott. Why should it be any different this time.”

"Because he's not here anymore, Liam." Derek was the one who reminded everyone of what had happened nearly fifteen years ago.

The room went silent from one moment to the next. A deadly atmosphere hung over their heads. Liam couldn't understand what was happening. He never understood when his pack went silent like this after something remembered them about someone he never got to know.

Lydia was the only one who never looked as sad as the others, she always did her best to look that way, but if people watched her closely, they could tell the subtle difference. She was also the only one who offered to help Liam and the other people who weren't around at the time.

Everyone accepted, even if it was just about getting out of the room. In Scott's kitchen, she was surrounded by a larger group, all staring at her, desperate for answers. And she told the tragic story. About her husband being possessed by a Nogitsune, causing him to more or less kill several people.

Scott had saved his girlfriend Allison but instead damned Derek's fiancé. The sword intended for the archer pierced the older man who was there only to protect the youths. Before Derek could reach him, his body dissolved, hatred in his eyes as he died. But worse, it didn't save Allison for long because just moments later, as she nocked another arrow on her bow, she was stabbed from behind and died in Scott's arms.

Since then, Derek hasn't been able to look Scott directly in the eye without wanting to kill him. Instead of just one death that day, there were two. And one of those deaths was so much more important than the other. Allison was just a formidable archer but useless in the long run. Even Lydia had to admit that as her best friend.

Derek’s fiancé - a powerful mage - did everything for them, protecting and even making sure that the threats they faced never got out of control.

To say the next generation wasn't impressed would be an understatement. They always looked up to Scott, his supposedly strong moral compass. But now they knew his true intentions; selfishness.

Lydia knew from day one you saw Scott for the vile person he actually is. She only saw it after a few years of being separated from him. Being under the same roof with him now made her sick. She could only see her best friend's dead face and Derek's broken face.

Now more and more people have been able to see it, although it doesn't change anything because Scott is still their Alpha. But at least now they know that most of his decisions are selfish and not for the greater good.

"So what can we do?" Mason asked Lydia, slowly getting restless himself.

The look she gave him, and the whole group spoke all the necessary words. "I don't think we can do anything. We can only hope it doesn't get any worse."

Lydia should never have said those words. Mere days later, the sudden appearance of the Oni, quickly followed by the Nogitsune they thought had been killed, and then someone who broke their fragile pack even more apart.

She had no choice but to get help herself.

With the rest of the pack still at home, Scott tried to keep everything together while getting his Allison back. Lydia was in Jackson's car with him and his husband. "Who are you looking for anyway? I thought the supernatural council already told Scott we couldn't help."

But she said nothing. Not ready to say anything.

Ethan had the idea right away, but his husband didn't. Jackson kept nudging Lydia. To the point where his husband put his hand over his babbling mouth before Lydia would overturn the car.

They spent the rest of their journey in absolute silence until they came to a private road. "Please wait here. Don't follow me, and please don't ruin this, okay?" Without even waiting for an answer, she exited the car.

As she walked up the street in high heels, her arrival could be heard far out. She never intended to be secretive, which worked well enough for her.

She could feel the heavy air everywhere, filled with so much raw magical power that she kept marveling that the animals that lived there didn't suffocate. For example, she never had trouble breathing, but once she got there, she could never take a single proper breath.

“If this is not Lydia Martin. We haven’t seen each other in a couple of years!“ Your voice suddenly called out to the banshee. Already used to your antics, she turned around but could not see you immediately. “Turn around again.“

And she did, slowly, but she did. With a big smile, you stood before her, a crown of flowers with red and white roses, without thorns in your hands. Without hesitation, you crowned her again as you normally do whenever she comes by.

"You never change, do you?"

"Nope." With another big smile, you pulled Lydia into your arms. "It's so nice to see you again!" After their brief hug, he put her arm around his. "Now tell me why you are here. Our next meeting was only a few months away.”

Lydia would have been a fool to think you didn't smell the need for her to come to you so early. She was many things, but stupid wasn't one of them.

"A lot of things happen, and I know you don't like it when I talk around, so I'll just ask you. Could you come and-"

"Dad!" The panicked voice of one of your sons jerked you away from Lydia. Before you could react, however, your two sons stood before you and Lydia, with someone you knew and someone you didn't. "We found these intruders and- Aunt Lydia, what are you doing here?"

"You two have grown." She was utterly surprised to see them standing so tall, which made her slightly uneasy, knowing she would have many questions that the man she was meeting would most likely won't like.

Luckily Jackson - who was brought by one of my sons - was doubled-over from feeling sick because of the teleportation.

Shaking your head in amusement, you couldn't hold back your snarky thought: "Jackson, are you still not used to this?" Your voice froze him in his tracks.

Slowly, very slowly, almost scarily he raised his head, his eyes though still fixated on the floor. Standing almost straight again he still did not dare look at you. Lydia told him that he could and with her reassurance he finally did. His eyes quickly filled with tears as he locked them with yours. His baby-blue eyes shimmered with shock but in a happy way.

Without warning, he lunged forward at a pace neither your sons nor you could do anything about. He pulled you into his arms, much more muscular than you remembered. Now he feels and looks a lot like a young Derek. Thinking about him always made you sad, which not only your sons felt this time.

Only Jackson was apparently unaware of this. "This is Ethan, my husband!" he told you excitedly, smiling cheek to cheek, ignoring the fact that you were not dead and standing still alive in front of him.

You gently cupped his face, which now looked much older than yours. Just another curse of your existence. "I will meet your handsome husband in a moment. But before, how are you and your parents?" His face darkened. "You forgot what you promised me, didn't you?" Shame crossed his face for a short moment. He became the little boy you met when you moved to Beacon Hills, who just found out he was adopted again.

You saved him from getting hit by a car, talked to him, and brought him back to his parents in the evening. For years you tried to get him to see them for who they are; but you were unsuccessful. You finally got through his thick skull, but you died before Jackson, his parents, and you could meet again.

"Then we must do it soon. They are not getting any younger and deserve to be loved by you. After all, they raised you. But I also have to blame them for spoiling you little shit!” You jokingly shook his head with your hands, ruffling his perfect hair. It eventually brought a small smile to his face.

Booping his nose brought back many sweet memories with little Jackson and even moody teenager Jackson. Slowly you pulled your hands away from him. In the same movement, he turned and looked at the other man, who finally rose from his slouching position.

"Ethan is your name, right?" you asked in a dangerously low voice that sent a cold sweat down his son's back. He nodded and swallowed hard. "I think this little rascal over here told you about me?" You glanced back and forth at the couple with a raised eyebrow.

"My big brother," Jackson whispered to his husband to refresh his memory. Suddenly, Ethan's eyes widened with shock and realization.

His body suddenly went stiff. He even held out his hand to most likely properly greet you.

“Hey, little brat?“

“Yes?“

"How come you've got not only a handsome man but also a well-mannered one while still being the same obnoxious brat?"

He could see your cheeky, teasing grin that had torn holes in his heart so many times before, believing the hurtful things you said until you made it clear it wasn't meant like that.

However, Ethan knew nothing about it.

"Because Jackson is an amazing man, passionate, gentle, romantic-"

"He didn't mean it like that. He complimented us both."

"What? He attacked you!"

Both Jackson and you looked at each other, giggling at his words. "Brat is my nickname for him because that's what I called him the first we met. He is and remains obnoxious to me because although he has a hard, unfriendly demeanor on the outside, he has a heart of gold. I'm just glad he hasn't changed."

Horror filled Ethan's eyes as you explained the rather adorable things you had to say about his husband. You could see that he wanted to fall into a hole right then and there.

Without a word, you suddenly stood before him and put one of your hands on his cheek. "If you hurt my little boy, I will kill you and destroy your body on a molecular level, dissolve you, and destroy every memory anyone ever had of you, understood?"

At first, he seemed amused by the innocuous-sounding threat, but when he looked into your eyes, he knew it wasn't a joke. Eyes wide, you pulled him into a hug. "Welcome to the family!" In your arms, you whispered something else in his ear, a threat he couldn't ignore, but you made sure no one else could hear.

As you pulled away smiling, Jackson smiled too without looking at his husband, who looked pale, horrified at you.

"Now, can someone explain why you're all here?"

“Scott needs your help.“

"No." You turn and motion for your boys to come with you. Even though they were intrigued by the name Lydia mentioned, they followed you anyway.

"We need your help," Jackson pointed out. Looking into your eyes melted your heart a little, but you still couldn't.

With gentle eyes, you looked at the boy who was like a little brother to you. You still had to say it, even though you didn't want to: "No. I'm sorry, but I can't."

Jackson's face twisted, hurt at my refusal to help him. "If you had asked me, I would have done it immediately, but not with this boy and possibly the man who let me die." Suddenly the ground shook under your words, and time flew by, just for you to reverse it again.

"No one would be safe without your help!" Lydia tried again, but you waved your hand and teleported her back to their vehicle. Your boys wanted to know what it was about, but you couldn't tell them. They only know the bare minimum, and you want it to stay that way.

Days went by without Lydia trying to contact you again. You have feared for the safety of those who have been good to you, but you cannot save them every time they get into trouble. You were working on the ranch when you felt something strange.

One moment you were standing in one of the barns, and the next at the edge of your property. "What do you two are doing there?"

Your sons were jumping around in utter fear. One of the few rules they have to follow is that they can't leave the property without you.

"We have to help them!" the elder twin said bluntly while his younger brother had his eyes on the floor.

"You want to see your father, don't you?" That question silenced him immediately. "Don't worry. He won't die. He's like a cockroach. He comes out of everything with a few little bruises and maybe a few wounds.”

But they were determined to help Scott's pack. You could see it in his eyes and later even in his brother's eyes when he finally looked up at you. When they saw your eyes glow purple, magical energy flowed around you, and a moment later, the bubble that kept the ranch hidden from supernatural beings. It as well saved it from natural disasters.

They stared at you in surprise as your eyes went back to normal. "Then go. But not with all your abilities. You can teleport to them but not back or anywhere. Your powers will be minimal."

After that, you just disappeared, hurt, disappointed, and proud simultaneously. Being able to feel your boys teleport away, a strange pain immediately filled your chest. At first, slowly, and then suddenly, you winded in pain. Somehow able to suppress it, you walked back into your house, taking a book out, trying to just forget about it.

Just a sentence in, you were unable to concentrate anymore. For minutes you just stared at the filled pages before you threw it away, awaiting to hear it land on the floor.

All the alarm bells went off in your head at once because that sound never came. Ready to rip some heads off, you were suddenly frozen in place. "Finally, we meet again!"

"That's impossible!" you called out loudly through clenched teeth. "I killed you!"

Suddenly there was a child in front of you and next to him a middle-aged man. "You killed one of us and we want his powers back, you filthy mortal!"

The child was about to touch you. His small hand was outstretched to do whatever he wanted to you when suddenly a spear pierced his head. Blood splattered everywhere. Gasping in shock, he fell to the ground and disappeared. Only to reappear shortly thereafter. "I am the past! You cannot kill me!" Anger emanates from the small body, much more than a child should be able to feel.

You had an intense desire to contest this but believed it might be a while before you would find something that could actually kill this spoiled brat.

In complete contrast stood the middle-aged man. "We just want grandfather time back. After that, we'll leave you alone... forever."

Anger surged back through your body, reminding you of how they tried to erase your existence multiple times, the first being right at your birth. "No!" you told him after lashing out with your powers and destroying his body in no time.

"You'll see," the same middle-aged guy suddenly told you from the other side. “Maybe you can kill my son, the past because the past is quickly forgotten. And maybe even my father because the future hasn't been written yet." Out of nowhere, without you even feeling him move, he leaned in with his mouth next to your ear. "I am the present, omnipresent, unkillable except when the universe implodes in on itself."

The anger you were feeling did not subside. It even became worse, as his words felt like a looming threat to you. „What if I kill your son as well? Wouldn’t I be the controller of the present, through manipulation of past and future?“

The man smiled for the first time. "You're a lot smarter than I thought." After that, his voice softened a lot. "I allow you to keep the future, but use it wisely. You are a part of me now, and I am one of you, don't risk the balance of nature. At least no more than you have already done. You perversion of nature!"

You fell over as time worked again and lay on the floor while the middle-aged man crouched in front of his arms on his thighs. "You and your sons are abominations, an error of a magical nature. Therefore, in order to have the foresight of future events will be useful, but you must protect the universe with your power and that of your children! If not, we will find a way to kill you like we did the one who freed people's minds giving them absolute freedom."

Now that a real threat was being uttered, chills ran through your blood went cold – almost as cold as ice – you could already tell that his words were not empty.

You agreed with him. Though you knew you were powerful, you doubted there was any chance for you to win against something or someone so fundamental to the workings of the universe itself.

He smiled at you. A smile so malicious that fear was no longer the right word; you were horrified by this man. Somehow he must have sensed this because he turned to his son: who glared at you but took his father's hand.

They disappeared suddenly and without a trace; no magic, not even a smell.

Startled by this event, you fell back in your seat, exhausted and angered by your passive behavior. Maybe it was finally time to show everyone just how powerful you really are and not just give them some showings of lesser magical abilities you harbor. But where?

The pain that was gone came back a thousand times stronger than before. A scream so high you thought your vocal cords would eventually tear apart came out of you. It felt like your heart was exploding into a million pieces.

In a panic, you suddenly found yourself in a school that you had to attend many times considering you were - under normal circumstances - still would be, the mother figure of a pack of supernaturals.

Only now, you see older versions of all the teens you helped grow, broaden their horizons, and more. They fight the same enemy you died against. Right in the middle were your children - they were more of a hindrance than a real part of the struggle. Without much of their powers, they are almost useless.

You were watching the fight, but soon a girl - the cause of your death - snuck up behind the group and your sons.

You watched wide-eyed as she put an arrow in her bow, drew it, and let it fly. Your eyes followed the line of it exactly. As you realized where it would end up, a burning hatred began to flare in your veins. Not only was she the cause of your death, but now she was after your children?

A burst of raw magical energy shattered the illusion of the time - in which you were being held. With the smell of revenge in your nostrils and the tingling in your fingers, your scene changed again, only this time it was your own doing.

***

How can that be? Where did these two guys come from? And why do they look so like... him? My mind was racing as two boys about eighteen suddenly shoved Eli and me out of the way of danger, and then their hands glowed in that familiar color.

With only a few movements of their hands, they threw away the Onis with absolute ease. It reminded me even more of him. Honestly, everything reminds me of him, especially these days. Watching Eli grow up didn't make it any better. Maybe he would have stayed, even after what I did. But no, I had to be selfish and believe that she would stay with me.

Before I could ask them if they knew of him, they had summoned magic to forge weapons and engaged the Onis in sword fights.

Soon most of the Onis came to their comrade's aid and pushed both boys to their limits. First, their magic began to flicker before it just…disappeared.

As I watched them fight against those who had killed my one true love, I had this strange feeling, as if it was my duty to protect these young men as if they were my own flesh and blood.

"Get out of the way!" The boys only looked at me in shock, not moving at all. It forced Eli to suddenly transform, to push the other boys to the ground. Even though no blood was spilled or flesh pierced, my heart stopped even thinking that any of the three might have been injured.

Just as I wanted to scold my son, I froze in place, seeing the light-breaking shine of the sword rushing down.

A growl escaped my dry lips, my sore throat already dying, but not even that could stop the Oni from its hatred-filled attack against the three.

Since my body was too weak to move, even as a werewolf, I became too tired after hours of fighting. I could only watch as my son, the only good thing in my life that I ended up doing, would die right before my eyes.

Tears were already welling up in my eyes as the sword went deeper and deeper, now piercing his skin.

A sudden burst of violet light blinded me from seeing the death of my only loved one left. Screaming his name on a tongue that scolded and disciplined him more times than was necessary. I couldn't hold back my tears over the death of my son! He had to die without being able to see me: his father. Even though I was the worst father imaginable, I was still his father. Not being able to comfort my son in his last seconds of life will be the second worst experience of my life. It was hard enough living without the light of my life. But without my son? I could make my own life there!

"Don't go near my sons, you hellspawn!"

I... I know that voice! That voice... so soft and yet stern at the same time, it put all my hair up almost immediately.

I could only hear its magic crackling and things colliding. I could only imagine what had happened. But slowly, very slowly, the blindness - from the bright light - wore off. From blurred eyes, I saw a silhouette fighting like a monster against the real monster attacking us.

"Are you both all right?" His voice again, his beautiful voice. "I warned you, outside of the bubble, you will not be able to use your full power. As my sons, your powers are immeasurable. Therefore, it will take time and discipline to unlock your abilities again!”

Hearing his voice scolding these young men and calling them his "sons" almost broke me. They seem so old! How is that possible? Did he have these kids before we met?

Before I could ask, however, I felt a burning pair of eyes on me and saw one of the twins pointing at me. When his eyes met mine, it was as if I hadn't been dazzled by his striking entry: my eyes could take in all of him. I could see its raw beauty right in front of me. He never had to do anything to look good, but now? He was gorgeous, just as young as I had met him.

But his eyes didn't show me the same love as they used to. There was disgust and anger in them instead. Of course, I deserve both, but it still hurt me.

"Dad, are you okay?" Even though I've never treated Eli the way he deserves, he still cares about me, which made my heart skip a beat.

"Dad? How old are you?" My veins turned cold, freezing even, hearing the angry voice of my true love. I just realized that if he knew Eli's age, he would know the whole truth.

At first, Eli didn't realize he was being addressed like the clueless boy he always was. It warmed my heart a bit. But soon, he must have felt the twinkling eyes on him because he turned and asked his question again. Eli, almost forced to speak now, looked at me confused, almost scared, but I nodded, not wanting to know what he would say or do.

"I-I'm fifteen, s-sir."

Sir? Eli was never that well-behaved or reclusive person who respects strangers.

His eyes widened instantly, and the anger turned to pain as his hand flew over his heart, pinched his skin, and even a tear found its way to the corner of his eye.

"Who was it, Derek?" He was speaking to me, speaking directly to me, and I could hear him! But does that mean... he's alive?

Just now, realizing that I wasn't actually hallucinating, I nearly shit my pants lying on the floor, bruised and sore.

"Who did you cheat on me with? Fifteen years..."

There was no way I could lie to him again as I had so many years ago. "It was Breadon."

"Are you serious?" There was only disappointment in his eyes, and I could only feel the same. I feel ashamed of myself every day. Even though Eli came out of it, I still feel terrible.

"She died ten years ago. But she left right after the birth, leaving Eli and me alone. I thought if you weren't there, my heart would be hers. But we soon realized that neither of us loved the other, and I didn't date anyone else after..." A lump in my throat kept me from spilling out everything I could think of.

"You betrayed me? Let me die like I didn't mean anything?" He could hardly contain his anger but did his best, most likely for his sons and not for me. "You know what the funniest thing is? I was so in love with you that I would have forgiven you for cheating on me and getting a woman pregnant."

It was like a dagger piercing my heart when I heard that. Hearing those words of love once more, I realized in the next moment that my life could have been so much sweeter with that man. A man so deeply in love with me to forgive the worst betrayal of all.

***

When you saw Derek again, you felt a sudden outburst of hatred, but hearing that his life was so bad made it... subside, just like that. He's a lot worse off than you are now. It gave you a kind of satisfaction you never knew you needed.

"Get up, you pathetic man, and fight. I won't do it all by myself." Derek looked up in surprise when you spoke to him in a disgusting tone like that. "As I did with the hunters and the Legion of Darkness!" you mumbled softly afterward.

Derek stared at you in absolute shock. He knew you were strong fifteen years ago, but this?

A hiss came out of nowhere. A tone Derek and all other werewolves know all too well. You heard it often before as well. Far away was someone you knew should be dead. The arrow she released was in line with you. Without even trying to get out of the way, use your magic to surround the projectile to deflect it in a different direction or stop it mid-air.

Knowing this was the only way it could go: you turned back to Derek. Only for the arrow to pierce your shoulder. It only got stopped by your bone.

For a second, you were shocked, only to feel the dark magic of another being. The Nogitsune - a powerful spirit - could not simply be killed, as you now know.

“Hmm… I should have been prepared for that. After all, his disgusting smell is all over this damn place!”

"Dad, what are you talking about?"

"That stupid Nogitsune. As always, Scott can't do anything right.”

Just as Derek opened his mouth, you stared at him, effectively silencing him before he could even utter a single sound.

"Huhu... Death, where are you?" Your voice sweet as sugar. Your sons already know this sound, and Derek did it too. Only Eli was confused, but even he broke out in a terrible sweat. "Do I have to go up there and beat your ass again?"

Just as your threat sounded, an extremely low chuckle could be heard from somewhere. A smile graced your beautiful face when you heard it.

"I think you got it the wrong way around." His heavy footsteps echoed through the school corridors.

"Uncle Dea!" your two sons shouted and jumped into the man's arms.

He laughed heartily at this warming gesture; A six-foot and seven-inch-tall man was tall enough for your two boys to hold on to, and his muscular torso, wrapped in a himation - white lose clothes - showed off his big, muscular pecs and his eight-pack. In your eyes, he was and always will be the most handsome man in any world or realm.

Soon he was pulling your sons away, his eyes fixed on you. "What did I do to annoy you this time, sweetheart?" His deep bass voice is so dark it sends shivers down your spine. He slowly moved towards you while your knees were already weakening. "It's so nice to see you again after all these years."

"I'd say the same thing... if there wasn't someone you promised me the last time we saw each other is dead and in heaven." Irritated, especially by your disrespectful tone, he slightly angled his head, almost as if he wanted to warn you. But as he followed your outstretched index finger, his eyebrows suddenly jumped up in confusion.

"What the hell is she doing here? Her soul should be at peace!” he muttered angrily to himself as a book appeared in his hand. As he flipped through it, more and more arrows flew in your guy's direction. Strangely enough, your magic still couldn't protect you from them. All you guys could do was evade them.

Until the atmosphere suddenly changed, darkness blossomed from a place where you only knew warmth. Death glowed in that atmospheric-changing darkness, ready to devour all life.

"Someone stole her soul and gave her a new body!" he roared loudly, his voice deafening, exploding all the windows and even doors around us. It even threw Allison off balance, forcing her to the ground and snapping her bowstring.

"Can you do something about it?"

"Do I look like a wizard?" After a moment's pause, his dark eyes met yours, "Don't answer that, or I'll have to spank you later."

An angry blush appeared on your face. "Not like a wizard, but a really hot farmer, at least with the scythe."

His dark eyes swallowed you whole; it was pure lust, but deep down, also love. "Even if your god were still alive, not even he would be able to save you from me when I get you later alone." He licked his plump lips, causing an immense lump to form in your throat, making it impossible for you to breathe effectively. "But I can't do anything at the moment. Someone has to kill the body the hunter girl is in before I can take her soul this time, so she can never be reborn.”

Cracking your fingers and neck, your eyes were solely on the huntress. Knowing that only you would kill that bitch, because everyone else is riding Scott’s dick, trying to make this joke of an Alpha happy.

Before you could cast a single spell at her, the same useless Alpha had his claws rammed into your chest. Determination in his eyes as you two looked at each other, on eye level.

"No!" suddenly, a familiar voice sounded behind you. In a flash, dark hair pushed Scott away from you. His claws ripped from your chest before the Alpha had a chance to crush your heart.

Breathing heavily in pain, you bend over to hide the true extent of the pain. "Dad!"

"Don't worry. I'm okay. Angry, but okay." You smiled at your two sons, who immediately came to your side, each holding an arm. Just then, you glanced over at them. "Lydia? Jackson? If any of you ever come to me to ask for another favor and still be associated with Scott... you'll wish you had jumped into lava because the death you would suffer at my hands will even make the devil blush! "

Lydia has known for a long time that you hated Scott, and over time she realized that your hatred was not unfounded. Especially after Stiles' death, which was also his fault, leaving her with two young children, the last born a month after her husband's tragic death.

Jackson wasn't even a part of the McCall Pack, but as an old ally and somewhat friend to the 'True Alpha‘ he still does his bidding if asked nicely.

They both looked at each other, their friendship still there, even after all these years. They talked silently before nodding at each other. They quickly switched from Scotts' side to yours.

In all honesty, you knew these two would come to your side before you even issued that ultimatum. Especially Jackson. If he didn't already know, he would soon learn that you've always taken care of him.

"Please, look after my boys. I'll take care of this devil spawn!” Allison was Lydia's best friend. You knew it was hard for her, but she had cried after her long enough. She's a smart cookie and aware that Allison is dead, and it isn't okay that she is back, especially not for nature, to which Lydia is close herself.

Using your magic, you lifted yourself into the air and flew to where Allison was last seen.

But when you got there, only her ruined bow was left. Before you could react, a knife was in your thigh. Groaning in pain, you pulled out the dagger and threw it at her, only hitting the wall behind her. Because she was already gone again, cursing under your breath, you began to search for her again.

A massive salvo of knives hit you quickly, your entire left side being scratched, punctured, or sliced open by them.

At that point, you had it with these games. You jumped from room to room with your powers and found them soon enough. With your magic around her neck, you imprisoned her; Before you could finish her little game by killing her stolen body, someone or something pulled her back and cut off the magic holding Allison in place. You were confronted with a being that had once been human, mummified, but it was still obvious.

You were the only person who could fight the Nogitsune. In your opinion, Stiles was always useless, but you have to give him one thing: he was an intelligent guy and the only one who could outwit a dark being like this. Without him, only you and your brute strength could be an enemy to him.

Meanwhile, the others tried to capture Allison despite her being faster, smarter than ever, and most horrifically deadlier.

"I swear by all the dead gods, if Scott had ever been responsible enough to kill his damn enemies, none of this bullshit would ever have happened!"

With renewed anger, even hatred, seething so deep in your soul that something strange happened, something painful.

Your magical core, which many people call 'soul' exploded, not in a destructive but an opening way as if nature had accepted your requests and could finally see the value in your existence.

Even the dark being, fueled by hatred, fear, and anger, suddenly became afraid. Your son's, just as you experienced something similar. Their eyes glow a purple hue, just like yours. But unlike you, their other side - they inherited from your ex-fiancé - has broken away from the many walls you built inside them.

For the first time in fifteen years of their lives, they transformed. The boys knew they could have done that from birth because of their vast magical abilities. But as they did so, the walls around them crumbled with their enormous size.

At that moment, you pulled yourself out of your pain and helped your sons control their magic that could shatter the very fabric of existence. Although slightly smaller, they are still at least five times larger than a regular wolf. In unison, they howled loudly, startling the nogitsune even more and making it tremble with terrible fear. You gathered magic in a ball of violet energy and threatened the dark being that tried to flee but failed this time. As it slowly began to warp into the shadows, you blocked the shadow, isolating it from everything else. Shocked, the Nogitsune tried to escape, but the magic-like handcuffs pulled on all four of his limbs.

"What must I do to keep you away from the mortal realm?" you asked him, sighing heavily. You looked away from that for a second, mostly for dramatic effect, over to Dea. Strangely, he pointed to where the Nogitsune was. But when you looked back, he was gone again. "Are you fucking SERIOUS?" Your voice echoed loudly through the school hallways, alerting everyone that something was beyond wrong.

Pissed off, you were going to blow up the whole building. But out of nowhere, the younger of your twins pulled something out of a shadow. A leg. But only one leg, not the whole dark being, but at least part of it.

Frantically, the leg tried to get out of his sharp teeth, but your son held it tight and carried it over to you with a toothy doggy grin.

Instead of pulling it out, you put it in a purple magic prison. Separate it from his body. Immediately after that, it stopped moving but stayed there. Although it was no longer bound to his body, it still existed.

It wasn't long before your younger son was carrying Allison, also in his mouth, mauled by him. A gasp could be heard from the sidelines, a hurt, irritated one. "If you dare touch one of my sons, Scott, I will maim you in ways you can't even imagine!" You didn't even look at him, but your voice told him the threat was real and near. So he quickly withdrew.

Your son threw Allison to your feet; her body was bleeding badly. "Finally, I can do what was supposed to happen!" Without guilt, you formed a sharp weapon in your hand and raised your arm to strike. As the blade swung through the air, but you had to stop as Scott jumped in front of his ex-girlfriend. You weren't shocked at all. He built everything around her, and she is with him now. Jumping from girl to girl, even dating his former best friend's ex-girlfriend, like a cliché player in romantic high school movies.

Instead of killing her, you sliced him with the blade. He cried out in agony as his skin began to burn slightly. “It won't heal, Scott. Any cut I give you with this blade that might heal will leave permanent scars.”

But he didn't seem to care because he stood there, teeth clenched. So you slashed him again and again... and again. You soon found yourself enjoying causing pain to this narcissistic little boy who never grew up.

"My love!" His deep voice finally snapped you out of your crimson thoughts of revenge. Dea's hand on your shoulder, his eyes looking at you with concern.

A slightly embarrassed blush rose to your cheeks. You averted your eyes far from him. But he pulled you into his arms. As you began to sob softly, your two sons came to your side and wrapped Dea and you in their united arms. Warmth, a happy and hopeful warmth, welled up in your broken heart.

When all eyes were on your little family, even the pain and jealousy of your first love, no one heard the bloody gasp at your side. Not even you until you felt something drip down your arm. Looking slightly down, there was a red substance. As your eyes looked around some more, you found the origin.

Scott sat up, his mouth bloody and a blade sticking out of his body, piercing his heart. "The mage is right. You really should have killed me when you had the chance!" An ominous chuckle followed those words.

Your eyes widened in shock as they flew toward the magical prison. Only one leg remained from the bandaged leg: a female leg. As your eyes darted back to Allison, you could see her skin slowly peeling off, revealing the Nogitsune.

When you tried to hit it with your magic sword, it disappeared. Leaving its blade pierced in Scott's chest. But you didn't give a damn; his alpha status should never have happened anyway. Maybe now someone more worthy could be elevated to this status.

At that moment, there was something more urgent. Telepathically, you told your sons to look for the real Allison. It didn't take long for them to find her: hiding behind some desks. But they just howled, which meant they couldn't carry her, so you walked past the dying Scott into the classroom and closed the door.

Soon you came out again, not a hair out of place. “Our work is done here. Lydia, Jackson, and even Ethan, you know where to find us. I'd be happy to host you whenever you want. Maybe next Christmas?” Ignoring Scott, who made his death so melodramatic.

Before you could leave, however, Derek pulled you aside. "Why didn't you ever tell me I had children?"

"Why didn't you ever tell me you cheated?" I stared at him for an answer. "Of course, no answer. Due to my short death, I had to put more magical energy into them. Their bodies became too weak to sustain the immense magical pressure. I had to kill one of the three gods of time to force their bodies to age to keep them alive. I suffered great pains to give birth and keep them alive. Now they look like eighteen-year-old men but are actually only fifteen. I'll keep them sealed for another three years, then if they want to have contact with you, they can. But I won't."

"Neither will we." your two boys said in unison as they look at their father in disgust.

It brought a smile to your face. As you teleported back up with your sons, you looked at Derek one last time. "I wanted to tell you the day I died. At least the blade cutting me down showed me the real you. I hope you never find love again and die despised by most.”

Before that day, you never told your sons what happened, only that something happened that forced you to get away from their father. You always wanted them to form their own picture of their father.

He tried to grab you, but luckily you got away just in time. Derek stayed there, his hand grasping air.

"Three more years... I have to train more people to be able to retire by then and finally marry this man!" Death himself murmured softly. It immediately caught Derek's attention. "Oh, I am sorry. The man you cheated on and I've been with for several years. I fell in love with him when he won against me: the first time anyone's won, for that matter. At least I'd never betray him.” The smug grin on Death's ice-cold face had been enough to make Derek wince in fear.

Unfortunately, you didn't witness his fear of your one true love: a man, an otherworldly being just like you. But no matter how much you despise Derek, you will forever be grateful for your relationship with him for giving you your two beautiful boys.

However, for now, you will most likely have to cuddle them to make the day's horrible events go away.

[Masterlist]

#derek hale #derek hale x male reader #Derek Hale Request #derek hale one-shot #teen wolf #teen wolf x male reader #teen wolf request #teen wolf one-shot #x male reader #male reader #Eli Hale #Lydia Martin #Jackson Whittemore

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m0ther-of-p3arl · 8 days

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hi i finished tma season 1

IM GONNA THROW UP NONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONO

WHY HER WHY SASHA WHY MSUT THEY DO THIS WHY MY WIFE WHY WHY N OOOOOOO

THAT IS NOT MY SASHA THAT IS NOT MY WIFE WHAT THE FUCK GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT!!!!!! SHE DIDNT EVEN EAT ANY NOTEBOOKS MAN WHY SHED GET GRAHAM'D!!!! IM GONNA CRY THATS NOT HER THATS NOT HER THATS NOT HER WHAT THE HELL "yes." YOU ARE NOT MY BELOVED GET OUT

THAT FUCKING TABLE ISTG I HATE IT I HATE IT IM GONNA HIT IT WITH TWELVE BILLION METAL PIPES WHY DIDNT JON BREAK IT YOUUU FUUUUUUCKKKK THIS IS NOT A COINCIDENCE NO WAY THAT TABLE ISNT RELATED TO WHATEVER THIS REPLACEINATOR IS. IS IT THE SAME CREATURE THAT SKEDADDLED INTO GRAHAMS FLAT????? WHY DOES NO ONE SEE ANYTHING WRONG W SASHA THAT IS SO OBLIVIOUSLY NOT HER

the worms the worms the worms ... worm wife ..... the screamerrrrrrrrrrr the wormerrrrrrrrrrr

tim is so silly i love him tbh. my man (presumably) took off his pants in the middle of a wormpocalypse. thanks buddy. he should be high on co2 more often."statement of joe spooky... regarding mysterious happenings..." silly guy silly guy (the horrors) "im fine though. except for the holes. and the pain. and the blood. and the nightmares. couldve been worse though, eh?" u need 12 diff types of therapy now buddy

MARTIN is quite silly too i like him a lot ... erm i think he might actually be a ghost Jon was onto something (silly). jons still such a hater STOPPP HES JUST OUT HERE VIBING... HE SOUNDED SO SAD AND SCARED :( i want to hug him please "im sorry i left you" .. i know what you are

why was Gertrudes body just There btw. what the fuck. shes just been there??? man imagine ur running from The Worms and then BOOM random dead body of the old Archivist HELLO?? AND SHE WAS SHOT??? NO SPOOKY SCARIES ?? JUST GOOD OL GUNS??

i looked it up. the missing cases. have sashas voice. and the homophobic vase statement. im going actually going to be sick. wdym "Evelyn Hewett as Not!Sasha" GOODBYE I HATE EVERYTHING

they all sound so tiiired :[

SORRY TO RANT IN YOUR INBOX BTW IM JUST. NEED TO SCREAM. GOING INSANE

AND SORRY FOR ALL THE CAPS IIIIIMM

I NEED TO BE LOBOTOMIZED RIGHT NOW WHYYYY

AAAAAAH I DO NOT HAVE TIME TO RESPOND TO UR RANT IN EVERY POINT IN ITS ENTIRETY BUT REST ASURED IVE READ THE WHOLE THING AND IM

FUCKKK YESSSSSSSSSS

i knew you'd like tma. i fucking KNEW it. and it only gets worse from here hehehehhe so watch out >:3 and THEN u have to listen to protocol.... fuck yes.........

YOURE CATCHING ON TO SO MUCH OF THE LORE STuFF THO GOOD JOB U UNDERSTAND IT SO MUBH BETTER THAN I DID MY FIRST LISTEN LOL

yea sasha.... oof....... bro got graham'd as u said :3

tim.... auauuaauua a fandom favorite. ofc. the lovely. i have so much to say aobut tim and what a [insert adjectvie that i cant say cos spoilers] character he is but i CANT cos again SPOILERS........

martin is so lovely. i love that man. gorgeous ass lovely human. honestly one of the best characters (but jon's my fave im a jon girlie)

THE HOMOPHOBIC VASE LMAO yes. also. have u heard the jurgen leitner rant?? id save it til after u finish s2 but it is definitely something that every tma fan should memorize.

jurgen leitner?! stupid idiot motherufkcing jurgen leitner god damn fool book collecting dust eating rat old bastard shithead idiot avatar of teh whore, biggest clown in the circus laughed out of town, cowboy motherfucker jurgen leitner (etc etc. this goes on for about 4 paragraphs.)

I RELALY APPRECIATE U RANTING IN MY INBOX. BECAUSE U STARTED LISTENINT TO TMA COS OF ME. ITS LIKE MY HARD WORK IS ALL PAYING OFF. IVE INDOCTRINATED U INTO THIS STUPID FUCKING PODCAST.

dw it destroys everyone. makes everyone go insane. i had the Exact Same Reactions on my second listen ;-; it's a podcast and a half tbh. fucking amazing.

#question spirals #tma #tma spoilers #yeah this was incredible to read :]#im So Happy ur enjoying it so much RAHHHH #its one of my fave things in the entire world #so yea

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ollieofthebeholder · 1 year

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Each Sunday, post six sentences from a writing project — published, submitted, in progress, for your cat — whatever.

“If she’d texted me, I’d have gone straight to the Institute and laid everything out for you lot first, so we could have formulated a plan.”

“A plan? To take care of Martin?”

“To save him.” Melanie sighed at Tim’s bewildered expression. “Look, I’ve known Martin for twenty years. In that entire time, he’s been sick enough that he’s actually taken time off to heal once, and it was less that we convinced him to take care of himself and more that he fainted and spent the next three days with a fever so high he was delirious. He’s the kind of guy who says ‘I’ve just got a bit of a headache’ when he’s dealing with a migraine so severe he can’t see more than an inch in front of his face, or that he’s ‘a touch tired’ when he’s running on three hours of sleep in four days. For him to actually call off work, he’d have to be actively dying, and even then I wouldn’t put it past him to drag himself in if he thought it wasn’t contagious and he’d make it through the day so you wouldn’t have to be inconvenienced by his corpse in the middle of the office.”

#sunday six #the project that tumblr enabled #forgot to do this last week so you get a couple extra lines

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thatbrightblueshine · 5 months

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here's some analysis from my overworked brain, if you want to call it that.

i still think of the red card incident from last season. what drove him to do that? he must've known that he couldn't get away with it, not with a warning, he knew he'd get booked, and definitely not just yellow. he did it anyway. so protective of his goal that he was willing to eventually get send off or just so ego and adrenaline driven that he wanted to show off? was kieran impressed? was salah impressed or did he just think of him as a massive idiot for jeopardising his whole team like this. after all they were already 0-2 down and just another goal away from getting completely embarrassed.

martin ended up taking over for the rest of the game - doing a well job. but in the end he was suspended for the carabao cup final, so loris took over his role. sat there watching it on tv, wondering if he could've made those two saves loris couldn't make. cameras pushed into his teammates faces at full time, tears were seen on some. was he to blame? laid awake that night. knew he'd get back to the grounds soon enough, wondered how his teammates would react, if they'd blow it off and move or if some banter would happen. he's used to that, knows they don't actually mean it. what done is done. fuck it. man united won. it's over and done with. but the voices in the back of his head wanted him to take all the blame. as if loris wasn't good enough, as if martin wasn't good enough. as if he was better. in reality however, martin had been there for years, just losing his spot as the club's first keeper as soon as nick came in the summer before.

in training, it wasn't a competition. but some days nick felt as if martin was there just waiting for him to fuck up so he could step up again. nick takes it for paranoia, went through this exact same during his time at ipswich. hadn't have those thoughts in a while. maybe he needs to talk about it, talk it out. have a friendly chat. going back and forth on it, doesn't know how to feel. his head is spinning. maybe he needs a remedy. maybe he yearns to hear kieran's take on it. or even dan's. lives off their praise, like a boost of energy. cannot take their judgement - like a drug. takes you up, brings you down. he hadn't seen kieran since the red card incident. didn't get to chat with him after the game. so afraid of how he will look at him, act around him when they meet again in training. feels sick to the stomach. couldn't stand seeing disappointment in his face, he'd know that it's because they'd lost the cup. wonders if he had been goal instead of loris he'd done the saves, won them the game.

no goals? a penalty shootout he'd take any day. doesn't matter how it had ended but he had been there - maybe getting a sloppy bj from kieran for winning the shootout. praise. what keeps him going. like kieran's hand running through his hair as he's on his knees. "good boy." constant "what ifs" and in the end he was too blame for not being there at the final. for being so adrenaline driven, not wanting to risk another goal from liverpool. proper show off he is like dan would say. he needs to clear his head, get out of this circle. can't stand any of this. wish his head would go quite.

#rambles #fic

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bluejayblueskies · 3 years

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Please say more abt how Martin fits the closed off trait I'm begging 👁👁

Okay, so I got a bit carried away with this and it got quite lengthy....

I've put a TLDR above the cut and the details, transcripts, and general discussion below the cut!

TLDR: Martin is at his core a closed-off character who keeps his vulnerable feelings hidden and close to his chest. He instead focuses on caring for others and considering their feelings above his own, particularly in the case of Jon, who he cares for (sometimes to the point of self-sacrifice) throughout the podcast. His arc with the Lonely in season four and his interactions with Jon in season five demonstrate this lack of emotional vulnerability, and it's really only during the moments he spends by himself that we get significant insight into Martin's emotional state and inner thoughts.

Martin, to me, is a character who is very used to hiding how he feels. He tends to care for others at the expense of himself, has low self-esteem, and has a predilection towards the Lonely, all of which go hand-in-hand with somebody who is very used to hiding their emotions--particularly the negative ones--because they either think they're not important or that they're inconvenient and inappropriate for the situation. On a textual level, that's probably due to growing up with a sick (and likely unsupportive) mother who he had to take care of, where there was 'no time' for his emotions to get in the way or for him to prioritize himself in any way, shape, or form.

Martin is self-destructive, dislikes moments of emotional vulnerability, and (I would argue) genuinely struggles when he doesn't have somebody else to prioritize over himself. (His mother at first, but as the series goes on, Jon settles comfortably into this role for him.) Additionally, the biggest way that we, the audience, know anything about Martin's emotional state is when he's alone and self-reflecting (such as in MAG 170 and 186 or when talking to the tapes) or when he's forced to talk about something vulnerable (such as when Jon confronted him about his CV).

We don't get much insight into Martin's character between seasons one and three (at least not as much as we get in four and five), but I find myself drawn to this bit in MAG 118, when Martin is talking to Elias:

MARTIN

So what? I don’t get to be angry? I don’t get to burn things? Just, just run around, making tea, while everyone else gets to actually have feelings?

I think two things are important to note here. The first is that Elias is surprised (or least intrigued) that Martin is acting in this way--specifically, acting on his emotions in such a dramatic way. (And given that Martin is doing this as a distraction, rather than actually acting out because of his own emotions, maybe he's right to be surprised.) The second is that this line very much implies that Martin doesn't talk about how he's feeling, not like 'everyone else' does. He doesn't talk about it, doesn't act on it--just 'runs around, making tea.' And when Melanie comes back in after Elias is done, Martin immediately focuses on the plan and whether it succeeded, ignoring Melanie when she asks if he's okay or not. He closes himself off, and as far as we know, doesn't talk about it at all after that.

And then Jon goes into his coma, and we reach season four.

Martin is incredibly closed-off during season four. He's self-isolating, self-sacrificial, and approaching a state of genuine emotional numbness by the time he's cast into the Lonely. There's a lot to unpack there, but I'm going to focus on a few main things, many of which can be drawn from this bit in MAG 158:

MARTIN

It’s not him! It’s not anybody. It’s just me. Always has been. I…

When I first came to you, I thought I had lost everything. Jon was dead, my mother was dead, the job I had put everything into trapped me into spreading evil and I… I really didn’t care what happened to me. I told myself I was trying to protect the others, but… honestly we didn’t even like each other. Maybe I just thought joining up with you would be a good way to get killed.

And then… Jon came back, and… and suddenly I had a reason I had to keep your attention on me. Make you feel in control so you didn’t take it out on him. And if that meant drifting further away, so what? I’d already grieved for him. And if it meant now saving him, it was worth it.

When you started talking about the Extinction, though… you had me actually, then, for a while. But then – (laughs sardonically) then, you tried to make me the hero. Tried to sell me on the idea that I was the only one who could stop it. And that I’ve never sat right with me. I mean, I mean, look – look at me, I’m not exactly a – a chosen one. But by then I was in too deep. So I played along. Waited to see what your end game was, and here we are.

Funny. Looks like I was right the first time. It’s probably still a good way to get killed?

This monologue is a big insight into Martin's thought process during this season, and I'm mostly going to focus on two parts: the self-sacrifice and the prioritization of Jon.

Self-sacrifice

There's quite a bit of discussion about Jon's self-sacrificial tendencies, but less so about Martin's, both in this season and in season five. In my opinion, Jon's self-sacrificial tendencies originate from (among other things) survivor's guilt from his traumatic childhood experience with Mr. Spider, his increasing belief that he's less than human, and the fact that he prioritizes the lives of others over his own. Martin's self-sacrificial tendencies, while very similar, come from the fact that he thinks he only has worth if he can help and care for someone else and the fact that he doesn't think he's important enough to live. (For example, he says in MAG 158 that he's 'not exactly a chosen one' and says in MAG 198 that he's 'not important enough to kill.')

It's a subtle difference between these two things, and I would argue that while Jon's tendencies are more rooted in the 'help' (ie, 'I want to help other people and I will sacrifice myself to do it'), Martin's tendencies are more rooted in the 'hurt' (ie, 'I will sacrifice myself and other people will be helped in the process'). There is, of course, overlap, and it's not a black-and-white distinction between the two, but ultimately, I think Martin is so used to prioritizing others' emotions and needs above his own that when he's left mostly alone as he is at the end of season three, with the only person left to hold onto being in a coma (possibly forever), he falls back into the same patterns of self-destruction and closed-offness, only without the 'help' to go along with the 'hurt' because there is nobody left to help (especially after his mother dies). Ultimately, he joins up with Peter because he thinks it 'would be a good way to get killed.'

Prioritization of Jon

But then Jon wakes up from his coma, and now Martin has justification for his self-sacrifice again, because he can protect Jon by continuing to work with Peter!

... Maybe.

Jon isn't harmed by Peter during season four, sure, but he does climb into the coffin and visits Ny-Ålesund and is tracked down by Julia and Trevor and struggles emotionally and morally with his own humanity and is hurt, in a way, by the distance Martin puts between them. And I hesitate to place blame for the apocalypse on anybody but Jonah, but if we're going to argue in-canon that Jon was responsible for the apocalypse (he wasn't, but that's not the point of this post), then Martin contributed to that blame and responsibility because it was his actions and decisions that ultimately drew Jon into the Lonely and resulted in him getting the 14th and final mark. (Again, I don't think Jon or Martin are at fault for the apocalypse, but if we were to blame Jon, we could blame Martin as well.) It was only after getting that mark that Jonah was able to use Jon to end the world, something that was hugely hurtful for Jon. So did Martin really protect Jon at all by staying away from him and continuing to work with Peter? Or was that just a convenient excuse to keep self-destructing?

Jon and Martin, in my opinion, had very similar arcs in season four. Martin was sinking further into the Lonely and Jon was sinking further into the Eye. We hear a lot more about Jon's emotional struggle with this given that he's the POV character, sure, but Jon also talks about this with other people. He talks about it to Helen (MAG 152):

JON

…

When does it stop?

HELEN

(impatient) What?

JON

The guilt. The misery. All the others I’ve met, they’ve been – cold, cruel. They’ve enjoyed what they do. When does the Eye (inhale) make me monstrous?

And to Daisy (MAG 136):

JON

My – (large sigh) My memories of the coma are not clear, but I know I made a choice; I made a choice to become… something else. Because I was afraid to die. But ever since then, I – I don’t know if I made the right decision; I’m stronger now, tougher, I can – (he cuts himself off) If I do die, now, or get sealed away somewhere forever? I don’t know if that’s a bad thing. And I don’t want to lose anyone else, so if I can maybe – stop that happening, and the only danger is to me, I – I’ll do it in a heartbeat; worst case scenario, the universe loses another monster.

But all we really get from Martin are the things he tells the tapes when he's alone and the monologue he gives in MAG 158. It makes sense that he wouldn't be as open, yes, given the nature of the Lonely, but I can't help but think of (MAG 154):

JON

The Lonely’s really got you, hasn’t it?

MARTIN

(no hesitation) You know, I think it always did.

Jon was always curious and hungry for knowledge; the Eye amplified it. Martin was always closed-off and isolated; the Lonely amplified that as well.

But then Jon pulls Martin out of the Lonely, they flee to the safehouse, and three weeks later, the apocalypse begins. Martin isn't as consumed by the Lonely as he was in season four, he's with Jon--the person he loves--for extended periods of time, and they're in an extremely stressful situation that's sure to be incredibly emotionally charged. There's a lot to be said about Jon's emotional vulnerability during season five and how Martin both pressures him for it and rejects it in different ways, but for the purposes of this post, I won't go too far into detail about the motivations behind how Jon is feeling and acting.

I will say, however, that in season five, Martin still continues to place a lot of focus on asking Jon how he's feeling, encouraging (or pressuring) him to share, and getting frustrated when Jon can't or doesn't (MAG 167):

MARTIN

Okay, so how exactly would you describe your current emotional state regarding all of this?

JON

I –

MARTIN

(overlapping) Go on, I’m all ears.

JON

I feel…

MARTIN

(go on) Mhm.

JON

(sigh) I feel… sad.

[Brief pause.] MARTIN

(flat) Sad.

JON

Very sad.

MARTIN

(*very* flat) Very sad.

[He sighs slightly as he says it. Their bags jangle.]

A few moments prior to this, Martin expresses displeasure that Jon is Knowing things about him, specifically pointing out his emotions (MAG 167):

MARTIN

It’s just – it’s weird knowing that you can know literally everything I think and feel. E-Especially since you’re not exactly the most open of people – emotionally, I mean.

I think Martin is making an effort to open up more to Jon. But I still think it's difficult for him to talk about how he feels so openly, and while he is completely in the right for not wanting Jon to Know things about him without his permission, I think it's interesting that the focus is on his feelings and that he brings up how Jon isn't emotionally open immediately after. It scares Martin to think that Jon could know, at any given moment, how he's feeling, and I think it's partially because he's not used to that level of vulnerability. He turns the focus on Jon, away from himself, and doesn't really make an effort to talk about how he's feeling about all of this, instead prioritizing Jon's feelings and mental state like he's grown comfortable with.

And when Martin bottles up his emotions--of which there are a lot, in such a stressful environment, they can explode out in hurtful ways:

MARTIN

(overlapping) I know! I know, okay, I just – (bracing exhale) Look, I j,just – don’t want to get burned, all right? It’s, it’s like my least favorite pain ever.

JON

Is that – a joke?

MARTIN

(a bit faster, a bit shaky) No, no, okay? I, I legitimately hate burns, alright? They’re, they’re awful, and they scar horribly, and they just – it – it just makes me sick; I, I hate it. Hate it!

I don't think Martin really thought about what he was saying when he told Jon, who has a large burn scar on his hand, that burn scars make him sick, and I don't think he meant it maliciously. But he'd spent the greater portion of the conversation talking around the fact that he didn't like burns and that was why he didn't want to go into the building, and so when it finally ended up coming out, it did so in an explosion of emotion rather than a conscious decision to share. Martin doesn't have a good handle on his emotions, and he doesn't have a good handle on sharing them.

(Is it too much for me to say that Martin was more emotionally vulnerable with himself in MAG 170 than he was with Jon when Jon finally found him?)

Throughout season five, Martin asks Jon questions, he expresses frustrations with Jon, he shows discomfort or fear at times, but for as much as Martin feels frustrated that Jon isn't talking about how he feels about their situation, Martin really isn't doing so either. The most he talks about his feelings is in MAG 170 and MAG 186, when he's by himself, and I remember MAG 186 in particular because before that, we really didn't know what Martin was thinking about for the majority of the season! And in this episode, we find out a lot of very important things about Martin's character. Like (MAG 186):

ALSO MARTIN

Look, I know what you know. Maybe I’m just a bit more… open about it.

Also-Martin acknowledges that Martin often doesn't say what he means and hides what he really feels, telling him that it's 'hard to be vulnerable,' and Martin is initially very resistant to the idea. And then, when Also-Martin suggests that Martin wants to stay so that he can be 'quietly sad,' we get (MAG 186):

MARTIN

We could talk to Jon about it.

ALSO MARTIN

We could. But we both know that loved ones make the worst therapists. They’re too wrapped up in trying to stop you hurting to actually help. But hey, we know all about that, am I right?

MARTIN

There’s nothing wrong with comforting people.

ALSO MARTIN

A cup of tea isn’t a resolution. At best it’s a… a plaster. At worst… a muzzle.

This is very interesting to me, because for all that Martin tries to help other people, he also believes that comfort doesn't always help and that you can't be your loved one's 'therapist.' I think this gives a lot of insight into why Martin doesn't share his emotions with the people he cares about, especially Jon; he doesn't want to put Jon in the position where he'll become his 'therapist,' and he doesn't necessarily think Jon can help. So instead, Martin just chooses not to be vulnerable at all, because he doesn't want to burden the people he cares about. But, when it's just him (MAG 186):

ALSO MARTIN

Don’t lie. You don’t need to. Not here. It’s just us.

He doesn't feel like he needs to pull his emotional punches. He can't accidentally hurt somebody or put them in an awkward position; it's just himself. But what's said to himself remains with himself, and (at least on tape), he doesn't discuss any of this with Jon. Not even the bit about, if it came down to it, Martin would have rather had Jon smite him than continue to rule over a domain. He goes right back to being closed-off around Jon, but now we, the audience, know what lies underneath, and how little of it reaches the surface.

In fact, the thing Martin's probably most vocal about is how Jon's feelings about himself bother him (MAG 199):

MARTIN

I guess that’s why it really bothers me, you know? I try, but I can’t actually imagine ever making a decision that I knew meant losing you.

And it… It hurts to know you can.

And I think he has a tendency to use anger and frustration to cover up hurt, shying away from the admission that something Jon's done has hurt him (an incredibly vulnerable thing) and instead relying on the less-vulnerable and more external anger to cover it. This is more speculation than true analysis, but I think that's a lot of what's happening in MAG 200, when he discovers that Jon has already assumed the position of the pupil and has, in Martin's eyes, broken his promise.

#tma #the magnus archives #martin blackwood #tma meta #jonathan sims #(because i do talk about jon a bit in this too)#i actually think martin isn't good with emotions at all #both his own and others'#i think he doesn't quite know what to do with them so he puts on a mask and defaults to things he knows will work #*thinks about the low empathy autistic martin high empathy autistic jon post with love in my heart*

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nat-20s · 3 years

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for @jonmartinweek THE FINAL DAY prompt- Pining/Longing. This one takes place, well, you’ll see

~*~

A Study of Longing, Told in Six Parts

Part 1

Martin wonders if he’ll ever get to a point in his life where kindness doesn’t feel like a shock to the system. It’s already surprising enough when Tim and Sasha invite him for drinks in a genuine offer of friendship, but for that kindness to come from Jon? Martin has no idea what to do with being believed, let alone being protected.

And now here he is, blearily opening his eyes only to find himself staring at a mass of hair. As he sits up and rubs the sleep from his eyes, the shape resolves into the form of one Jonathan Sims. He had apparently fallen asleep with his head cushioned on his arms, against the cot Martin was currently occupying. It’s not an image that Martin can fully process at the moment, so instead he debates whether or not to wake Jon up or quietly get off the cot to let him get some much needed sleep. He decides on the former, both thinking that it would be hell on his back to keep sleeping in that position, and that he would like an explanation.

Hand hovering above Jon’s shoulder, but not fully touching, Martin oh so quietly calls out, “Jon?”

That’s all it takes for Jon’s head to rush up with a gasp, glasses askew, and with the texture of his sleeves pressed in red marks on his face. It is a horribly endearing look. “Hrn?”

Martin opens his mouths, closes it, and waits for Jon to get his bearings. Jon smooths down his (frankly ridiculous) sweater-vest, adjusts his glasses, and slips back on his professional demeanor. “My apologies, Martin, I, ah, must have fallen asleep.”

Glancing to the crappy little digital clock resting on a file box next to him, Martin rolls his eyes. Only Jon could be quite so stuffy at 4:32 in the morning. “No apologies needed. Though, um, was there? Something you needed or..?”

Jon shakes his head and stands up, dusting off imaginary grime. “No, no, nothing like that. I had just, er. I had heard you cry out and I- I wanted to make sure nothing was going on. It appears that it simply a nightmare,so I will be.. taking my leave. Now.”

He doesn’t know what part of himself replies, “Oh! You don’t have to go!,” but he replies it anyway. Jon does that little thoughtful frown at him, which forces him to continue, “I mean, if you wanted the cot. For sleeping. I’ll probably be awake for the rest of the night, so, you know, no skin off my back .”

“Ah. No, that’s quite alright, Martin. Try to get some more sleep, there’s still a long work day ahead.”

Jon doesn’t even wait for a response before turning on his heel and leaving. Martin sort of hates how much he wanted him to stay.

Part 2

Jon is laughing. Jon is terrified, all the damn time, and yet, somehow, he’s laughing. Honestly, he was starting to wonder if he was still capable of it. Martin is gesticulating wildly with his fork, animated in a way that Jon’s only ever seen when in they’re in the middle of a rather silly debate. He thinks this lunch’s topic was something like whether or not snakes were cute? He lost the thread of conversation about half an hour ago, honestly. Covering his mouth, he lets the giggles run through his whole body, shaking his shoulders and heating his core. He feels light, heady, like he’s reminiscing with an old friend and they’re both on the edge of having had too much to drink.

He only wishes he could trust this feeling. He wishes that he could trust Martin, that they were normal coworkers having a normal lunch, that the previous person in Jon’s position had gone into an easy retirement instead of being violently murdered. He wishes he hadn’t read that letter telling him, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Martin, Martin, who took him to lunch and brought him tea and seemed so very warm in so very cold circumstances, was lying to him.

Jon stops laughing.

Part 3

Of course, the second his body hits the simultaneously stiff and weirdly lumpy motel mattress, his phone goes off. It may only be about 8 pm, but he’s tired, and he’s sore, and he’s had a persistent headcold for the past week for some unholy reason, the last thing he wants to do is talk. However, only about four people have the number to the burner cell, and they’re almost certainly have a purpose behind their call.

Closing his eyes and letting out a sigh that turns into more of a groan, he picks up on the 4th ring. “Hello?”

“Hey, Jon! It’s Martin, I’m not sure if you have my number programmed in that phone, or if it even has caller ID if you do. Anyway, it’s been about a week since I’ve heard anything, and I wanted to make sure you weren’t, y’know, dead or arrested or anything.”

His previously tense and aching muscles all relax, without him consciously deciding to relax them, and a sleepy smile spreads across his face, because some time in the past year he’s become a parody of himself. Yes, maybe he should be more affronted by how much Martin’s tinny voice brings him comfort, but he’s had a rather terrible time of things since...since he began work in the archives, really, and he’s worn down enough that he can admit he misses his friend.

Huh. Friends. They are, aren’t they? Wonder when that happened. (He can guess, something involving a fake CV admission, but he doesn’t feel like it right now.) “Martin, I recognize your voice, no need to introduce yourself.”

“Right! Yes, uh, ‘course..of course you can. Right. Sooo...I take it you’re not dead, then.”

“Correct. I haven’t been arrested, either.” It’s only sort of a comforting lie, so Jon thinks it can be forgiven.

“Good. Great! Yeah, that’s...that’s good.”

The conversation could probably end there. Jon could probably tell Martin good night, and they’d hang up, and Jon could get the sleep he had been so desperately craving not moments ago. Somehow, he thinks that neither of them want that. Scrambling for something to talk about, Jon replies, “Hang on, isn’t it something like 2am over there?”

“It...might be.”

“Martin!”

“What! It’s not like you have a monopoly on bad sleeping habits. Besides, I was up anyway, and I just..”

“Just what?”

“I just missed your voice.”

Oh. Heat rushes to his cheeks, and tears start to prick at the corners of his eyes, and god. He had missed Martin’s voice too. “Really? I know you’ve had to listen to a fair number of tapes lately, thought you might be sick of it by now.”

“No. I mean, I am a bit tired of tapes, honestly, but even the ones that you recorded, that not really your voice, is it? I mean it is, but it doesn’t sound like you when you’re actually, um, you. I wanted..I wanted to hear you.”

Jon’s far too worn out to deal with that sentiment, and the way that it makes his heart clench. So instead of addressing it, he says, “I am very close to being asleep.”

“Oh. Right, sorry, I’ll let you go-”

“No! No. Um. Would you mind staying on the line? Until I’m gone? I-I like hearing your voice. As well.”

“Oh! Sure, yeah, definitely. Anything in particular you want me to talk about?”

“Whatever you like. Something nice?”

“All right. I can do that. Um. Did I tell you about this little yarn shop I found the other day. It’s called ‘Puttin’ on the knitz’, and it’s…”

Jon peacefully drifts off, listening to the voice of the man who he can only admit in moments such as these, he wishes was in this bed, laying beside him.

Part 4

please come back please come back for the love of god come back I can’t believe you’re doing this do you have any idea how stupid this is come back to me come back come back come back

Part 5

There is plenty of things to long for in the apocalypse. A decent cuppa. The relief of actual sleep. Murdering Jonah Magnus. For there not to be a apocalypse. They are grateful, however, to not have to long for each other.

Part 6

Martin comes to without a knife in his hand, or bloodstains on his clothing. Those, under other circumstances, would be good things.

Martin comes to, laying in the grass, without anyone beside him. He barely has the moment to feel agony spike through him before he’s out once more.

There are no Jonathan Sims admitted to the hospital. As far as he can tell, no one was admitted into the hospital at the same time as him, and certainly no one with a stab wound.

There are thousands of ‘Jonathan Sims UK’, typed desperately into a library computer search bar, wielding mostly results about a sport manager and a romance novelist. None of the images are of the right person.

Sometimes Martin puts one foot in front of the other, carefully blank in heart and head. Surviving, even during times that he’s not sure he wants to, is one of his greatest abilities.

Sometimes Martin despairs.

On the worst nights, he tries to call the Lonely back to him, tries to be swallowed whole. It never works. He’s not sure if it’s because the fears aren’t in the reality or if they’re not established enough to have any leverage or if his connection has simply been broken. (He doubts the last reason. He hasn’t been this alone since Tim’s funeral. Even then, Melanie had thrown a few stilted condolences towards him. No one is aware enough of him to give condolences now. He misses Melanie. He misses all of them. He misses Jon like a gaping, bleeding wound misses skin.)

Seven months later, and he has enough money saved and identity built that he moves on to Scotland. The little village they had been adjacent to exists in this reality. Daisy’s cottage does not.

On a whim, he enters the yarn shop. He’s not going to pick anything up, hobbies are the last thing he can focus on, but it’s nice to look. To feel the various textures, to take in the rich variance of colors, to, hopefully be present in his own body, if only for a moment.

Martin steps in. The bell chimes. He’s there. Standing in front of him. Whole. In a cry that’s closer to a gasp, he calls out, “JON!”

Jon turns, looks up at him, recognizes him even before he’s even fully seen him. It’s his Jon, he’s here he’s here he’s here. The callback of “MARTIN!” sounds like it was punched out of him, the start of a sob and a laugh all at once.

In a blink, they’re together, their embrace a tangle of limbs, a collision of lips, a mixture of tears. Martin can’t tell which of them is saying the litany of “thank god thank god thank god” and who’s repeating “it’s you it’s you it’s you.”

It’s Jon that’s telling him, “I knew you had to be here. I knew it, because I kept thinking. Surely. Surely this new universe wouldn’t be so cruel as to allow me to live, but to make me live without you.”

It’s Martin that replies, “I didn’t know. I thought it would be that cruel. Please don’t make me go through that again.”

Jon pulls him in tighter, eliminating the centimeter of space between them. Speaking into Martin’s neck, whispered in fierce devotion, Jon promises, “Never again. Never again. You and me. Together. For the rest of our lives.”

Barely discernible through his sobbing, Martin tells him, “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

~*~

There are people that think that wanting is more worthwhile than having. Martin thinks, frankly, that those people have never been in love.

#jonmartinweek2021 #jonmartin #jon sims #martin blackwood #AHHH this is just over TWO THOUSAND words #i really was like for the last prompt i will not Shut Up lmao #also fun fact! part 4 was specifically designed to not be clear whether it was from jon or martins perspective

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lady-of-lyon · 3 years

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So, I made one post a while back about how awesomely feminist the show Wild Kratts was, with how its two main female characters were women of color in engineering and deserving roles of power, female villains who weren’t motivated by spite or quest for youth, etc, but today I wanted to talk about something slightly different, that I’ve wanted to cover for a while now, because I also think it’s very good - and that’s how the show portrays masculinity, in a way that’s really positive!

First, we have our two main characters, Chris and Martin Kratt. Keep in mind these two are basically self-inserts - and there are plenty of creators, especially males, who have used self-insert characters in really scummy ways - all I have to say is Powerpuff Girls reboot and you know exactly what I’m talking about. Even if they weren’t literal self-inserts, male characters, superheroes especially, oftentimes serve the male power fantasy, being just the strong, stoic, all-powerful person so many boys are told they’re supposed to be. I could get into a whole discussion about how the male power fantasy is present even when males are not (ever look through a fashion magazine and wonder why there are so few men? Sure, part of it is that the industry thrives off exploiting women’s insecurities, and men aren’t as concerned for their appearance, but another part of it is so that the guy, looking through it, can feel like he has no competition for these women - there’s a reason so many comedians have jokes about fashion magazines being their sexual awakening as kids. It’s really scummy) but that’s not what this is about. So, the bros had every opportunity to do just that - make themselves these traditional heroes who aren’t actually really good role models, like batman or what have you. It’s certainly not uncommon for celebrity cartoons to do stuff like that. But Martin and Chris chose a different approach. They’re pretty strong standouts for positive masculinity. They’re openly affectionate - both with eachother as brothers, and with their friends. They cry, sometimes over little things - most of the time when big superheroes cry, it’s ‘cause they lost the girl they loved or their mentor or something like that, only in the big, most agonizing moments do they shed a tear. But here, Chris or Martin will cry just because they’ve had a bad day, or because they’re overwhelmed and overjoyed that someone named a mantis after them! In a lot of shows or movies when a guy cries over something little, it’s usually played for laughs, or to emasculate him, but here it’s casual without being unreasonable or overdone. The brothers cry just ad much, maybe even more (haven’t gone back and counted or anything) as the girls do. Not to mention, it’s a very nice depiction of a loving, healthy sibling relationship. As the youngest sibling myself, it’s refreshing to see a pair who don’t abuse eachother with noogies or cruel and snarky remarks. When they do fight, it’s never a screaming match, and also because they had a conflict of interest or disagreed over a fact, not because, say, one of them stole the other’s shirt or is neglecting the other’s feelings. Kids, being very impressionable, get exposed to a lot of abusive sibling relationships played as normal in media, and start thinking this is how siblings are and should act. For instance, my sister (who is now my best friend and has gotten over all these bad habits over time) when she was younger watched a lot of Kim Possible, a show that is great, but has a bad family dynamic with Kim and her little siblings. The “tweebs” as she calls them are always irresponsible, destructive, and making Kim annoyed to no end. My older brother was one of the most polite, reserved, kind little kids, but she still treated him like he was a brat and a nuisance, because that’s what shows like Kim Possible taught her little brothers were. Additionally, I was always treated like a spoiled crybaby who just wanted attention and got away with everything - I was not any of those things, ever, but that’s what shows teach you little sisters are. Sure, Wild Kratts has a smidge of that, with Chris seemingly being the stereotype of the know-it-all little sibling, but instead of being constantly looked town upon for being too “perfect” like with Hailey Long in American Dragon, Martin often praises his brother for his abilities. Sure, Martin gets annoyed when Chris tries to correct him on things, like in the episode Wolf Hawks, but everyone else does too, so it feels more like a take-down of mansplaining than a sibling spat.

I talked too in the feminist post about how refreshing it is that Chris and Martin more or less willingly put themselves under the authority of Koki and Aviva, two women of color. I don’t think it’s possible to say any one character is the “leader,” they all work as a evenly balanced team, but it’s safe to say that Koki and Aviva make the more responsible decisions. The bros try to get out of their calls a few times, but the show plays it more like they’re being irresponsible, and less like they’re renegade cool dudes who don’t take nothing from nobody, especially not two girls. They are pretty much always punished via karma for their reckless choices, most especially in To Touch a Hummingbird, where their arrogant attitudes blow up in their faces rather spectacularly. We also never see the narrative most present in sitcoms, where the male leads mess up and go out of their way to cover it up and ultimately gets away with it - after all, you have to root for them, right, because sure they messed up and had no consequences, but aren’t they just so lovable? No, here Martin and Chris always have to fix their wrongdoing, and it’s always deserved when they get comeuppance. Another aspect of the show I like is that, many times, when the bros get captured or are in peril, they are saved by the women - and most refreshing of all, there’s never a moment of “wink wink nudge nudge wow I can’t believe I had to be rescued by a GIRL” or even “wow you saved me you’re pretty good honey guess I shouldn’t have underestimated you, you go girl!” No, when the girls save them, it’s just - you know, relief? Because they were saved? It’s never a scenario played as an exception, or any more dire than when the bros need to rescue eachother. The bros are genuinely happy to have them as teammates. The show even did the standard “boys vs girls” episode in the form of When Fish Fly - but instead of being actually girls vs. boys, it’s engineers vs. adventurers. There’s nothing really gendered about it - the girls happen to be engineers, and the boys happen to be adventurers. And the episode doesn’t end with the boys being “wow gosh darn I shouldn’t have doubted you girls are better at everything,” it’s a mutual agreement that both parties have hard jobs. Basically, the bros are very naturally respectful of women. That plays more into their feminist narrative too, but either way, it’s refreshing.

Then, we have Jimmy! Jimmy, the lovable gamerboy pizza man. At first glance Jimmy seems like the stereotypical cowardly, pathetic, emasculated loser. He’s frightened of most things, as of yet has no power suit, and he BAKES for crying out loud! But none of these things are framed as terribly bad traits. Sure, we laugh when he screams and runs from an animal, but though it happens over and over, the crew doesn’t get sick of it. They don’t berate him or belittle him because he’s so gosh darn cowardly. There’s a great scene in Rattlesnake Crystal where Jimmy has to deliver something to the bros alone, in the middle of a spooky desert. He is terrified the whole time, sprinting off after he delivers the goods. When Martin and Chris run into him, they don’t laugh at him for being spooked, they just greet and then bid fair well to their friend. To them, this is just Jimmy, and there’s nothing wrong with it. Jimmy isn’t coddled, but he is reassured many times that he’s a valuable member of the team. I love that little message, that you’re just as important of a person even if you can’t do as much or have greater limits. When his friends do try to get him over his fears, it’s not because they have to, that the day will somehow be ruined by Jimmy’s incompetence p, but because they’re his friends, and want him to experience fun and wonderful things that he would otherwise miss out on. But what Jimmy CAN do is just as important! Jimmy is a gamer, which in a lot of shows, is portrayed as a lazy, useless, mindless hobby. But here, because he plays video games, it makes him essential for piloting the ship and teleporting important items. There’s always the joke that video games improves your hand/eye coordination, but recent studies have shown it has much better effects. It can make you much better at keeping track of multiple moving objects and processing technical but variable information- two traits which, fittingly enough, are really really important for air traffic controllers and airplane pilots! He also demonstrates a lot more courage behind the wheel of the Tortuga, which makes sense - in an impersonal setting, he would have more sense of calm and control and courage, because it’s so similar to a video game world. It’s not all too different with how I feel more emboldened to pick fights with people on the internet, but get crazy anxious if a real person so much as looks at me. So Jimmy’s love of video games isn’t because he’s irresponsible, it has real benefits. A quick last point - Jimmy also eats a lot, but they thankfully don’t make him fat or greedy or anything like that. He never takes food from people, he actually bakes, and shares it with others! Having the baker be a boy is a lovely touch.

I might do another post about the toxic masculinity of the two villains, (or four villains, I guess, if I wanna discuss the minions) but I’ve got other work to do, and this post is long enough already, so I’ll get around to it later. I’ll sum it up with this - Wild Kratts is a show that teaches boys it’s not only ok to be kind, but essential. The brothers protect defenseless animals, advocate for things “icky” and “weird,” like bugs or snakes or worms - not because they’re boys, and boys like icky things, but because they genuinely see the beauty in all life, and are encouraging us to slow down and do the same. The Wild Kratts are heroes who save the world not by being the strongest or smartest or coolest, but by looking after those who are exploited and vulnerable, who are essential to the world, even if they can’t always do everything. In Wild Kratts the only weaknesses a man can have isn’t what he can’t do, but what he does do that he shouldn’t have. Sure, it’s a cute show about two funny guys who have cool powers, but it’s also a show about accountability, compassion, respect and trust. The show says “boys will be boys” in all the right ways - Martin is a lovable goof with a heart of gold, but he still has to get his act together when he messes up, and he’s still creative and smart and openly sensitive. Chris is a bit of a know-it-all show-off, but he can also mess up as much as his brother, and is still bold, brave, adventurous, and can put his money where his mouth is. Jimmy is a cowardly, napping, eating machine video-gamer, but he’s still a valued member of the team, has incredible skills and talents, and will always help his friends, even if he is really, really scared. It is so important to have role models like these, in a world dominated by unhealthy machismo. The Wild Kratts are heroes who save the world - both animated, and real.

All they need now is a canon queer character, and I’ll stan them forever! My money’s on Aviva!!

#wild kratts #chris kratt #martin kratt #long post #hottake #feminism #meninism #positive masculinity #toxic masculinity #jimmy z #wk jimmy #kratt brothers

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deadqueenz · 3 years

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Eddie Gluskin x Pregnant Female Reader: Forever Home

"We can't stay here, Eddie." The woman says in a calm tone as her eyes followed her nervously pacing lover. "There's no food anywhere in the asylum....Just face it, it's time for us to leave this place."

She was growing tired of having the same conversation day after day, week after week and he always turned the suggestion down. When was he going to come to the fact that this place wasn't fit to raise their child in!?

Eddie stops pacing and looks down at the dirty blood covered floor in deep thought. It's been several months since everything occured; the exposure, Father Martin and his followers dying, Trager died, Chris disappeared but like his wife said she believes he was killed as well.

Those men that came to "save" them he along with Y/N hid when they searched the entire place, when they made it to his area they brought up the whore, saying he said there was someone he wanted to save before it was too late.

But when they came up empty handed, they figured whoever that someone was had probably died like the others. It's been awfully quiet ever since then, minus the two of them.

For Eddie, it's a safe place for him and his growing family. For Y/N, she wanted to leave this place behind and never look back. They were no longer patients, no longer had to deal with Jeremy Blair and the Engine.

She didn't want to stay here any longer than anything, now that neither of them were under the effects of the engine; Eddie's face was cleared of the scars showing of his handsome features, Y/N no longer saw or heard things and neither of them could feel the Walrider.

When Y/N was still able to get around without her pregnancy keeping her back, She and Eddie would go for walks around the facility and would gather food whenever they came across some that wasn't spoiled.

Of course that didn't last long, they soon often time would end up empty handed. The food that they did have stocked in Eddie's space started running low they were how down to four cans and Y/N decided to bring up her idea again.

Which led to the situation they were at now. Eddie wanted to stay, but Y/N wanted to go. He felt this place was better to raise their children in while she didn't. Even if she did agree to stay, what about the cons?

No food, clean water, the corpses stench no longer made Y/N hurl but they were growing maggots, what if they got sick? What if something went wrong with the pregnancy? Even though she was getting close to the end, she feared something could still go wrong.

That thought never would leave her mind.

Eddie sighs and shakes his head. "Darling..." He says and Y/N knew he was gonna say something to make her change her mind about leaving and why this was the best place despite the issues that faced them.

"Eddie," Y/N quickly sat up on her elbows as her husband looks over at her, his eyes widen when he looks at her tired (e/c) eyes to see they were glistening with unshed tears.

It's been a while since he's seen her cry or even be near tears. "Darling?" He walks over to the bed and kneels beside her, one large hand lightly squeezing hers and the other rubbing circles on her swollen abdomen.

"Just this once, please...." Y/N spoke in a whisper her voice cracking with each word. "Please don't be stubborn, please don't say this is the best place for us." Y/N cups Eddie's face in her hands as she looks him directly in the eyes.

At this point she didn't care if he saw her crying, she wanted him to know this was serious and that she was only thinking the best options for them as a family.

"There's no food, no clean water, no doctor, if something were to go wrong there is no one but ourselves to deal with it, this place is filled with corpses that are rotting away, and so many other problems Eddie! I don't want to be here, I dont want our family to be here and our children to grow up in this environment. Eddie, understand this please!"

Y/N breaks down completely as tears rolled down her cheeks, Eddie watches as she used one hand to wipe her tears away while the other fell limp to her side. It was then

Eddie felt he knew the real issue; she was scared.

He smiles and gives a small laugh despite the fact he was starting to cry as well as he wraps his arms around Y/N and hugs her, trying to soothe her and calm their unborn child that started kicking.

"Alright, we'll do as you want." Y/N could only nod as she continued to cry as Eddie looked on with love in his eyes. He gets into the bed with her and held her until she stopped crying, even humming until they both fell asleep.

Some time later, Eddie woke up to see Y/N was still asleep. He smiles to himself as he carefully got out of bed and walked out of the room, planning on the things that they should take with them when they go.

He knew they weren't coming back, even for the smallest thing. No matter where they go, she and their child were his forever home.

(A/N: I honestly enjoyed writing this one. 😁 ❤️)

#jeremy blaire #waylon park #murkoff corporation #outlast

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teenwolffan-with-nolife · 3 years

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The Witch and The Wolf Pt.59

Word Count: 2,980

Characters: Derek Hale, Scott McCall, Liam Dunbar, Lydia Martin, Chris Argent, Jordan Parrish, Alan Deaton, Mason (i totally dont know his last name oof), Cora Hale (mentioned), Isaac Lahey (mentioned), Reader

Pairings: Derek Hale x Witch!Reader

Warnings: angst, cliffhanger, near-death

A/N: okay so i was running late so the last 1,000-ish words kinda suck but we dont have to talk about it

A/N 2: holy crap one more part!!!

Masterlist Series Masterlist

It had been a little over a week since your conversation with Melissa, taking you by surprise. Having kids wasn’t something that you thought much about, life in Beacon Hills was so hectic, you and Derek only had a little time with just the two of you, and having a kid was not only unexpected but also very time-consuming. Your head was spinning, you didn't know what to do. You knew you had to tell Derek eventually, you could only hide something like this for so long before something bad happened.

The two of you were laying in bed, with Derek wrapping his arms around your stomach while you had your back towards him.

He didn't know you were awake and you didn't know he was either.

The Deadpool was over, but that didn't mean Lydia’s prediction was wrong, and it didn't mean Derek wasn't still dying.

You turned to face him, seeing his eyes open as you frowned slightly.

“Why are you awake?” you asked him.

“Why are you awake?” he replied.

You stroked his cheek softly before he pressed a small kiss to your hand.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked.

“A lot,” you shrugged.

“Well, I can’t sleep until you do,” he replied.

You had to find a way to figure out how he felt about kids, but without being obvious, not knowing how he’d react.

Maybe later

“Derek, it's been a week since the Deadpool ended,” you started, while he nodded softly.

“Do you think that everything is supposed to be back to normal?”

“What's your definition of normal?” he replied.

“Do you think that you’re safe now? Because the Deadpool is over?”

“It’s been a week of nothing. Why are you still stressed out?”

“Because you can still be dying and now we’re just laying here doing nothing to try and help you!” you exclaimed, slightly frustrated.

“Besides losing my powers, I feel fine, (Y/N),” he tried to assure you.

“You still lost your powers, Derek. That doesn't just happen,” you said.

“I don't want to get into this argument with you again,” he said.

“We put it off for a week. Lydia predicted that you're going to die,” you said.

“(Y/N),” he started.

“No, don’t (Y/N) me. Banshees aren't ever wrong,” you shook your head.

“There’s a first for everything,” he scoffed.

You rolled your eyes, before jumping, hearing the alarms going off as you shot up.

You saw Derek reach for his gun, while you slowly got out of bed.

“Stay behind me,” you whispered.

“I’m the one with the gun,” he argued.

“And I’m the one with the functioning powers!” your eyes glew purple as you took slow steps forward, walking to the door.

You could hear the sound of Derek’s heartbeat, along with another’s coming from the other side of the door.

You pulled open the door, tensing up before seeing Lydia on the other side, soaking wet, while she gave you a blank expression.

“Lydia?”

---

“I just think that you should wait for me, Chris,” you whispered into the phone, making sure Derek wasn't around to hear.

“I’m going now, (Y/N). I don’t want to kill Kate or Peter. But I know you do,” you rolled your eyes, sighing softly.

“Chris-”

“I will keep you updated on what happens. But for now, focus on Derek. Have you heard from Deaton yet?” you went quiet for a second, before sighing.

“No, not yet. Last I heard he was talking to Doctor Valack at Eichen. I’m going to the school in a bit to get Lydia, and then we’re gonna go to Eichen,” you replied.

“Okay. Stay safe, kiddo,” Chris said.

“Yeah, you too,” you hung up the call, running your fingers through your hair.

You felt guilty about lying to Derek, it made you feel sick. Of course, that was probably the pregnancy, which was yet another thing you were hiding from him.

It was obvious that you hated Peter, but maybe there was some more reason as to why he was working with Kate.

You walked out of the room, receiving texts from both Cora and Isaac.

You rolled your eyes, putting your phone away before overhearing Scott talking to Derek.

“I know about Lydia’s visit here last night,” you stayed quiet, listening to the conversation.

“Go to school, Scott,” Derek replied.

“I just want you to know. If anyone can figure out what's going on with you, it’s Deaton.”

Crap

You didn't tell Derek about Deaton going to find Dr. Valack, and trying to figure out what was wrong with Derek.

“I don’t doubt it. I’ll see you later on,” you heard the loft door close as you walked down the stairs. while Derek sighed, crossing his arms.

“You’re endangering someone else’s life to try and save mine,” you could feel your chest tightening as you looked down.

He scoffed, shaking his head.

“Please, stop,” he asked softly.

You felt tears well up in your eyes.

“No matter what you say, I’m not okay with you dying, and I’m not going to be okay with it,” you replied.

He stroked your cheek softly, pulling you in.

“I need to go get Lydia, I’ll see you later on,” you said softly.

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, before pulling your hand softly.

“I love you, (Y/N),” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I love you too,” you wiped away your tears, before kissing him and leaving the loft.

---

“I’m assuming you didn't tell Derek about Deaton?” Scott stood across from you in the hallway of Beacon Hills.

“Nope,” you shook your head.

“Oh, I’m sorry about that,” he apologized.

“Don’t worry about it, he had to know sooner or later,” you shrugged.

“Yeah, is Lydia ready to leave yet?” you looked at the clock, shrugging.

“Oh my god,” you saw Mason rushing to you and Scott, while you frowned.

“Uh, there’s something wrong with Liam,” he started, while you tensed up.

“What happened?” you asked.

“I don't know, but he’s trying to lift 300,” he explained.

You ran to the room, Scott and Mason close behind you while you could hear Liam yelling out in pain.

You pushed the door open, your eyes going wide to see the bar pressing down on his chest.

“Vitae,” your eyes glew purple as you used your powers, lifting the weight off of Liam and placing it back onto the stand.

Liam pushed himself off the bench, falling to the side, coughing loudly as Scott ran to him.

“You don't have to be with us, that's fine. But don’t push away your friends,” you saw Liam’s gaze go past you, staring at the wall as you frowned, before realizing.

“Liam, are you hallucinating the berserkers?” you asked softly.

You could see a pained expression on his face before it changed to anger.

“No, I'm fine!” he stood up, walking away from you and Scott.

“How could you tell?” Scott frowned.

“I don’t know. He just looked scared,” you replied.

Scott went quiet, raising an eyebrow for a second, confused.

“What? What is it?” you asked.

“Sorry, I thought I heard something for a second,” he shook his head.

“Something like what?”

“Like a heartbeat. It doesn't matter. I’ll see you later on,” you hid the expression from your face till he walked away, letting out a breath of relief.

“Are you okay?” Lydia walked to you.

“Yup, now let’s go,” you grabbed her arm, taking her with you as the two of you left the school.

---

“So they think he’s paralyzed?” you asked, while you and Lydia stood around Deaton.

“Yeah, and if he doesn't snap out of it, they’ll admit him,” she replied.

You ran your fingers through your hair, before sighing.

“Well, let me see what I can,” she nodded while you put your hands on either side of Deaton's forehead.

You clenched your jaw, taking deep breaths as your head began pounding.

“Cogitationes revelare.”

You could barely make out the flashes, the one thing you could see was a church.

It was La Iglesia

You backed away from Deaton, taking deep breaths.

“What was it?” Lydia asked.

“Something to do with La Iglesia,” you sighed.

“The church?”

You nodded softly, before wrapping your arms around your stomach, taking deep breaths.

“Are you okay?” Lydia asked.

You nodded your head softly, before sighing.

“Don’t worry about it,” you said.

You heard your phone begin to ring, while you frowned, receiving a call from Parrish.

“Parrish?” you answered.

You had trouble making out his words, most of it was distorted.

“I can't hear you,” you frowned.

“Argent!” he yelled.

You immediately felt yourself stiffen.

“What about him?” you asked.

“...Peter…. Tunnels… Vault…” his voice kept getting cut off as you felt a sense of fear wash over you.

“I-I’m on my way,” you hung up the phone, before telling Lydia to stay with Deaton as you ran out of the room.

---

You traced Parrish’s phone, running into some old stormwater drainage system. There was water dripping from all around the place as you froze, seeing Parrish standing with Chris in the distance.

Your heart stopped, seeing something buried deep into Chris’ stomach, with Parrish trying to help him.

“Oh my god,” you ran to him, putting your hand on the bent pole that ran through him, and through the wall.

You saw the blood dripping from his mouth, his face, and body in pain while you saw tears visible in his eyes.

“Go… C-Call an ambulance,” you said to Parrish.

“Maybe I shouldn't leave-”

“Go!” your eyes were purple as he paused, nodding his head before running away.

“C-Chris, can you hear me?” your voice wavered as you stroked his cheek.

“Yeah, I can,” he replied.

“You should've waited for me!” you exclaimed.

He didn't reply, instead, you heard his shaky breath.

You put your hand on the pole, taking a deep breath as you tried to control your tears, feeling your heart racing.

“Traho,” you pulled on the pole, using all your strength and magic as you clenched your jaw, hearing Chris yelling out.

It didn't even budge.

“I-I’ll try again,” you took another deep breath, pulling on the pole.

“Stop! (Y/N)! Please, stop,” he begged.

“No, we have to save you,” you shook your head.

“How are we gonna do that? You can’t move this pole either,” he sighed.

“Then we’ll keep trying until we get it,” there were hot tears in your eyes as you looked up at him.

He sighed, reaching for your hand softly.

“(Y/N), maybe this is supposed to be a sign,” he said softly.

You froze before frowning.

“I don’t understand what you mean,” you scoffed.

“The Argent name has been around for four hundred years. Maybe it's time it came to an end,” more and more tears came to your eyes, while there was an expression of anger on your face.

“Y-You think you’re just gonna give up? T-That this is the end? A-Are you insane? Are you stupid? This isn't the end. Parrish is calling for help. You’re gonna be okay. I-I’ll call S-Scott,” you were shaking, looking down at your hands which were covered in his blood, while you gasped softly, closing your eyes.

You gripped onto the pole again, before he stopped you.

“(Y/N). Enough,” he shook his head.

“No! I need you, Chris. You’re not giving up. Not now,” maybe it sounded selfish, but there was no one else in the world that meant more to you and Chris, not even Derek.

Chris had always been there for you and always cared for you. He was your father.

“Then maybe it’s time for you to move on,” he said softly.

“No. You need to stay alive. You need to fight this,” your voice broke as you continued to pull on the pole, hearing him yell out in pain.

“Chris, you need to fight this. You’re the last Argent. You always told me that I needed to fight because I was the last of my bloodline, so why not you? Fight to stay alive. For Allison. For Victoria. P-Please, Chris,” he went quiet, more and more tears in his eyes as he stroked your cheek softly.

“It doesn't matter if I choose to give up or not. I’m stuck like this,” he shook his head.

You took a deep breath, shaking your head.

“I have an idea,” you said softly.

“What idea?” you saw the concern in his face as you took a deep breath.

If you could heal like a werewolf, then there was no reason why you shouldn't have the strength of one too.

You can do this, for Chris

Your eyes glew a light blue, while you slowly gripped onto the pole once again. You focused all your power and energy on the pole.

“(Y/N)?”

You took a deep breath, while you continued pulling onto it as hard as you could.

You could hear Chris’ yells while you tried your hardest to focus, letting out a grunt as you continued pulling.

The pole shifted, you could feel it coming out slowly, before you pulled as hard as you could, pulling it out of Chris as he gasped, falling to the floor while you immediately caught him, your eyes reverting to their normal color.

“Consuo,” you held him up, while he leaned onto you.

“H-How did you do that?” he asked.

“Shh, we have to get you out of here. Come on.”

You continued to hold him up, while the two of you rushed out of the sewer.

---

“You should really go home and change, (Y/N),” Melissa sat next to you, while you shook your head.

“I’m not leaving him,” you said.

“He’s safe,” she replied.

You sat next to Chris’ bed at the hospital, your clothes and body completely soaked in his blood.

“I’m not moving until he wakes up,” your voice wavered before she sighed.

“Fine. How do you feel?” she asked.

“I feel fine,” you muttered softly.

“(Y/N),” she pulled you in softly, wrapping her arm around you.

Your eyes watered as you continued to stay stiff, trying to block out anything and everything.

You saw Argent stir slightly, while you tensed, standing up.

“Chris?” you asked softly.

You walked to his side, stroking his cheek softly.

“How do you feel?” you asked.

“Like I was run through with a pole,” you scoffed slightly, reaching for his hand.

“Are you going to tell me how the hell you did that?” you could immediately see the worry in his face.

You knew you would have to tell him.

“Uhm, I figured if I could heal, then maybe I could use werewolf strength too,” you muttered.

“What? Are you turning into a werewolf?” he tensed, sitting up slightly before he winced.

You shook your head no, taking a deep breath.

Just say it, (Y/N). It's Chris

“I’m pregnant,” you said quickly.

You couldn't read the expression on his face, as you clenched your jaw.

“I gave Allison the safe sex lesson, I didn't think I needed to tell you too,” you sighed, rolling your eyes.

“Chris-”

“Who else knows?” he asked.

“You, Melissa, Cora, and Isaac,” you replied.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

You nodded slightly, letting out a shaky exhale.

“I’m happy for you,” he gave you a small smile as you shook your head.

“I don’t know what to do,” you ran your fingers through your hair.

“I think you need to start off by telling your boyfriend,” you nodded softly.

“I still don't know how to say it. And we got into this argument today, a-and he’s dying,” you stopped yourself, your eyes watering slightly.

“Hey, it’s gonna be okay, (Y/N). No matter what argument you get into, you still love each other and you’re both strong enough and smart enough to figure this out.

You sniffled softly, nodding your head before you heard someone knock at the door, frowning slightly.

Derek walked into the room, while you tensed slightly.

“Melissa called me,” he said.

He walked to you, wrapping his arms around you. He turned to look at Chris.

“Are you okay?” he asked Chris, while he nodded.

“Are you okay?” he turned to you before you nodded as well.

“Let’s go home,” he said softly.

“I think I should stay with Chris-”

“Go home, (Y/N),” Chris interrupted.

“But-”

“Go,” he said again.

You nodded softly, pressing a kiss to his forehead before making your way out of the hospital, wrapping your arm around Derek.

---

You continued to hold his hand while he parked his car, turning to face you.

“You’ve been really quiet the ride back,” he said.

You shook your head, sighing.

“I’m just tired,” you said softly.

“Well, maybe it’s time for us to take some rest. I was thinking a movie, maybe I’ll make you some dinner,” he raised an eyebrow.

“A date night?” you asked.

“Why not?” he replied.

You chuckled softly, nodding your head.

“It’s been a while,” you said softly.

“Which is exactly why we need one,” he said.

You nodded softly as he smiled.

“Well,” he got out of the car, making his way around to open the door for you, reaching for your hand.

“Let’s go then?”

You held his hand, pressing your lips against his.

“I love you, Derek,” you said softly.

“I love you too,” he led you inside the building, while you wrapped your arm around his waist, using the elevator.

As you exited the elevator, you could immediately smell something. It was blood. Your face dropped, while you pulled open the loft door.

“Oh my god,” you could see some blood spilled on the ground, lights flashing as the alarms went off. Everything was broken, as well as the windows.

Scott and Kira were gone.

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staysaneathome · 3 years

Text

That Day (Afternoon)

(I made another part of that Entity swap WIP, this time with 90% more Melanie King and 30% more Basira Hussain, enjoy) Jon initially had no inkling that this day was going to be substantially different from any other.

Admittedly, there were some differences from his usual day-to-day roamings, but none that hadn’t been true of other days. He was a whole year older, as the Watcher informed him three weeks after his twelfth birthday, but that was ages ago now and he really didn’t feel any different between twelve and eleven.

The Collection was back in town, but he’d managed to avoid them so far, sometimes by the skin of his teeth. Somehow he continued to escape The Man’s prying gaze and the searchers who roamed the streets, some cognizant, some…not. He wondered if the Watcher allowed him to roam free because his status as The Recorder meant it liked him more than the Man, somehow.

Martin hadn’t been at the park for the past fortnight or so, though he’s promised to visit again as soon as he could the last time he was there. So he could be forgiven of thinking that this day would be no more significant than the last.

And then he spots an eight-year-old girl toddling after one of the searchers.

She’s tall in the way that suggests she’ll be small later in life, with sparkly hair bobbles and the kind of clothes that come from Marks & Spencer or John Lewis or the other too big, too clean stores where the shop people glare at Jon as he goes past.

She’s asking questions of the searcher (who used to be known as Diana, but has lost what made a lot of her her in the flux and flow of information that The Man commands her to find). Questions like, “what do you know about the ghosts I saw on my holiday” and “why is everything so annoying now” and “why are you holding my hand so tight, it hurts” and “are you sure my daddy won’t mind, because he said he was only going to be gone for five minutes” and “hey, are you even listeningto me, you said you’d listen to me?!”

She’s only little, and she hasn’t lived that long, hasn’t got as many stories in her yet. But she’s had an Encounter with one of the Fourteen, and that called the searcher to her like moths to a flame. Now the searcher’s taking the little girl back to The Collection, where The Man will Ask her about it. And that will be the End of her.

Jon should turn around and walk away. It’s sad, but this has happened millions of times, to millions of other people other than this one girl Jon had the misfortune of seeing. He’s so very incredibly lucky he hasn’t been found and dragged back yet, it’d be stupid to give it all up now. He can’t compromise his own safety for someone he doesn’t even know. He needs to turn around and walk away, see if Martin’s waiting at the park for him.

He’s going to turn around. Right now. Right now. Right. Now. Now. Now.

Now!

Jon has never been the largest child. Even when living with his grandmother and getting three square meals a day plus snacks, he’s always remained small and birdlike and bony. He’s not like Martin, who looks like he’d be soft and huggable, or Tommy, who was solid and square when he pushed Jon and stole his books.

But somehow he manages to barrel into the searcher’s arm and rip the little girl up and away with all the strength in his small body.

Of course, that’s when the girl begins trying to claw his eyes out.

“LET ME GO!!” She screams, wriggling so hard Jon almost drops her as he’s trying to run back across the busy road, car horns blaring around them. “WHO ARE—WHAT ARE—PUT ME DOWN RIGHT NOW OR I'LL BITE YOUR NOSE OFF, I SWEAR, I SWEAR I WILL!!”

”Stop MOVING!” He yells back at her once he’s safely hit pavement. “The searcher’s going to catch us both otherwise! I’m saving your life!!”

“I DIDN'T ASK YOU TO, YOU STUPID UGLY HEAD!!” The little girl shrieks back.

Jon considers dropping her and booking it himself for a single moment.

But the searcher’s coming for them, and now she’s seen him too, her pace quickening as the knowledge of how much the Man wants his prized Recorder back resonating in her skull until it overrides even basic instincts of pain and survival.

So Jon grits his teeth as the little girl in his arms tears into his shoulder with her sharp little nails and hauls her with him down the street as fast as he can go.

The Watcher tells him the bus pulling up to the station in front of them has a camera that’s faulty on the second level. There are two family groups that are going from sniping at each other to outright exchanging verbal blows over who deserves to get on first, the parents going red in the face with spittle flying from their mouths and the children pulling faces and calling names as the overworked and underpaid bus driver tries to keep order.

It’s easy for Jon to duck through them and drag the girl up the bus stairs with him, as the conflict below devolves into an outright brawl that masks the eight-year-old’s protests. The bus doors slam shut, and the bus pulls away amidst the yelling and fighting outside.

Jon sags down in the seat on the relatively empty second level. The only other person seems to be a teenager slumped down across the very back seats far away from them, eyes shut and white headphone wires trailing out from under their hijab.

He stares out of the window at the searcher, whose figure is quickly vanishing as the bus picks up speed and merges into the London traffic.

”Okay.” He exhales, loosening his grip on the little girl’s collar. “I think we’re safe.”

The little girl whirls around. Her teeth snap shut an inch away from his nose.

Jon presses himself against the window. “What is wrong wi—hey! Stop it!!”

“No!” The girl yells back. “That lady was gonna tell me why everything is being so annoying, all the time now and how to make it stop, so I can be happy again, and you, you went and ruined it!!” She’s still flailing, still trying furiously to claw him open, but there’s a frustrated edge to her voice and tears brimming in her eyes.

”I did not!” Jon protests vehemently, trying to keep a grip on her so she doesn’t give him anymore scratches like the one trickling blood down his arm. “She didn’t want to help you! She just wanted to take you back and make you tell your story so the Collection could eat up your life!”

”Liar! How would you know?!” The girl accuses, one of her sparkly hair-bobbles coming undone.

”Because that’s what they tried to do to me.” Jon hisses. “But they didn’t eat all of me, just…just made me into something like them. A monster that eats stories.”

The girl actually pauses for a moment to digest this.

“Are you going to try to eat me, then?” She asks, warily, arms tensing again. “If you’re a monster like that lady.”

”Of course not!” Jon scoffs, then adds, “Eating someone yucky like you would make me sick.”

The little girl goes bug-eyed and she tears her arms out of his grip to cross them over her chest ”I would not! You take that back!”

”No.” Jon says gleefully, then immediately regrets it when the little girl kicks him in the shin. “Ow! Stop that!”

”You started it.” The girl replies moodily, shifting to sit down in the seat properly and swing her legs.

Jon finally turns away to inspect the damage he’s sustained, pulling his shirt away from his arm and hissing as it makes his shoulder burn with pain. The Watcher tells him he needs to disinfect the cuts and maybe have a few stitches if he wants it to not get worse, but he can’t exactly get those easily where he is right now.

”If you’re a monster, why do you bleed like a normal person?” The girl pipes up behind him. Her eyebrows are furrowed.

”Why do you care?” He mutters, shooting her a dirty look.

The girl puffs out her chest, which looks a little odd, given that she’s now sitting on her hands. “I’m gonna be a ghost hunter when I’m grown up. Like in that one movie, but I’ll be even cooler and have a magic sword instead of a weird gun, and I’ll beat up all the ghosts and monsters on my own, except the nice ones, because they’ll be my friends. I’m Melanie, by the way. What’s your name? Do monsters have names?”

”Yes.” Jon replies. He enjoys the silence for a moment.

Melanie’s cheeks puff out like a pufferfish as she glares at him. “Okaay, so what’s your name?”

”Jon.” Jon says curtly.

”That’s not a very good name for a monster.” Melanie informs him.

”I wasn’t always a monster.” Jon tells her sourly. “Just like you.” The little girl doesn’t ask him many more questions for a long time after that.

”What are you looking at?” Melanie says suddenly as the bus is slowing to its fourth stop since they got on.

Jon twists away from the window. “I’m just trying to see if the searcher’s followed us—”

”Not you.” Melanie replies impatiently. “You. What are you looking at?”

The back of Jon’s neck goes cold. He twists around slowly.

The teenager in the hijab isn’t slumped across the seats. She’s half-way to standing, and staring right at them. Her eyes are cold and intent.

They stay like that, frozen for a moment.

”Melanie, run!!” He screams.

Melanie throws herself towards the stairs as the teenager explodes into motion behind them. Jon can feel her fingers try to snag on the back of his shirt as he thunders down the stairs, only narrowly missing him as he half-falls the rest of the way down and pelts out the bus doors to the sound of the driver yelling indignantly.

One of Melanie’s sparkly bobbles has fallen out and her hair is drooping down as she turns to grab onto Jon’s hand while they run.

”Stop!” The teenager yells. “Hey!” She’s gaining on them.

Jon tries to Know where they can go to lose her, how they can escape, but the Watcher just gives him useless tidbits instead; that man with the skateboard there has undiagnosed intermittent explosive disorder, this lady jogging over up ahead served two tours as a nurse in her youth to pay for her medical degree, that young person with the pins on their bag here is coordinating a flash mob on his phone to protest—

“Go away already!” Melanie complains on a furious exhale, and kicks a discarded can in her path hard.

It rockets away from her, bounces off a rubbish bin, and somehow jams in between the wheels of the man’s skateboard. He yelps as he falls, but roars when the teenager chasing them runs directly into him without slowing down, rising to block her path. The lady jogging furrows her brow with alarm, and races forwards to put herself between what she sees as a hostile and a young civilian in need of her protection, inadvertently preventing the teenager from advancing in her attempts to diffuse the situation and keep the man from lashing out at her physically. The person on their phone looks up and sets their jaw, switching it to video record the conflict and grabbing the teenager back even further, acting as a shield and spit inflammatory accusations that do more to raise tempers and attract attention than to resolve anything.

Jon watches all this with rapt eyes, drinking it in until his hand is jerked hard and he almost falls over.

”C’mon!” Melanie yells, irritated and scared and guilty and angry, the mark of the Slaughter almost an audible note to her voice, her footsteps. “We need to get away from those creepy ladies, find somewhere to hide, where do we go?!”

To hide. Jon tightens his grip on Melanie’s hand and changes their course slightly, heading towards a place he frequents regularly.

”Follow me,” He gasps, trying to ignore the stitch in his side. “I have a friend.”

#the magnus archives #tma #tma au #ageswap au #kid fic #entity swap #technically #jonathan sims #melanie king #basira hussain #martin blackwood #the orsinov institute #the beholding #the slaughter #now we’re cooking with petrol #tma diana #if anyone knows who she is

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captaincravatthecapricious · 3 years

Text

You Don’t Understand- Prompt Fill

Jon has a rough time after being absent for 6 months.

Write as a prompt fill gotten through A03

CW fainting, victim blaming, withdrawal/starvation symptoms (from statements) (I am a bit vague about which it is more like because I couldn't choose, so a bit of both), trust issues, very brief Peter Lukas mention, brief mention of someone being touched while unconscious (nonsexual and very brief mention), and cw for some very mixed feelings about Georgie. I understand her, and I don't hate her, but I don't really like her either so please don't get mad at me for how she is written I am trying to do her justice and I get why she does the things she does, but I don't have to like her for it.

Thanks for reading hope you enjoy! I have a few more bingo prompts to post, but only one more to write! Feel free to stick it in my inbox and if no one does, well you will just have to put up with whatever whim strikes me this weekend when I will write it for a backlog! Card by the wonderful @celosiaa

It’s been six months. How has it been six months?

Jon isn’t sure how he is supposed to think about that time. Is it all supposed to feel like a dream, that one moment he’s blowing up, the next he’s awake?

It doesn’t feel like that.

But he also wasn’t really there for six months, was he?

He sighs deeply to himself. It doesn’t matter.

It doesn’t matter.

He’s alive.

He’s fine.

Martin and Tim are sharing a flat, apparently. And that’s good. He thinks? Maybe?

They keep telling him there is room for him, but he isn’t sure he can believe that…. Not after everything with Tim. He wants to believe it… But… what if Martin doesn’t want him there. He thought maybe they had a moment before the Unknowing, but did they?

Jon’s not good with…. Feelings. With people.

Not to mention he’s been Gone. With a capital G and a flatline of a heartrate.

Even if he and Martin could possibly have… Could possibly have had something. Of some unknowable sort. That he couldn’t have hoped to put a word to for fear that it would crumble around him. But he’s been gone and Tim hasn’t been and they seem close now.

And maybe Tim is trying again with him? But how can he be sure? When everything is confusing and out of sync with what he thought of time.

Not to mention the deep hunger that is more than hunger. Deeper in his gut, and harder to ignore. Followed by a fog of confusion and the sense that his skin is too tight, that the world is the wrong temperature, and that everything is tilted ever so slightly, making it impossible to keep his balance.

Reading statements helps, but… Basira… but Georgie. The disappointed glares they send his way when he skulks off to read one in hopes of feeling like his limbs are his again…. That he isn’t being slowly set on fire or slowly frozen. The world skirting by him with a vengeful glee leaving him to rot in his own misery on the shelf in the stacks he’s been calling home recently.

Martin wasn’t there when he woke up…. Working for the ever elusive Peter Lukas. Tim wasn’t there… Martin later telling him he’d been afraid of scaring him. Which Jon couldn’t escape the worry that, in actuality, it was Martin worrying that Tim would scare Jon… or hurt him. Which Jon could tell was the more valid of the worries. Or he thinks it is? How is he supposed to be certain. How can he trust anyone? How is he supposed to trust anyone when Basira gives him such calculating stares, when Melanie glares metaphorical and literal daggers at him, when Georgie has been ignoring his texts (and her harsh words upon his waking). When Martin is working for a literal monster. When Daisy is gone… and Jon doesn’t know how to feel. He wants Basira to be happy, but he feels safer without her. And he doesn’t know how to feel about anything but he is sick and hungry and cold and hollow.

There is no one.

Georgie doesn’t understand.

He runs into her once, picking Melanie up for therapy. After…. An unwise abrupt and shady surgery.

He is in the breakroom. Baffled that Martin is still making him tea when he hardly sees him around. Even more baffled when Tim makes him another cup.

What does it all mean?

(Not to mention his confusion at the green hair… that had been a shock.

When he texted Martin about it, he said to ask Tim, and included an emoji that Jon couldn’t parse out. Weren’t emojis supposed to be easier to read than actual faces? It was maybe resigned? Or maybe regretful?

Regretful of what? Is he ashamed of something? Is he regretful that he opened a text from Jon, that Jon turned down the request to move in? It isn’t that Jon wanted to turn it down.

But it sounds too good to be true? When everyone avoids him at work… Well Tim doesn’t, but Jon is scared of being alone with Tim. He is scared of this kindness and how long it might last.)

So he’s in the breakroom.

Trying to steady himself the less monstrous and terrifying way.

And Georgie is there.

Jon shrinks back on himself. Still hoping the mug of tea will make his hands steadier, make him less cold, less shaky, less miserable. But he’s having difficulty holding it with one shaky hand, white knuckling his cane with the other. Trying not to let it tremble as much as the rest of him, propping himself up when black spots start eating at his vision. Not in the POTS sort of way… but in the same way that has been since America. Since that first hint of fear that maybe… maybe he’s not human, that he is reliant on some horrifying eldritch god of knowledge.

This is the price of him waking up.

And it chews him up from the inside when, in his panic, he tries to limit his consumption hoping that it will turn him back. Hoping that he still has a chance to win back the people he cares about, but fighting the fear that this is the only way to save them all.

He doesn’t know what to do. Being undead doesn’t come with a manual.

And there is no chance that Georgie will take this any better than she did when she kept telling him to quit… to just stop.

He’s trying!

It’s been a few days since his last statement, and the world swims before his eyes whenever he stands. Worse than it ever has. He’s woken up on the floor more times in the few weeks he’s been alive again than in the long and confusing months leading up to his diagnosis.

Which was after Georgie… which… means she hasn’t seen him like this. Not when he was living with her because he has been managing, or so he thought, but hell maybe the Eye had a hand in that.

And oh Shit, she is looking at him now.

What does he do if she wants to talk? She hasn’t responded to any of his texts, or late night calls when he’s been too afraid to call anyone else and she always felt safe. Even when they were fighting. But she hasn’t been there for him. No one has, of late. Except the people who are trying and Jon is too confused to know what to do so he does nothing and an all-consuming guilt joins in with that Hunger. That sickness eating him from the inside with every word he doesn’t consume.

“Hi Jon.”

He can’t say anything. He’s been standing too long, but seeing her there, he is frozen. Fight or Flight breaking down to freeze. Has he always been such a coward?

Yes.

Yes he has. A miserable coward since he was a child. Getting into trouble trying to try to prove to himself that he isn’t.

Christ he’s dizzy. But she’s still talking.

“Jon, you really oughtn’t be here. You don’t look well. Shouldn’t you still be resting? That long in hospital should have you in need of some physical therapy. Are you pushing yourself too hard?”

Jon bites down on the urge to snap at her. Or start crying. Or simply pass out and not have to deal with this conversation at all. “I need to be here,” he says quietly. Afraid that expelling too much air will knock him over.

“And why is that? Really Jon, I swear… Melanie says you haven’t been eating , or sleeping, but she sees you here at all hours. Why? What is this all for? It’s just a job, I don’t care if there are Monsters or whatever. You see this? This is why I can’t deal with you right now! Not to mention what you did to Melanie. What the hell, Jon? You say you’re trying to save the world, but maybe you can’t? Maybe you need to save yourself before you can do anything else.”

Jon just wants to get away before he goes down, and by this point he knows that is inevitable. Maybe get to his office, and open a statement first. Maybe that will help, or maybe it will make him feel better once he comes around. He should put down his tea. He doesn’t want the mug to break if he can’t make it. He’ll set it on the table on the way out, or wait until he’s in the bullpen and put it down and take a seat and hope that helps. He tries to edge around her, staring at the floor. Careful not to say anything that could compel. Just wanting to get out. “Have work to do… sorry.”

“No you don’t! Look at yourself, Jon! Work can wait!”

Jon just wants to leave. He wishes it could! He does. He wants nothing more than to take a vacation. To move in with Martin and Tim and have a life. A home. Safety. Normalcy. And Argument over who finished the milk and who has to do the shopping and not about how best to not die at the hands of Fear Gods, and how best to not serve them. “Please, Georgie you don’t understand…”

He backs away. Fuck he’s dizzy.

“No, Jon I don’t. Explain. What am I missing. Why do you have to do this? Why do you insist on working yourself into your grave? It’s already basically killed you. Maybe some of us don’t want to see you do that again?”

“I… I… I need a Statement….” Well so much for getting away. He’s not even going to make it to a chair or the floor on his own. “Hold this, I’m… I think I’m going to faint now.” He holds his cane out to her.

She takes it confused.

Jon doesn’t remember hitting the floor.

When he comes around, his head is pounding.

Georgie is touching him. He is on his side, and he is being yelled at. He can’t make out the words yet… all just in a haze of pain and confusion and feeling like utter shit. He tries to bat her hands away but he can’t and so he just lays there. Hoping some feeling comes back to his limbs soon. Or that Georgie will just get bored and leave him there.

But then Martin is there. And Tim.

And Martin is shooing Georgie out of his personal space. “He doesn’t like being touched while he’s out.”

Well… correct.

“What the hell just happened?” Georgie.

“Well… it happens sometimes. Did he say anything?” Martin again.

“Something about needing Statement?”

“Tim, could you grab him a Statement?”

“Sure thing, back in a mo.” Tim. More earnest than Jon has heard him in a long time. Tim helping him? If he wasn’t already on the floor, he might have fainted again at that.

“What, you’re just going to go along with it? Let him work himself to death? Look at him! He isn’t well! …I don’t know why I am arguing this. He’s an adult and if he is going to do that, I don’t need to be a part of this. It isn’t my job to baby sit him.” Georgie shoves his cane at Martin, who doesn’t freeze. In fact, as far as Jon can tell through half lidded eyes, Martin looks angry.

“Look. I know we don’t know each other well. But do you really think so poorly of Jon… of me? I don’t know what he’s told you… but he needs those Statements to live. I don’t know if it’s ….a food… or… or an addiction. But … he doesn’t do well without them. And… And Elias was feeding them to him when he wasn’t here. And Jon told me how you didn’t want them in the flat, but he got sick in America. Really really sick, and … and Elias found him there and fed him another one. He didn’t know until then. But… you have to know we can’t quit. And we aren’t sure if Jon can live without these. And it is a far from ideal situation… but we are working on it. You don’t have to like it. Or talk to Jon, although you should. You aren’t enabling him, he needs a support system. And he’s just too thick to see that Tim and I are here from him, and everyone else is giving him the cold shoulder… so I don’t blame him for being too thick to notice! Not to mention, my new position has made interacting with him during work hours… difficult, but I can’t blame him for not wanting to move in yet, although I hope he will. And you! The only person not in this mess who he trusts, ignores him. Blames him! Maybe you should try listening? I get it… you can’t deal with him right now. Fine. I get it. Do what you have to. You don’t have to look after him at your own expense. But don’t be cruel. …Oh good. Tim, thanks. When he comes around, a Statement and some tea will set him right.” Martin smiles at Tim (a smile that makes Jon jealous) and gives Georgie a cool look.

“Marto, I think he’s been awake for most of that.” Tim is crouched by him.

“Haven’t been eavesdropping, promise. Just… just getting my bearings. I’m fine. I’ll be up soon.” Jon’s voice is rough. Misery, unshed tears, exhaustion. Take your pick.

“It’s okay, buddy. We’ll get you fixed up and then you can have a proper rest. Offer of the flat share is still open, okay?” Tim hovers, ready to help him sit when he’s ready.

Jon… doesn’t know what to say. After hearing Martin defend him… Maybe… Maybe he can start working on trusting Tim again. Tim… is, after all, working on trusting him too.

Georgie looks down at him. He can’t read her expression. She looks at him for a long moment.

The gaze isn’t uncomfortable by itself. But Jon feels exposed on the floor. Small and helpless and weak as well as supernaturally hungry, that not at all helped by his “surprise nap.”

He tries to avoid meeting her eyes.

“I’m… sorry I didn’t listen. I… still can’t do this with you right now. But… I’m sorry. I can’t be your friend now, but… let me know if you want some pictures of the Admiral ever, okay?” And she leaves. Off to bring Melanie to her appointment.

Leaving Jon with Martin and Tim.

Who bring him to his sad excuse for a bed, tuck him in with a statement and a cup of tea and tell him to call if he needs anything. And Jon thinks, maybe he will reconsider their offer.

#the magnus archives #tma #jonathan sims #georgie barker #tim stoker #martin blackwood #timothy stoker #cw fainting #cw victim blaming #cw statement hunger #tma fic #my words #my fic #my writing #my art

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mrsalwayswrite · 3 years

Text

Little Lady (Bull Randleman x Reader)

So this is based on this post by @problematicfavesareproblematic and my own headcannon that Bull is super chill in his relationship and doesn’t get jealous easily but will go from cuddly teddy bear to terminator in a hot second if someone hurts his girl...and this was an excuse to write some Bull & Martin friendship.

Warnings: swearing, forced/coerced kiss, threats

Words:4400

Tag List: @happyveday @evelynshelby @saritanotserena @sydney-m

"I can do it."

"I don't mind helping."

I rolled my eyes at Arthur but handed him the crate. "Fine, but if you drop it, I'm gonna kick your ass."

He laughed, falling into step with me as we headed towards the supply trucks. "I would suspect nothing less from someone as fierce as you."

"I can't decide if you're flirting or trying to start a fight." I narrowed my eyes at him, even as we walked side by side.

"Oh, I would never fight you...you'd kick my ass, remember?" He winked those baby blues at me, the scar on his upper lip twitching at the movement.

"Mmm...so you're flirting?"

"Why? Is that a crime?"

I sighed. This was not the first time we had this discussion and honestly, I was getting sick of it. "Arthur, you know Sergeant Randleman is my man."

"I know. I don't know what you see in him though. He just looks like a country hick and I..."

"Stop," I interrupted, already knowing what he was going to say. Some flirting was fine but when someone began to question my relationship or degrade my boyfriend, then I took offense. Especially from someone I considered a friend. "We've had this discussion before and it won't change anything."

"Fine, I just..."

"Jesus Christ! Enough!"

"Ok ok, shit. I'm sorry. I just want you to be happy, alright?" He mumbled. A couple minutes passed between us in a tense, awkward silence as we continued walking before he bumped me cheekily. "So, he's your man? You're not his girl?"

"Damn right he's my man. I'm no one's girl."

Arthur laughed and followed me to the trucks. He shoved the crate on the flatbed of the one directed too. I adjusted the other crates, making room for the ones I still needed to grab eventually. We were supposedly leaving Aldbourne soon and I had volunteered to organize our extra supplies. I liked keeping busy and being organized came easy to me.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see him run his hand through his black hair, a nervous habit of his I had noticed. Soon he probably would need to get it cut. I wondered if someone in his company cut hair or if I should mention Liebgott to him. I bet for a pack of smokes Liebgott would cut it.

His voice jolted me back from my musings as he took a step closer to me. "Some of us are going out for drinks tonight at the bar. Come join us."

"They call them pubs here. Remember, we're in England."

"Pubs, right. So... you coming?"

I sighed, trying to figure out how I could nicely say no. Again. Most of the other companies did not like having a female paratrooper amongst them. More than one had gotten in my face about it, especially back in Toccoa. Now it just made sense for me to stick with Easy.

Arthur was one of the few exceptions. We had bumped into each other on the troopship over and next thing I knew we had been talking for hours, comparing different books, plays and films. His family was a huge advocate for the arts and it showed in his passionate rants. He also had an easy-going, if flirtatious, manner about him, always trying to make me laugh and check up on me whenever we saw each other. Though lately, he had begun making his intentions known and while flattering, I only saw him as a friend.

Before I could let him down again, he was frequently asking me to go to the pubs with him, I heard my name called loudly. Glancing down the road, I saw several members of Easy's First Platoon sitting or standing around a table, with most smoking or playing cards, or both. More importantly I saw HIM.

I could not help the stupid smile, not even paying attention as a frown appeared on Arthur’s face. "I'll see you around, Arthur."

Without waiting for his response, I started towards the group. Although technically they were not my platoon, they welcomed me with open arms as I frequently found myself in their company.

"Hey! It's our favorite Corporal!" George Luz announced, passing out a new round of cards to those at the table, a cigarette hanging between his lips.

"That's only cause I get cigarettes for you guys."

"Eh, you're an angel."

I laughed with the guys as I finally reached them. It was nice to see everyone relaxing under the shade of the large tree, finally receiving a much needed break from drills and field trainings. I did wonder where they stole the table and chairs from since I had never seen it out here before.

Denver "Bull" Randleman stood on the other side, watching me with a slight curve of his lips, even around the cigar. My heart skipped a beat as I met his eyes, moving around the table towards him. Automatically, he raised his arm just enough for me to slip under it. It was a practiced, almost subconscious, movement between us by now. "Hey, little lady."

"Hey, handsome.” I smiled up at him, a wave of happiness crashing over me. A very familiar feeling whenever I was in his presence, even more so since we started a relationship.

"Who was that you was talking to?" Johnny Martin asked, standing on Randleman's other side. His typical scowl on his face, eyes narrowed, as he stared from me back to where I had just come from.

"Oh, Private Arthur Cox." I supplied, not thinking much about it.

"From Charlie Company?" Floyd Talbert looked up from the card game.

"Yeah."

"I heard from a reliable source that he's been flirting with you." Talbert continued, trading two of the cards in his hand.

"Is that so?" Luz looked back at me, a mischievous grin on his face. "Know anything about that?"

"It's not a big deal. He's just friendly." I shrugged, feigning disinterest. I really did not want them to know all the things Arthur had been saying lately.

"Hear that, Bull! He's just friendly. You better watch your girl." Luz chuckled.

"Hey! I ain't his girl!"

Bull pulled the cigar from his mouth, giving me a small squeeze as he spoke. "It's alright, darlin'. They know I'm ya man."

"Damn right."

"Still, he's been talking about you." Talbert stated, tossing his cards on the table then looking over to me.

Dammit. Why couldn't he just let this go? The others were paying far too much attention to the conversation to my liking. "He knows I'm with Bull."

Talbert shrugged.

"What?" I snapped.

"Might not be enough."

"Tab, what are you saying? He knows I'm not leaving Bull for him." I tried to stay calm. I knew the guys were just looking out for me. They did not trust anyone who wasn't Easy. Randleman's hand slowly rubbed up and down my arm, trying to soothe me. I took a deep breath and leaned my head against his side.

"Maybe. He might keep trying for you though."

"Is that what you would do?"

"If I saw a girl I really wanted...maybe." Tab winked at me, earning a few chuckles from the group. Everyone knew Talbert was a flirt, but a respectful one. If any women were not interested, he always backed off. Though most women never said 'no' to him.

I groaned. "Save me from the stupidity of the male species." I mumbled to myself.

"He ask ya to be his girl?" Bull asked, a smirk on his face.

"Yeah...sort of."

"No proposals?"

I rolled my eyes. He just would not let me forget when a Private from Able Company dropped down on one knee and proposed two weeks ago. Bull had laughed when I told him the story, saying if they really knew me, they would know to bring chocolate. That was my biggest weakness.

"Not this time. He does like to compare the two of you though." I admitted, guilt tainting my voice.

"I ain't worried.” He winked at me. “We know ya just like me for my body."

I patted his chest. "Don't you forget it."

Luz threw down a winning hand, causing the others to groan and the attention to focus back on the game.

I absent-mindedly watched the next game unfold, my mind though on Arthur. Sure, more than once he had made comments about me; and he had made even more comments about how he did not think Randleman was good enough for me. I thought it was harmless or just annoying. Now I was beginning to wonder if I should take it more seriously, if I needed to stop talking to him. If he really was gunning for me, I needed to set him straight once and for all. Right?

There was about a snowball’s chance in hell I would be leaving Randleman. Ever since Toccoa, we had somehow just clicked. At first it had started off as a close friendship, looking out for one another amidst the tortures heaped upon us by Sobel. When some of the other companies would cat-call or yell things at me, he always stood between us, glaring at the men until they backed down. Though I never asked him to do that. More than once I know he took matters into his own hands, or at least orchestrated it so some of the other Easy paratroopers could have their turn swinging punches to defend me...even if none of them ever admitted it later. It was not until one night that I found him at the aid station, getting his knuckles looked at by Doc Roe that he subtly admitted to seeing me as more than a friend. So logically, I kissed him right then and there. If his response said anything, he did not mind too much. After that, things just fell into place for us.

"Hey."

I turned my face up to meet Randleman's eyes, still tucked into his side. My favorite place to be.

"Ya alright?"

"Yeah, just thinking." I slipped my hand into his and squeezed three times, letting him know I was ok.

"Ya want me to talk to him?"

I smiled thinking of my boyfriend confronting Arthur. "No, it's ok. I'm sure this will blow over."

"If you say so, little lady." He pressed a chaste kiss to my temple. It was sweet how whenever he had the chance, he always took it to affectionately touch me. A sweet kiss on the forehead here, an arm tucking me into his side there, even a gentle squeeze of my hand. A silent reassurance of his affection for me. He was not a man of romantic monologues or one-liners. Instead he always reminded me through the simple gestures. I still teased him about it occasionally and he would reply that it was damn near impossible to keep his hands to himself with how beautiful I was and how much he adored me. That always won a kiss from me, even as I blushed crimson.

"You tell us if he tries anything." Martin stated, drawing me back from my thoughts, wary scowl on his face.

I nodded.

"I'm serious."

"You always are." I quipped back, earning a chuckle from Randleman.

Martin huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. "Why I put up with you two, I don't know."

"You love us." I teased, fluttering my eyelashes at him. He narrowed his eyes at me but I could see the hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth. Back in North Carolina he had admitted one night I reminded him of his baby sister. When I laughed and told him she was lucky to have a brother like him, that seemed to seal our friendship. Since then he had easily stepped into the role of a big brother.

"C'mon, let's get some food." Bull guided me around the table, arm around my shoulders and mine around his waist. Martin followed us, walking on my other side, grumbling about how food here was shit and he missed his wife’s cooking.

*****

I stared across the field at the sunset. The warm colors transitioned into the cool tones of night right before my eyes. Colors so perfect they would make even the most talented artists zealous to try and capture their beauty. I absent-mindedly wondered how much longer I would be able to appreciate the sunsets. Or would war take that away from me.

It is only at the call of my name did I retract my gaze from the beauty in the sky. I knew who it was by his voice. And also from the fact that all of Easy knew to leave me alone while I was watching the sunsets. I loved my boys dearly but sometimes a girl just needed to get away. I saw Arthur with his hands in his pockets standing a few paces away from me, the tips of his shaggy hair almost covering his eyes.

"Can I join you?"

I shrugged, turning back to watch the painter's sky. It seemed fate had a hand in events today. A conversation needed to happen between the two of us and here he was. Dammit. Silently, he sat next to me, our shoulders almost brushing. Several moments went by like that, both of us just staring at the first of the stars to emerge.

Sighing, I turned to face him, not looking forward to this conversation. "Arthur, I think-"

His chapped lips interrupted me, slammed against my lips with an almost desperation to them. His hands cupped my face, pulling it closer to his. The sharp burn on alcohol was on his breath. I vaguely wondered if he needed liquid courage before doing this.

I sat there stunned for a second. I had thought he was all talk. I never would have expected...this.

In the next second, I tried to pull back, putting my hands on his chest for leverage. This had to be a drunken mistake. I was sure he would apologize after. Instead of releasing me, his grip on me tightened marginally and his tongue forced its way into my mouth.

This time, I roughly shoved him away with both hands on his chest, making him rock back and almost fall over. Before he could recover, I reared back my fist and slammed it into his eye. Pain exploded from my hand but I did not care. Anger and revulsion fueled me. How dare he?!

I rolled back and onto my feet putting necessary space between us otherwise I would be tempted to hit him again. He knew I only saw him as a friend. He knew I had no plans to leave Randleman. Yet he still kissed me without my consent...forced himself on me!

Staring wide-eyed, anger and betrayal warring within me, I watched him right himself and placed a hand over the eye I had hit.

"You're too good for him." In anyone else it might have sounded like begging, but from him, someone I had thought was my friend, he made it sound like he was stating a fact. "You deserve better. Please, give us a chance. I could-"

I turned on my heel and fled before he could finish. If I heard another word from him, I would not be held responsible for my actions. Right now though, I needed Randleman. I needed comfort and someone to soothe the ache in my heart. I needed the taste of someone I did not want off my lips. The feeling of his hands erased from my memory. Of his tongue awkwardly plundering my mouth and leaving a lingering hint of beer.

The barn door slammed open as I shoved it, not even caring about how loud it was. Most of the men should still be awake. The barn they were billeted in was nice enough. There was a cot for each person and plenty of blankets. My feet moved on autopilot, eating up the ground beneath me. I knew he would be on his cot, waiting for me to return like every night to say goodnight before I headed to the house I was billeted in.

"Hey! What's got-"

Whatever Luz saw on my face immediately shut him up. A heavy silence filled the barn as I stormed over to where Bull reclined, cigar in his mouth. He slowly sat up, pulling the cigar from between his lips. Before he could say anything I pressed my lips to his in a bruising, passionate kiss. Something we NEVER did in front of others. I did not care though. I needed the taste of Arthur off my lips. I needed to trade the taste of alcohol for a cigar.

Soon as I released him, I felt loathing towards myself. Bile stung my throat. I just forced a kiss on him. Not to show my affection but in demand to mask the taste of another. What was wrong with me? This was the man I loved. How could I have done this to him? It was selfish. Disgust flooded me, aimed at myself and now all I wanted to do was hide and cry.

Panicking and without a word, I turned to step away but before I could move further, a firm grip wrapped around my wrist, holding me in place.

"Talk to me." He softly said in that calm drawl of his. I could not help but instantly feel some of the tension loosen inside of me.

Tears blurred my vision, disgust at Arthur's actions and my own. I could only stare at the ground, shaking my head. My chest was tight, throat thick with suppressed sobs.

"Little lady, what happened?" He asked quietly, dipping his head to try and catch my eye.

Martin, who had been sitting on the next cot over, spoke up. "Why are your knuckles bruised?" A second later, his voice turned hard and demanding. "Who hurt you?"

The hand holding me, tugged me back, pulling me into his lap. Comforting warmth enveloped me as Randleman wrapped his arms around me. I laid my head on his broad chest, his heartbeat a soothing sound under my ear. I forced the treacherous tears away. This was not something I would let control my emotions. Arthur was not worth it. All this did was show his true colors. A gentle kiss on the top of my head reminded me who mattered most to me. Who promised to always have my back and never doubt me. Like I promised to never doubt him and always be there for him. He was my best friend, my lover...maybe even one day my future.

"He kissed me." I finally muttered, my face still buried in his chest.

"Mmm?"

I leaned back slightly to meet my boyfriend’s concerned gaze. "Arthur….he kissed me and said….well, it doesn't matter now."

"So ya clocked him?" He asked.

I nodded.

"Good."

"I never thought… I didn't think he would force me and…"

"Shhh, s'alright." He rubbed my back, holding me close. "I'll take care of it."

I did not even question his statement, caught up in my own emotions and soaking in his comforting presence. I could not tell if I was overreacting. I felt justified to be upset and angry at Arthur. At the moment, I did not want to think about it anymore. I wanted to forget Arthur and what just happened. I just wanted Randleman, his soft touches and calming aura.

Above my head Randleman and Martin's gazes meet with a darkness simmering underneath. Martin nodded and got up, stalking out of the barn after telling the others to leave me alone.

*****

"Heard ya kissed my girl." Randleman stated, watching the black-haired Private who had made you almost cry. An unforgivable sin in his eyes. A little flirting never bothered him, he usually found it amusing to watch their faces when they realized he was your man. He could practically see the wheels turning, questioning how someone like him could have caught himself such a beautiful, smart, talented woman like you. Often he questioned it himself but thanked his lucky stars daily for blessing him with you.

But when someone actively hurt you. When they made you cry. There would be hell to pay...and he had no qualms about doling out justified retribution.

Arthur looked over his shoulder before turning back to counting boxes next to a supply truck. "Yeah? Who told you that?"

"She did and some of the stuff you've been saying to her." The Arkansas man chuckled. "Got a nice shiner there too."

"So? It's true.' Arthur whipped around, eyes blazing. Though, one eye was distinctly bloodshot with a fantastic array of colors around it. "You're nothing but a redneck that can't-"

"You're gonna need to shut the fuck up before you say another word." Martin interrupted, moving to stand next to Bull in silent support.

"Who the hell are you? Some bodyguard? Redneck here can't fight his own battles?"

Martin glared, crossing his arms over his chest.

The Private sneered. "Your grim reaper look don't scare me."

"That's where you're wrong." Martin stated, rolling his shoulders, signature glare still in place. "I'm not the grim reaper. He's on holiday. I'm his replacement….and I don't need a sickle to beat your ass."

"I don't need to hear this shit." Arthur tried to move around the side of the truck only to come face to face with a grinning Guarnere and smug Toye.

"Hi ya, cowboy."

"Who the fuck are you two?" Arthur demanded, eyes hard and fists clenched.

Toye shrugged, lighting a cigarette. "Concerned citizens."

Arthur tried to move around them but Guarnere shoved him back.

"Shut the fuck up, cowboy, and listen to the man before I kick your teeth in."

"You can kick your leg that high?" Toye asked, looked over to his friend casually.

"You know what- shut up, Joe."

"I'd rather see Martin go grim reaper on his ass." Toye shrugged.

Martin grinned wickedly. "Would be my pleasure."

Randleman spoke up, drawing Arthur's attention back to him. "Ya stay away from my woman. I hear ya talkin' to her again, I can promise ya, they won't find ya body."

"Are you threatening me?" Arthur drew himself up to his full height, which to most guys might have been a challenge, but he was still shorter than the taller than average Randleman.

With the way this jack-ass was acting, Randleman almost wished he would try and take a swing. Give him a reason to knock his arrogant ass on the ground.

"No, son. That's a promise." Randleman exhaled, smoke drifting lazily out of his mouth from his trusty cigar. "We'll be lettin' ya get back to work now."

"Run along, boy." Martin leveled a hard look at Arthur that would have even the devil himself reconsidering his options.

Leveling his own less-than-impressive glare, Arthur looked at the four guys that surrounded him before turning on his heel and walking away.

"I gotta ask." Toye started as they watched the Private leave. He turned to look at his friend. "Can you really get your leg up-"

"Shut up, Toye, before I kick your teeth in."

"I mean maybe Perco or Luz you could but-"

Randleman chuckled as Guarnere tried to put Toye in a headlock. He could only hope this Arthur was smart enough to heed his warning.

*****

I sat in the mess hall, well, the building that had been converted into a mess hall for the Airbourne. Randleman sat on my right, hand holding mine underneath the table. Smoky on my left was arguing across the table with Skinny about something dumb. Honestly, I had already zoned their conversation out. Further down the table, Buck was telling a story from his Rose Bowl days that had those listening in absolute stitches.

A smile teased my lips as I glanced around the table. Sometimes it would randomly hit me how lucky I was to be in Easy Company. They were idiots, but my idiots. Except for Bull. He would always be my man.

I looked up to peek at the other table of Easy boys but froze when I noticed Arthur walking down the aisle, trying to find a seat. As if feeling my gaze, he looked my way. Instead of flashing me his signature smile or a quick wink and continuing on….he glared. Anger flared in me, ready to explode once again. Our paths had not crossed since the day he kissed me, which I was infinitely grateful for. I was unsure how I would handle it if he tried to approach me. Now seeing him, all I could think of was hitting him again. I could tell the black eye I had given him was not as bright, the colors dulling into yellows instead of black and blue. There was a sense of pride that he somehow had to explain his black eye to any who asked.

Then I realized his glare was not aimed at me but to my right, at Randleman beside me. Confused, I glanced up expecting to see Bull listening to Buck with the corner of his lips turned up slightly in amusement. Instead he was staring back at Arthur with a stoic expression and stern eyes. My gaze darted between the two, wondering what was going on. As far as I knew, they had never spoken; though the tension radiating between the two practically screamed confrontation. After a long moment, Arthur gave a curt nod and walked on by.

"What just happened?" I murmured, eyeing my boyfriend.

"Nothin'."

"Bull…"

He glanced down at me, slinging his arm around my shoulders and tucking me into his side. "Told ya I'd take care of it."

I stared expectantly, waiting for the explanation.

"We just came to an understandin'." He finally said.

"Did you threaten him?"

His reply was a brief wink.

I laughed, snuggling closer into his side.

"I told ya, little lady. I'm ya man and I don't take too kindly to others tryin' to take my position."

"Mmm...I think you're a keeper." After a moment, I smirked. "So I probably shouldn't tell you about the Sergeant in Dog Company who tried to give me flowers yesterday."

"Flowers, huh?" He grinned down at me, eyes alight with mischief. "Least he's got class. What ya do?"

"I pretended to be allergic and kept sneezing whenever he tried to talk to me after."

He laughed, planting a kiss to the top of my head. "Do I need to start gettin' ya things too?"

"No," I reached up to kiss his jawline, making him blush. "I just want you...and maybe some chocolate."

"I think I can manage that, little lady."

#band of brothers #Band of Brothers fandom #band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers x reader #band of brothers imagine #bull randleman #bull randleman x reader #denver bull randleman #johnny martin #george luz #floyd talbert #bill guarnere #joe toye #reader insert #based on tumblr post #mzwrites

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thiswasinevitableid · 3 years

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95. you just witnessed me kill a guy and I have a really, really good reason for it, please don’t call the cops

Sternclay as a super/vigilante au? sfw or nsfw, please!

Here you go! This is NSFW

Content note: this fic contains mentions of murder, serial killers, knives. Brief description of a porn scene with implied dub-con (you can skip from the part where Barclay sees the TV to the next section break). But I included lots of fluff to balance it out.

This is the best hook-up Barclays had in years. Mr. Tall, dark, and handsome has done nothing but compliment him all night, from the fit of his shirt down to his kissing skills. So now that he’s facedown on the bed in this guys brownstone wearing only his boxers, he’s so excited he can barely think.

“Almost ready” a shcck of blinds dropping, “I just need to grab one more thing. Then the fun can start.”

“Can’t wait.” He sighs, shuts his eyes as his date moves across the room. Then the movement stops.

“Who the fu-”

Horrible, sticky warmth spatters the side of his face. Startled, he opens his eyes in time to watch his date fall to the floor, dead. Behind him is a figure in dark clothes with a tactical mask covering his face and a gun with a silencer in his right hand. A figure who has just noticed Barclay is awake.

In five swift, purposeful steps he’s at the bed, and Barclay doesn’t know what to do, whether to bolt for the window or knock the gun away or beg or, or or-

“Are you alright, sir?” The voice coming from the mask is calm and businesslike.

“.........what do you think?” Is the reply his useless brain comes up with.

“You look like you’re in shock. Which is understandable.” A gloved hand touches his face, “shit, I’m sorry, I was hoping none of it would get on you. Here, hold still.” He rifles through a pocket while Barclay’s mind drifts further from his body. Why isn’t he just killing him now? Is this part of some sick game?

“Turn your face this way just a bit” the back of his hand nudges Barclay’s chin, “good, thank you. I’m going to get you cleaned up, once that’s done I need to ask you to stay here until I’m finished cleaning up the scene. And also to not call the authorities for help when I’m out of the room.”

“Why?” Nope, okay, that’s it, that’s the reply that gets him shot.

“For one, you’re not in any danger from me. You were in danger from the now-deceased Mr. Martin, which is why I killed him.”

“I, uh, h-how can you be sure?”

“Let me show you” he helps Barclay up, guides him to the body, “you don’t need to look at him, just at that.”

He’s pointing to the boning knife clutched in the man’s hand. Barclay’s guts turn to sour milk.

“M-maybe he picked that up when he saw you?”

The killer shakes his head, gently guides Barclay back to the bed and, after a moment of studying the nightstand, pulls out the bottom drawer. It contains two more knives, duck tape, pliers, and seven, severed human thumbs.

“Oh fuck. What the fuck, what the fuck?” He whispers as the man closes the drawer.

“Mr. Martin is the Bear Butcher. I doubt you’ve heard of him, because that’s the name the authorities use among themselves while insisting that there’s no need to warn the public about him. He’s killed seven men, all gay and all on the bigger side; you would have been number eight.”

“I’m gonna be sick” He tips forward, feels gloved hands catch him and easily half-drag him into what turns out to be the bathroom.

“Wait here and do what you need to. I’ll be done in fifteen minutes, less if I can manage it. And, um, you might want to keep your eyes closed.”

Barclay has no problem with that order, though when the killer (his hero?) moves the body into the tub he discovers both the reason for the warning and that he does indeed have more in his stomach to throw up.

After an eternity of iron and bleach in the air and bile on his tongue, he’s helped back into the bedroom. The man hands him his clothes, turning his back as he dresses. He’s changed too, though the mask remains.

“I, I didn’t bring my car.” Barclay says weakly, knowing he won’t have the energy to walk home and the thought of getting in a cab or rideshare sets his nerves screaming.

“I assumed, since he wouldn’t want it being abandoned to lead to someone calling you in missing. If you’re okay with it, I can give you a ride home.”

Barclay nods. The man ushers him out the front door, pausing at the threshold for a final sweep. Then he pulls off his mask. Black hair sticks up until he smooths it back in a practiced motion, and blue eyes regard Barclay gently from a handsome face.

“It’s the Altima, right on the corner.” He says, folding the mask and tucking it into his pocket. Barclay gives his address, sits stiffly in the passenger seat as a pop station plays from the speakers.

“Do you want to change the station?”

“No” Barclay inhales fine, but the exhale comes out shaky, “jesus, how are you so calm?”

“Because if I’m trying to help you stay calm, I need to model the behavior. And, um, this isn’t my first time doing this, in case that wasn’t obvious. I’ve never had a witness before, for all the usual reasons and I’d prefer not to traumatize someone. But he went off his pattern and picked you up tonight, and I was not about to let him claim another victim.”

“Thank you.” Barclay doesn’t know what else to say. His adrenaline brain suggests propositioning the man in gratitude because it’s not everyday a hot mystery man saves your life. But the rest of him is well aware that if anyone touched him right now he might scream.

“It’s my job. Or it’s supposed to be.”

His curiosity peeks out from where it’s been hiding behind his sense of self-preservation, “What’s your name? Or can you not tell me?”

“It’s Joseph.”

“Barclay.”

“I wish we’d met under better circumstances, Barclay. Oh, here we are.” He parks the car, engine still running, “do you want me to wait until you’re inside to go?”

It should feel safe; it’s his apartment, his home above Amnesty’s new location, Mama’s own little house just out in the backyard. But his hand can’t make the fucking door handle go.

“Would, uh, would you mind coming up with me? Just, just for a few minutes?”

The man raises his eyebrows, but nods. Soon he’s standing in Barclays little kitchen, hands folded politely behind his back while Barclay tries and fails to start tea.

“If you want to just point to where things are, I can do that for you. You should eat something too, if your stomach’s settled.”

Barclay declines at first, but when his stomach growls Joseph moves through the kitchen--making distracting small talk all the while--not stopping until he’s assembled a plate of crackers, cheese and apples.

“Ooh, you got the good stuff.” He steals a piece for himself while Barclay nibbles a Triscuit

“Kinda a cheese snob; comes with the job.”

They talk about food and food writing until his plate is clear, at which point Joseph suggests he get ready for bed. Without being asked, he stays by the door as Barclay finishes getting changed and brushing his teeth.

“I, uh, I’m not really sure how to, uh, end this night.”

Joseph cups his cheek, “Lock the doors behind me. You don’t need to worry about anything else; you don’t owe me a thing. You’re safe. That’s what matters.” He smiles at him for the last time and heads out into the early morning light.

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

“Hey big fella, you’ll never guess who put in an order.” Mama clips up the slip from the table she’s working; Amnesty has been busy in the week since they opened here, so much so that she’s had to help with the crowds.

“Who?” Barclay flips the pancakes he’s watching, checks the bacons for tables 15 and 9.

“Your late night visitor.” Mama winks.

He turns, spots Joseph at the far end of the counter. He’s in a black suit, blue tie setting off his eyes, and his hair is fully slicked back. On his chest is a badge identifying him as working at the nearby FBI offices. He’s clearly as surprised to see Barclay as Barclay is to see him. He’s less surprised that Mama saw him leaving; she gets up early and her window faces his back stairs

“Hold on” Mama nudges him, “did he give you trouble? Because you look pretty off.”

“No, no, just, uh, didn’t expect to see him again.”

Joseph orders hash and poached eggs, and when Barclay sends the order out, he hands Dani a slice of cherry pie to go along with it. He peeks over his shoulder; Joseph is looking at the free dessert, smiling. Then he takes a bite and makes a face that’s borderline orgasmic. Barclay looks away before he drops a hot waffle on his foot.

Amnesty's restaurant closes at 3, and as Barclay is locking the front door, he notices Joseph waiting for him in an easily visible, well-lit spot.

“You know, I meant it when I said you didn’t owe me anything. Not even the most delicious pie I’ve ever eaten.”

“I give freebies now and then” Barclay smiles, “no rule that says I can’t give them to someone who did me a huge fucking favor. And, uh” he blushes, “glad you like the pie.”

“The whole meal was incredible. You’re a very talented cook. Would it be okay if I came back?” His expression is hopeful, almost nervous.

Barclay touches his shoulder, “Anytime.”

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

“So, uh, I’ve haven’t had a chance to ask but, uh, when you’re not working or chatting with me here, what do you do? For, like, fun?” Barclay leans across the counter as Joseph licks his form clean of meringue. Barclay’s gone through twelve different pie recipes in the last month just to see which ones the other man likes best.

“I read a lot, cultivate an extensive knowledge of old horror movies, try to make decent risotto in my apartment...oh, I play frisbee golf sometimes, I picked it up in college.”

“Any interest in seeing that new Godzilla movie? It looks terrible but in a fun way.”

“Oh yeah, I like what I’ve seen of the design they’re using for the kaiju.” He notices Barclays hand resting millimeters for his own. He runs his thumb along Barclays knuckles, “are you asking if I’ll go see it with you, big guy?”

“Uh huh.”

“I’d love to.”

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

“Holy fuck babe, when you said you were running out to get breakfast I figured you meant, like, McMuffins.”

“Only the best for you, big guy. Consider it a thank you for making dinner last night.” Joseph finishes laying out the donuts from “Holes in One” next to the plate of bagels and lox from the only place that Joseph insists does them right.

Barclay wraps his arms around him, tickling his cheek with his beard, “you’re fucking amazing babe.”

Joseph kisses him, coffee flavored and light, “So are you. Still want to play chess later?”

“Uh huh. Winner gets to blow the loser?”

“I like those terms, Mr. Cobb.”

It’s been like this for the last three months; evenings at the movies or tangled up in bed, mornings in sleepy hazes on the couch or out the eat, days upon days of Joseph spoiling, servicing, and just generally loving the hell out of him.

There are also the nights or, more often, early mornings, when Joseph returns steeped in grim satisfaction. At first he avoided having Barclay over those nights or going to see him the next day. Lately, they’re together so much that it’s unavoidable that Barclay will see the lethal edge lingering in his gaze or rub knots from his shoulders that he knows were earned in some darkened room where horrors had been playing out for weeks, months, even years. He doesn’t shy away from it; he loves Joseph, and that means seeing him clearly, though sometimes what he sees sends chills across his skin. Chills that feel less and less like fear.

They’re out for a walk around the lake, trading bites of gelato, when a question tunnels it’s way to the front of Barclays mind. He waits until they’re sitting on a bench far from any prying ears to ask it.

“What made you decide to, uh, do what you do?”

His boyfriend studies him, then sighs, “A number of things. Fear was the first one; you said you don’t follow true crime, so I’m guessing you don’t know of the Janesville Strangler?”

“Nope.”

“He killed ten young women over the course of three years. He’s also my biological father. Michael Stern is my stepfather and, at my request, my adoptive one as well; my mom remarried as soon as she was sure my father couldn’t get out. He, he never turned any violence on me, but I suspect he used me as leverage with mom; she was a smart woman, I suspect she noticed something amiss but was frightened into keeping quiet. I was six when they locked him up, eight when she remarried. Mike is a gentle man, he did his best to raise me the same. But I, I never shook the fear that whatever drove my father to kill innocent people lurks somewhere in my genes.”

Barclay’s arm rests protectively across Joseph’s shoulders.

“I joined the FBI because I felt if I was able to turn whatever killer genes I have towards understanding serial murderers, I could use them to help others. Keep people safe. Ambition and skill moved me through the ranks quickly but” he sighs, “the more I rose, the more I saw how little was being done. How cases were mishandled, how if there was the slightest hint it was a cop or veteran doing the killing suddenly the case went cold, how a killer could pick off person after person and no one cared because the victims were the “wrong” kind of people. It came to a head two years ago; I’d poured all this energy into a case where the killer went after sex workers. He was prolific and obviously cruel, I fought tooth and nail for every resource I needed to track him. Officer Alex Brown was my main suspect, I was so close to getting a warrant to search his property and then they closed the case. Insisted the deaths were unrelated. I...I went up and searched on my own and” he looks at the sky, rests his head on Barclays arm, “lord almighty the things I found. I was right, I was right and I couldn’t do anything about it, he’d get to just go on preying on people and I couldn’t handle failing his future victims that way. I waited until he went on a hunting trip. Alone. Lots of things can happen to a man in the woods. And it’s hard to find evidence when his body just happens to fall near a coyote den.”

A little smile, one he tries to suppress, creeps up his cheeks, “I’ve never felt so powerful in my entire life. I decided I’d still try to play by the rules but that if I knew, for certain, someone was guilty and being shielded by either ignorance or malice, I’d solve the problem myself.” He looks at Barclay for the first time since he started his answer, face turning to shame, “I’m sorry, I, I should have given the short answer. I didn’t, I don’t want to upset you, or scare you but it’s hard not to given-”

“Joseph” Barclay carefully runs his fingers over black hair, “it’s not like I forgot how we met. I...I’m not under any misimpressions about what you’re capable of. I just wanted to know how you arrived at the solution you did. It’s, uh, it’s not what I’d choose for myself, not something I could do but, uh, I guess what I’m trying to say is that this isn’t going to push me away from you. And that it means a lot to me that you trust me enough to explain it.”

His boyfriend curls closer, “It means a lot to me, too.”

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

Black gloves on his throat, weight on his chest and when he opens his eyes it’s Joseph above him, steel in his gaze and between his fingers. He’s in a muddled dream version of Bear Butcher’s apartment

“Hi, big guy.” The thin knife slices up Barclay’s pants, “let’s get you out of these.”

“Please, please I-”

“Shhhh” Joseph kisses him, “I removed the man who threatened you. But you’re so handsome laid out like this, a victim just waiting for someone to make you scream.”

“Babe, I-”

“That’s not my name right now. Call me..” the hand no longer has a knife, is running roughly up his cock instead, “call me…”

Barclay wakes up still humping the mattress as he cums. Blindly, he reaches for his phone to check the time. It’s the fifth dream like that in two weeks, and they always leave him so horny he tries to get it up and get off again if there’s time. No such luck today; he has to be up in ten minutes.

He tries not to think about it during work, just like he tries not to think about it the rest of the time. Especially in bed with Joseph, his attentive, indulgent Joseph who puts all his organizational skills and professional practice at giving orders into domming Barclay so sweetly he stays in subspace for hours.

He’s still very much not thinking about Joseph gagging him so his screams don’t wake the neighbors as he climbs the stairs to his boyfriends place. Dani was a sweetheart and took care of his orders for him, so he was able to leave work early.

The T.V is on, volume up loud enough that he can tell what his boyfriend is up to before he even walks into the room. He fully intends to tease him for not being able to wait until Barclay was there to jerk off before hauling him into the bedroom. But when he sees the screen, he freezes.

A man in what looks like a cheesy camp counselor uniform is tied to the bed, his shirt stuffed into his mouth as a make-shift gag. Straddling him is a man in a black jumpsuit, knife near his hand and cock buried in the counselors ass.

“That’s it sweetheart, wiggle and try’n get away; you ain’t gonna and it feels so fuckin good when you try. This is what you get for leaving the window open.”

The counselor shakes his head, fear so palpable Barclay barely notices the fact the boom mic is in the shot. The killer pulls the gag free.

“Please, please, don’t kill meAH, ohgod”

A dark laugh, “I’m not gonna kill you, sugar. Thought about it, but when am I gonna find an ass this good again? Nah, I’m gonna take you back with me, keep you strapped down because you’re the, fuck, cutest goddamn specimen I ever caught.”

On the couch, Joseph tenses, cumming in the sleeve he’s using with a cry at the same moment the killer on screen cums and bends to kiss his co-stars tear-streaked face.

Joseph hits the remote, causing the T.V to go dark and reveal Barclay’s reflection.

“Shit!” Joseph leaps up, making Barclay yelp in surprise, “oh, oh thank the lord it’s just you….oh god how much of that did you see?”

“Some?”

Joseph drops to the couch, head in hands, “shit. I’m, I’m so sorry Barclay, I, I never wanted you to know about this habit, I’m sorry it’s awful.” The voice between his fingers sounds like it might cry.

“I mean, that wasn’t like a snuff film, right?”

“Those aren’t real.”

He can’t help but smile remembering Joseph’s rant on the subject, “what I meant was: those guys are just actors getting paid to do a scene like that, not some actually getting attacked.”

“Of course not.” Joseph looks up, horrified, “I’d never watch something like that. The, the whole reason I like this company is that they do horror porn under very ethical working conditions.”

“Then why are you acting like I caught you pissing in my coffee?”

“Does the fact I get off to this honestly not bother you?”

“I mean, people get off to all sorts of shit. Like, um, like” he twists the bracelet on his wrist, “like their boyfriend tying them up and threatening to make them scream.”

Josephs eyes widen. Then he shakes his head, “No. No we can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I...I never, ever want to hurt you that way. Even in a scene. I can’t stand the thought of you being scared of me, of turning these impulses loose on you. It sounds fun until I picture it and then it makes me ill. No, this stays firmly in my head.”

“Okay.” He keeps his reply soft to hide his disappointment. Joseph is still on the couch, refusing to look his way, and so he circles it and kneels at his feet to better rub his arms. He thinks about the images on screen. About Joseph, blissed out then suddenly shame-faced. Joseph, two nights ago, calculated and loving as he worked Barclay over.

No, maybe the kind of scene he’s been picturing isn’t for them. But he can think of one that is.

“What if, uh, instead of giving into the desires that freak you out we kind of rechannel them. Like, instead of strapping me down to torment me, you’re doing it to show off?”

Blue eyes meet his for the first time all night, “Say more.”

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

“Ready?” Barclay bats his eyelashes at Joseph as his boyfriend finishes double checking the tightness of the rope he’s using to tie Barclays arms above his head.

“Ready.” Joseph stands, rolling his shoulders and closing his eyes as he takes deep breaths. Then he frowns, “can you start us off?”

“Sure thing, babe.” He nestles his head on the pillow, “okay, you found me tied up like this. What’s your first thought?”

Joseph opens his eyes, gaze sharp, “That I’m so lucky someone left a handsome specimen like you where I could find him.”

Barclays cock twitches at being referred to that way, “You’re not gonna let me go?”

“Not just yet. You’re so perfect, will you let me make a case for staying here with me?”

“Please” Barclay whimpers as Joseph straddles him, knife in hand.

“I’m very precise, for starters.” He cuts slowly up Barclays boxers until he can pull the strip of fabric off. Repeats the process, lips a firm line of concentration, with his undershirt, “see? There’s not even a scratch. I have to be careful not to damage my perfect specimen.”

Barclay groans, rolling his hips. Joseph smiles, shifting so his cock rubs against Joseph’s clothed crotch.

“Fuck, Joseph-”

“Shhhh” a gloved thumb brushes his lips, “When you’re like this, my name is Sir.”

“Ohfuck.” Barclay rubs his cheek pleadingly in his palm, “Sir, please, please, untie me so I can touch you.”

“Not yet.” Joseph pats his cheek, scoots backwards on the bed, “besides, you’ll have lots of time to touch me once I take you home and make you my sweet live-in plaything.”

“Holyfuckingshit.” Barclay fights off a dozen tantalizing images of what that could entail to focus on their plan, “Sir? What, uh, what was the guy who tied me up going to do to me?”

His boyfriend settles between his legs, “He was going to take you apart.” He lifts Barclay’s right leg, “starting with these, so if you got free you couldn’t run. This tendon first” he kisses the back of his knee, making Barclay giggle. He pauses, then decides on holding both legs up at once so he can repeat the kiss on the other side. His lips move slowly down to his ankles, right side and then the left, before a final one lands on his arch, “he was going to cut here too. But not me” the kisses continue, “I’m going to rub them every evening so you’re never sore.”

“Fuuuuck” He sighs as Joseph straddles him once more, leaning forward so he can kiss and fondle his arms.

“He was going to slice alllll along here” Joseph’s breathing is picking up the longer he lavishes Barclay with kisses, “then he was going to take your fingers one by one” Joseph kisses each knuckle in turn, his free hand petting Barclay’s face and hair, “then he was going to commit a cardinal sin by mangling these” Joseph toys with his pecks, sucks happily on his left nipple for a moment, “what a crime that would have been.”

“Sir” it’s a whine as Joseph nips and kisses his way down to his navel.

He raises slightly, mouth just above Barclays cock, “and because he had no imagination, he was going to cut this wonderful appendage off. Which is not the treatment it deserves.”

“What treatment does it deserve SirrrrrOHfuck, fuckyes” Barclay pants as Joseph licks stripe after stripe up his cock. As Joseph licks and sucks him to a hard-on, he feels the plug slip from his ass.

“I don’t know what his plans were for that” Joseph sits up, undoing his pants and pulling out his cock, “but I know what mine are.” He pushes Barclays legs wide, works his cock in with slow, steady thrusts while Barclay tries to remember how words work.

“Shit, yes, god your ass is amazing, what kind of person sees it and thinks its for anything but fucking?”

“Nngh” Barclay clings to the ropes as Joseph’s thrusts quicken.

“Lord, I thought you were a perfect specimen before but I was wrong, you look even better taking my cock.”

“Fuck, fuck that’s hot.”

Joseph grip his thighs tight enough to hurt, “well, big guy, will you stay with me?” His eyes glitter, his hair is coming loose and falling across his forehead.

“YesAH, yes, ohfucksirright there” He didn’t notice Joseph changing the angle of thrusts until his cock found his prostate, “I’ll be so good Sir, wanna be a good boy for you.”

“Oh good.” Joseph’s smile goes wolfish for an instant, “because I would have had to do some very mean things to persuade you if you refused.”

Barclay cums at that, staining Joseph’s shirt with white. His hands knock against the headboard as Joseph fucks him hard enough to make him sob with oversensitive pleasure.

“You’re going to be such a nice plaything for Sir, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Good boyOH, ohshit, shit.” Joseph pulls out halfway through cumming, spattering it on Barclays thighs and balls. Carefully, he lowers his legs. Then his boyfriend collapses into his arms, panting and giddy.

“That, that was so fun. I’d say who knew but every time we fuck you show me just how fucking fun all this can be.”

“Aw, babe.” He goes to hug him and rediscovers the ropes.

“Ohshit, here” Joseph sets to work undoing his knots, “are your wrists okay? Not too sore? How about your shoulders?”

“They all feel fucking great, baby. I feel great. How could I not? I got you looking after me.”

Joseph smiles, “and out for you.”

“That too. Now c’mere, special agent, your next assignment is cuddling your boyfriend.”

#sternclay #agent stern/ barclay #meet ugy #taz amnesty

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