#mind manipulation

[alienpossession]

My stepson is a rather troublesome kid, especially after his mother's passing. He soon dropped out of college, losing the sense of direction he had and just straight out spiralled into a mess. Not to mention that his coping mechanism involved him to hung out with the wrong crowd and start smoking too despite his mother in the past clearly forbid him since he was a prospective star athlete. He also started to grow agitated to the world and overall just disrespect authorities, which included me as the last person that is bold enough to reprimand him while on his way to do his antics

After one of our early morning argument as he arrived back home from clearly a long night he did doing God knows what, he just stormed into his room after giving me a middle finger and cursed under his breath. I decided that enough is enough and I did what I knew best to handle reckless and wild human like that

You see....I was not from this planet. I arrived around 20 years ago into this farmland where I stumbled with this young studly farmer that just about to start his days. I slid into him and never left his body as I decided that I would be safe and undetected as long as I did not slid out of him while the search for me was still active. I was paranoid that if I ever left this body, suddenly the detection system spotted me so I resisted the temptation to leave and remained hidden inside while controlling this human that I cultivated into the best version it could be. But this little punk really pushed me to my limit. I'm just so desperate trying to prove my humanity and ability to disciplined the smaller and younger human I supposedly have authority over, I pushed myself out and slid into the sleeping body of my stepson. Once I slid in, I went straight to his brain and started to work it while he's sleeping soundly with zero awareness that a far more intelligent being is currently rewiring his organ responsible for free thinking into one filled with obedience and submissiveness. I was not necessarily the expert on brain's anatomy but I know which part I should and should not touch. Once I felt like my job has been precisely executed, I slid out of his brain and entered back to my original vessel.

Now, imagine my surprise that not only I made that punk into a more docile and submissive version of himself, I somehow made him gay too as I checked on him after the rework I did to his brain. And I guess I graced the part where he can pick up aroma even more strongly this time and that caused him to be a musk-whore for everything's sweaty and pungent. His obsession to his own pits clearly were a sight to behold as it was a far cry from his womanizer self I have to witness for the past few years he brought home girls to his bedroom.

Aside from his own self, he also loved me. Not the usual familial love, this boy is clearly fucked in the head as he viewed me as some sort of authority to please. It's like him calling me daddy is laced with sexual innuendo rather than the usual way a kid called up his parents. So, like the good father I am and to avoid getting him jumped on me while I sleep as I didn't satisfy his needs, I decided to change our family time where I asked him to have dinner with me to him sniffing my feet and servicing my needs. It's not as cool (and normal human looking) as having him seated next to me watching the TV together or having warm dinners, but that's the way we live nowadays and not like he's complaining anyway.

I guess I really need to do better with all this brain rewiring

#alien possession #male mind manipulation #mind manipulation #father and son #family possession

[theminecraftbee]

hermit horror week day 4: season 7 or taken over

Xisuma slowly blinks at the console logs for the server again. He's very tired; he's been collecting blackstone again, and it's very tiring, collecting blackstone. He's been building a lot of pretty houses, and stocking a lot of shops, and he hasn't had time to look at the console much recently. He probably shouldn't be now, because he's tired, and tired people make mistakes.

He makes a lot of mistakes; he's silly like that. A big derp. It's why he has to be careful, since he's been tired so much lately. He definitely shouldn't have the console open.

It's just, earlier Impulse had a question, since his moss farm kept lagging, and Xisuma thought it would be easy enough to try to find the root cause of. And he did find the root cause of it--Impulse's farm is too fast and his storage simply doesn't keep up with the amount of moss--but there's... some other things...

He blinks again at the dates on the server files. The last edited dates. Slowly, he clicks again on his own player data, and tries to make sense of what he's reading. Files like this, they aren't really meant to be that human-readable. It's--well, it is mostly json, so it's mostly human-readable, actually, but a lot of it is still encrypted, for player safety, which would. Maybe explain what he's looking at? He thinks? He's--well, he does have root access, is the thing, because he's the admin, but he still shouldn't be able to look at any player willy-nilly.

He's a little too much of a derp to be trusted with that. He probably shouldn't even be looking at his data! It's just. That last edited date. Xisuma doesn't edit his own player data. That way lies madness. He's, uh, pretty sure he knows some people who went a little mad doing that. So the fact of the matter is--well, it's not the only file that's been edited recently, he tells himself. Just because it's a lot of memory files that seem to have been edited, as well as access permissions--that's... normal enough for a new season, right?

He's...

He doesn't notice his other self walk up behind him.

"Oh, hey Xisuma. You finished gathering materials for our next build, then?" Evil Xisuma says. All of Xisuma's hairs stand on end.

"I mean, I've gathered enough to get started," Xisuma says.

"Pity. I was really hoping you'd manage to get everything. I thought maybe we'd finish today, but I guess we can't now."

"I--you're right. I'm really sorry."

"No, no, don't worry, don't worry, my friend," Evil Xisuma says. "We probably couldn't have finished today anyway, even if you said you'd try for it."

Xisuma's heart is in his throat. "Sorry, my head's just been. You know how I am. Silly me, forgetting things."

Evil Xisuma shakes his head. "It's awfully lucky I came back this season. Think of all the important things you'd be forgetting without reminders!"

Xisuma looks down and away.

"Gosh, and now you're... playing around in the admin console?"

"Oh!" Xisuma says. "It's, er, nothing really big..."

"Can I see it?"

He barely resists the urge to close out of his player data and hide that's what he'd been looking at. He doesn't know why he wants to hide it. It's not like--well, if Evil Xisuma got mad about it, it would be... right, wouldn't it? Because, well, Xisuma knows full well he shouldn't be looking at or editing his own player data. Editing your own data is the way to madness, and Xisuma, well, he's been so tired lately. He could easily accidentally hit a button. He could easily accidentally hit delete. He has root access, after all.

His heart is in his throat again. He shuffles his feet. "Sure," he says, finally. "I, er, I promise, I wasn't doing anything. I just noticed the last edited date on, uh, files that aren't automatically created by the system? And I thought, gosh, that's weird. I'd only been in there to check on Impulse, really, after he'd had some lag issues. I was just finishing up. It's nothing--the date's weird, though, right? That's all I was noticing."

He watches Evil Xisuma's fingers scroll through all of Xisuma's data. It's not quite fast enough that Xisuma isn't sure he's reading it, and suddenly, Xisuma feels very small.

Finally, Evil Xisuma hands Xisuma's tablet with the admin console open back to him. Xisuma looks down, and Evil Xisuma has closed out of the player data again.

"You just forgot the last maintenance date," Evil Xisuma says.

"Really?" Xisuma says.

"Oh, yeah, for sure. You're so tired lately. You silly derp. You've just been forgetting things easily. You should really get more rest!"

"Oh, but then we won't finish our projects," Xisuma says.

"I guess we wouldn't," Evil Xisuma says back.

"It's just--it's. Most of the time, access permission for player memories isn't edited during maintenance, and I just--I don't remember putting your name down?"

"Why wouldn't you?"

Xisuma tries to think.

"I don't know," he says finally, small, unable to meaningfully articulate anything about what's wrong with it. "I guess it only makes sense, if I'm forgetting things so easily."

"Exactly! Gosh, we make a good team," Evil Xisuma says, and he smiles at Xisuma. Xisuma crookedly smiles back.

"Yeah, we do," Xisuma agrees.

"Don't pull that out again unless I say so, okay?"

"Okay," Xisuma agrees automatically, and then he knows he will not. It makes sense. If he was upsetting himself over nothing like this, why, imagine what he'd do if he could open it whenever? He'd just constantly be upsetting himself!

"Now, my friend, let's return to building the Evil Empire."

"Let's!" agrees Xisuma, and just like that, the entire encounter slips from his mind.

#hermithorrorweek2023 #a bee fic #hermitcraft #xisuma #evil xisuma #emotional abuse #mind manipulation #(like genuine warning for emotional abuse here albeit like. somewhat subtle manipulation type.) #if this fic is late in my time zone. no it isn't. #anyway. i will never stop thinking about. whatever was going on between xisuma and evil xisuma in season 8. #anyway. ANYWAY. god one day i'll write the Very Dead Serious Take on that plotline. maybe this is one piece of it. #anyway the horror here is only barely the implied possession it's more the implied. emotional abuse. #GOD i will not stop thinking about the implications of that storyline whether intended or not #like. i'm forever like. did he INTEND to imply the abuse that so many of those cutscenes imply #or was he just trying to write evil xisuma acting like a villain? #anyway this isn't how i'd write evil x for any season that isn't season eight specifically btw you can blame it on jeff if needed

[malehypnofantasy]

He's a young and ambitious police captain that ascended the rank pretty quickly. Not even 35 and he's already a police chief for a second-tier city and with the trajectory he's in, he'll probably become a commissioner for huge municipalities in a year or two

He ascended the rank so quick because he reduced the level of crimes within certain areas in such a short span of time. The towns and cities he handled before experienced a full turn around and nowadays almost turned into a crime-less utopia. The secret? His own hypnotic power

You see, Nicolas Meyer is an average cop just like his fellow Academy graduates. But what sets him apart is his ability to manipulate people's minds that led him to become the top graduate of his Academy as people, even the senior officials, were made to see that he did an outstanding job for all the test he took. He even could graduate with the perfect score but he knew better not to attract too much attention on himself. But what sinister is the way he manipulated crime rates in areas he controlled. He of course started in low ranks just like every graduates, but he would plant this "seeds of evil" within his jurisdiction that would shake his captain's or chief's reign. His target was mostly disenfranchised youth, hypnotizing them to be bunch of violent degenerates that would result in a heartless clamp down by the local police.

He would then emerge as this unifying force that settled the tension or revealed a hard crime syndicate much to the relief of the local citizens who went on crediting him for his actions.

The bigger the areas, the sharper the manipulation as he would need bigger fish to capture. He made people with zero crime history became a mastermind for frauds or led illegal gun & drugs trafficking as he manipulated their minds and let them corrupted into their most dangerous version, and as always, he would get the frontline action on it.

So now, with his career already moving on so fast, he's not planning to stop his manipulation anytime soon, after all, no one caught him in the act anyway and not like people would believe a tell tale stories of a manipulative and mind-controlling police chief making his own city turned into chaos just for his personal benefit, that is one too close to conspiracy theories

#male hypno #male mind control #male hypnosis #mind manipulation

[curiosa-hypnotica]

Horny hypnosubs, offering their minds to be controlled for the first time 🤝 Sneaky hypnotists who were alredy controlling them, but made the subs forget

#hypnosis #hypnokink #hypnotized #mind control #mind conditioning #brainwashing #memory play #submission #mind manipulation

[femboyfertility]

Being possessed by a ghost and being able to feel them use your body in ways that you never thought possible or were too embarrassed to do >>>>>>

#Fertilpost #Nsft #Possession #Ghost kink #I don't know if that's what it is but I'll have that be the tag for now #mind manipulation

[ashintheairlikesnow]

I Long to Hear You

Sigh Not So | Secrets Hid Away | Shed Tears Aplenty | Fire Down Below | Rolling Down | Won’t You Go My Way? | The Seas No More | The Nightingale’s Song | Bones in the Ocean | For She Was Afraid | Time for Us to Leave Her | To Unchain Me | A Good Time Coming | I Long to Hear You |

CW: Gender dysphoria, brief magical mind manipulation, referenced mind control

-

There was a candle made with lavender oils in the room they had locked her into.

Kiraya hadn't realized there was anything more to it than wax, and had lit it just for something to do, quickly writing the symbol with her fingers to heat the air around the wick until it caught fire. The shiver of magic felt like a reassurance that she would find her way out of this, somehow, some way. 

Without her kit, she could do only these small magics - and the spell to make her body right, which was tied so firmly to her that no one else could have replicated it the same. She could warm water to wash her face, she could make the drapes shift as if in a breeze... it wasn't much, but at least it was something. 

Once the candle was lit, she had gone to lie on the cozy, comfortable bed.

Then, she had simply wept until her eyes were worn and her head pounded, until the soft quilt beneath her was damp with her tears and she could weep no more. 

She must have slept, though she had no dreams.

She opened her eyes and groaned as she realized she was in the wrong body again, the spell having faded as soon as she fell asleep as it always did. She grimaced as she shifted and her dress no longer fit right, too loose at the chest and hips, fabric wrinkling where it should have been gently curved. The other body, the one she worked so hard to leave behind whenever she could, met her with a flat chest and the wrong… everything. She felt like a snake trapped within skin that should have shed, rubbing wrongly all along her and yet unable to be left behind.

When she ran fingers along her jaw and found it sharper, more angled, she swore and grabbed a throw pillow, tossing it at the wall with a noise of sheer helpless frustration.

Then she wept again.

Was it worth using magic to fix the problem again, or would she need all she had later on, and she should save it up? Maybe best to wait, but she felt uncomfortable in this body, as if someone had switched her with her twin - a twin who didn’t exist. 

Then again, maybe if she kept the wrong body, Guilford Wentworth would not ogle her like meat in a butcher shoppe. Although who knew how a man like him would react? 

She thought of the cold smile on his face as he threatened her so casually… and she slumped, lying still and silent for a while, feeling utterly hopeless. 

At least there seemed to be no mirror in this place, so she didn’t have to stare into the red-rimmed, wrong-shaped eyes, the wrong face with all its hard angles, as if waking up in her brother’s body and not her own. At least there was that. 

She frowned and moved to rise up, weight back on her elbows and forearms. She could smell something like flowers in the air, and that was when she realized the candle she had lit was scented. The wicked man who had locked her in here was the sort of person to make sure his guests had the comfort of a soothing scent while he decided how they might die at his hand, and when.

She’d felt incredulous laughter burst from her, half-hysterical and bubbling with panic, as she stared at the dancing flame. Even when she finally managed to clap both hands over her mouth and muffle herself, it felt like it rang and echoed, bouncing around the room, a sound that was only a few steps below a scream. 

She touched her bottom lip with her fingertips, wincing at the swollen spot, tonguing at it. Those slaps had busted her lip, and she hadn’t even noticed until the lavender scent had broken her from what had felt like some strange stupor. She could see where blood had spotted on the quilt along with her tears, and she pressed at the place with one finger.

If it weren’t for the bars on the windows in this lovely, well-appointed room, she might have been able to forget she was a prisoner. Well, the barred windows, magic woven into every single wall and door, the wild and terrifying threats of the wealthiest and most powerful man she’d ever met, and… also the portraits of strange people that hung on all the walls, staring unblinking at her until she could feel their weight like a hand on her back. 

Rain spattered on the windows as the wind blew it nearly sideways, hitting the glass like it had been thrown by an angry spirit. She turned her head to watch it, bleary and blurred until she blinked away some of the last remaining tears that clung to her lashes. Some of her books on histories and mythologies had said that the moon goddess had a hand in the weather, and she wondered now if the moon hated her - or maybe Guilford Wentworth - and had sent the rain as a punishment, or maybe just a warning.

Give me back my child. Is that what it all was meant to be saying? Had the moon herself pulled the waves from the ocean to dump them on the coastal peoples until her son was sent back home?

Maybe Kira was already losing her mind. The weather had been lovely when she arrived in the city, clearly Wentworth wasn’t being divinely punished by anyone for anything. This was just a storm. 

Lightning flashed so close outside the window that Kira jumped in surprise, fingers tightening on the blanket. Thunder cracked on its heels and rattled the windows, rumbling up from the ground through Kira’s very bones. There was a sound outside, a groaning and cracking and then a crashing as - she thought - a tree must have been split in two and fallen to the ground. She swallowed, heart pounding, and stared outside into the near-total darkness, past the water drops and to the faint shadows of tree branches blowing wildly, throwing their leaves into the wind. 

Somewhere down below, nearly inaudible, she heard the captive siren begin to sing. Somehow the sound traveled out of his own beautiful prison and through the walls, finding her two floors up, and settled over her skin, found its way into the very marrow of her bones. 

His voice was a strong tenor, rising effortlessly high, and she felt her heart twist painfully in an echo of the grief the siren had layered through the notes. He had spent so long, she thought - not recognizing the dizzy spin in her mind for what it was - so long trapped here. He was scared, and lonely, and angry. He needed help. He needed her help.

She caught her breath, realizing only too late that there was a command in the music. It wasn’t strong enough to compel, not yet, but she could tease it from the notes if she concentrated on it. It was meant, she thought, only for her.

Relax, the song whispered into her mind, and she felt herself lay back on the bed, staring up at the canopy above her. Thunder rumbled again, but this time she did not jump, and her heart rate slowed to a peaceful, settled rhythm. 

It felt so nice.

It was so terribly wrong.

“Stop,” She whispered, but it had no weight to it. Fear was there, at the back of her mind, but it couldn’t get past the soft fog of the notes as they ran up her arms and around her neck. As if the siren himself were holding her.

And yet… the command, when it came, wasn't quite what she had expected. All she heard was a simple, infinitely sad, I want to go home. Please…

“Please what?” She whispered, lips barely moving. The creature couldn’t possibly hear her, and yet she had the feeling that he felt her words, through the connection his song made between them. 

Please… His voice felt like lips moving against the sensitive skin on the curve of her ear. He breathed, as if he laid next to her in the bed. Wound around his song, she very nearly felt the weight as he shifted on the mattress. Please help me. Help me…

“Stop trying to force me,” She said in return, and found herself half-smiling, mischief rising irrationally, “And I will.”

Please help me…

“I don’t like you in my head. Stop singing right now, and I swear on my magic and my name that I will do what I can to help you."

There was a pause. 

The siren’s voice wound down into a hushed hum. What is your name? Tell me your name so I may have the power of it.

Kira thought of the way names had power to the creatures of magic in the world, although much less for people, and she smiled. "I will give you the name I was born with. It isn't mine any longer, and you may do with it whatever you want."

What name did your mother speak when first you cried at her breast?

"She called me Olen because she thought I was her son," Kiraya whispered. "Olen Losna. Then she died, before she learned I was never a son at all. Her name was Kyrie, and my grandmother's name was Olenna, and my great-grandmother changed her name every five years or so…”

The tenor of his voice changed, just a little. 

What is your name?

 “Kira.” Her lips seemed to be moving all on their own, without her help at all. “Kiraya Losna…”

Help me, Kiraya Losna-... be so kind to me-

"I want to be kind to you." Her eyes began to flutter shut. Each blink took longer and longer. "But you must stop commanding me to be. I want to help you..."

Kiraya Losna-

She heard a pounding, a shout muffled through wall. "Miss Losna! Don't listen! Miss Losna!"

The song abruptly went silent, and its spell shattered within her, breaking apart. All at once, her mind cleared, and she inhaled sharply and sat up.

“Please!” Came the strange voice from the other side of the door. A woman's voice. “Please, don’t listen to it! Block your ears! Don't let it take you!"

She ran to the door and it finally, finally opened when she turned the knob. On the other side of the door was the serving-girl from earlier. She no longer wore a hazy smile, but instead had a sharp gaze full of panic, wearing her nightclothes and with her hair a loose pile of red curls falling around her shoulders. She still had one hand raised in the act of pounding on the door. 

Kira swallowed. “Thank you, are you-... are you all right? Are you-... are you still-”

“It fades,” The girl whispered, reaching out to grab onto Kira’s hands, clinging to them. The girl’s fingers were as chilled as if they were carved from ice. She squeezed Kira’s fingers until they ached, tears running from her wide blue eyes over freckled cheeks. “Lately, it fades sometimes in the night, but still we cannot leave. You must not let it take you, Miss, you must not let it sing you to madness like it has sung us all! You must not listen to the siren song! You will lose yourself, as we have lost ourselves! It will ruin you!"

Before Kira could respond, a deep voice boomed from down the hall, “Nadette! What are you doing in the residence this late?” 

The two women's heads jerked to the side at once, both of them turning to look. Then Nadette’s eyes seemed to widen even more, if it were possible, and she shook her head, her lower lip trembling. “No, no no no…” She whispered. "No, please... Please, please..."

Then she… blinked, and all her panic and fear was gone.

The serving-girl looked confused, staring down at herself and then giving a little squeak and flushing bright red, freckles disappearing into the rush of blood. Terror replaced by mortified embarrassment. “Oh, no! What am I-... what…”

“Nadette.” The deep voice went slightly softer, kinder, and one of the men who had forced Kiraya up to this room came walking up. His gaze went to Kira, and she felt herself bristle at the flat hostility in his foggy gaze and glared at him right back. Controlled by the siren or not, his grip had been tight enough on her arm to leave bruises. “You. You are to stay in your room, Miss Losna. And you, Nadette, should be asleep in the servants’ quarters by now.”

“I-I should… But I was asleep.” Nadette blinked rapidly, but then only shook her head. “I-I’m sorry, Ellwen, I must have… been walking in my sleep again…” 

“Clearly,” Ellwen murmured, with odd care and concern for Nadette that Kira hadn’t seen in him before. "You've done it so much lately, I worry for you, love."

Nadette patted him on the hand, and Kira tried not to wonder if their romance was their own, or if Wentworth had ordered the siren to make them like this. The horror of the latter option threatened to shatter her completely.

Ellwen gave Kira one more desultory glance, and then leaned over and yanked the door shut in her face as she stood there staring. It slammed before she could even move, and when she jerked forwards, the handle no longer turned.

“Wait! Wait!”

“Be quiet,” Ellwen said, bass voice booming right through the door. “Lord Wentworth will see to you in the morning.” She heard them moving away from her down the hall, Ellwen speaking in a low soft voice to Nadette, Nadette sounding confused and uncertain, but gradually reassured. 

No matter how she called out after that, no one answered her.

No one came.

The siren did not sing again.

-

Taglist:  @grizzlie70 @burtlederp @finder-of-rings  @theelvishcowgirl @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @bloodinkandashes @squishablesunbeam @mj-or-say10 @apokolyps @wildfaewhump @shrimpwritings @there-will-always-be-blood @latenightcupsofcoffee

@whumptober, day 29: scented candle

#whump #whumptober2023 #no. 29 #scented candle #captivity #captured whumpee #magical whump #magic whump #mind control #mind manipulation #original writing #fantasy writing #original fantasy #siren whump #whump writing

[promptsforyourwhumpfic]

Whump Prompt #978

Submitted by Anon - thanks!

My favorite part of any mind control/possession scenario is the moment the controlled character snaps out and sees the aftermath, ESPECIALLY when it’s in the process of hurting another character. Just like… the raising of a weapon only for them to blink and look around all confused, then seeing the other character cowering in front of them and reacting with sudden horror at what they have done… Looking at the bloodstained weapon in their shaking hand and then dropping or throwing it in repulsion… reaching out as if to help the other character, only to stumble back when their friend flinches away… So good!

#mind control #aftermath of mind control #ideas #writing #prompts #angst #worry #fear #confusion #mind manipulation

[ice-cap-k]

Owen Had a Cough

Hey! Got a new story for part of the 2024 MCYT Horror Gift exchange ( @mcythorrorgiftexchange ). This is for the amazing @some-stupid-wannabe-artist. I hope I did your request justice. It was honestly a lot of fun. Been a while since I bothered with Rats.

It's longer than my old whumptober stuff, so feel free to read it on AO3 here: Owen Had a Cough

____________________________________________________

Owen had a cough.

It wasn’t that surprising, since Scott had found the other rat passed out at the entrance to the boiler room. His friend had been down there for a long time, breathing in air that had been festering in the quarantined room. The basement had been downright hazy with all of the airborne spores. And Owen, well, Scott figured the bigger rat had gotten off lucky if all he had to show for such a stupid stunt was a little cold. 

He told Owen what would happen if someone went in there. The larger rat could be almost impossible to sway once he set his mind to something, so of course he decided to set his sights on fixing the infestation down there. First the bugs, then the fungus. Scott just wished his best friend had told him. Then he wouldn't have found him crawling on his belly four days since the last time they saw each other.

Other than that, though, the tinkerer seemed alright. He had apologized and admitted Scott had been right. Those words would have been like music to Scott’s ears if he hadn’t been worried half to death for the sake of his friend. Owen promised to never go down there again, which had given Scott some sense of relief, and life moved on. 

The cats were still a problem. The people living downstairs still chased them and their friends whenever they ventured out of the attic. And just today there were tiny little termites they’d gone to the effort of rehoming. But hey, life in the attic was full of surprises, so even that was typically atypical. Despite looking half dead on his feet the morning before, the large rat was starting to bounce back.

He was even leading the way as they raced back up to the attic with the others. Claws scrabbled at the red carpets lining the halls. The trash talk was flowing freely, and the bathroom was in sight.

“Oh, come on. I’m already at a tactical disadvantage with this dress,” Martyn huffed. His claws hooked over the edge of the side table. Owen was already pouncing off the edge towards the mouse hole in the wall. There was no catching up now so Scott turned to help haul Martyn up. Willow and Crow passed by beneath the table legs, still aiming for the doorway. 

“Thanks, Scott,” Martyn breathed. He smoothed out the wrinkles of his maid’s dress with padded fingers as Scott leaned against a nearby plant pot. 

The ceramic was cool against the fur lining his bare back and the hall was quiet, save for the excited squeaks of the returning rats. The cats were nowhere to be seen. The human residents were busy elsewhere. They were free to enjoy themselves without worry for a little while.  How everyone else wasn’t tired yet was beyond Scott. His lungs hurt from all the running on top of all the laughter. This place was making him soft. 

“Of course,” he said absently, mind already back on the race. Even if he wasn’t physically keeping up, his eyes followed Owen as his best friend leaned out of the chewed-out hole. 

“Oh no you don’t!” he squeaked as the two smaller rats passed beneath him. 

Scott flicked his ears back as he watched Owen launch himself from the wall. His arms and legs splayed as he dropped. A star-shaped shadow passed over Willow and Crow. The two rats had just enough time to look up. They were already running, but Owen’s aim was true and he crashed into Crow with a pained WHUMPF! Both of them went rolling tail over ears across the floor, knocking over Willow in the process and leaving all three of them sprawled and groaning. 

It was just a bit of roughhousing. They were rats. Scott himself had leaped off the tallest bookshelves in the library and safely landed paws first on the tile more times than he could count. Despite knowing that, though, concern drove him forward. He pushed off the pot and was leaning over the edge of the table in an instant. His eyes raked over the three for signs of injury. His ears twitched at the rustle of fabric behind him. Martyn was there, looking over his shoulders.

“Is everybody ok?” he called.

“I’m okay,” Willow called back almost immediately

Crow managed to untangle its limbs from Owens. It rubbed at its head with a paw, claws parting strands of red and black fur until Scott could almost make out its eyes. “Owww-ow-ow-owww,” it groaned.  “That really hurt. I think you bruised my tail. What were you-”

Its words were cut off by a drawn-out, wet cough. While Willow and Crow brushed themselves off and stood up straight, Owen only rolled over. He curled up into a ball, pulling his knees up to his chest but unable to keep them there. His arms wrapped around his heaving midsection as his whole body shook. 

His coughs were like nails on a chalkboard to Scott. Wet and shaking, they wracked his friend’s lungs and rattled his ribcage with each one. 

It was easy to forget that Owen wasn’t at one hundred percent until moments like these. They weren't short either. The gaps between stolen intakes of breath were long and drawn out. The coughing fit seemed to last an eternity if eternity could be packed down and contained in the span of minutes.

“Are you okay, Owen?”

“Try taking deep breaths.”

“My mum used to say it helps to put your arms up over your head. If you can hear me, try that.”

Owen did try. It was a feeble attempt, but his arms only left his torso long enough for the tips of his fingers to reach his shoulders before another wheeze sent him curling back into himself. 

So yeah, Owen had a cough. 

Martyn whistled. His voice was quiet in Scott’s ears. “He really is getting sick. I suppose that’s what you get for not drying off after a dip in the pond.”

He didn’t answer. Only slipped off the edge of the table to rush to his friend’s side. 

Let the others think that. If Owen hadn’t told anyone else about going past the plastic sheets in the basement, then it wasn’t Scott’s place to tell that story. Owen would be so angry if he thought Scott went around telling people things he might be too embarrassed to talk about. 

“Come on now, Owen. Let’s get you up. You’re okay.” 

His friend didn’t protest as he looped his paws under the taller rat’s armpits and pulled. Now he could feel firsthand the way every muscle in Owen’s body tensed and untensed with the dwindling coughs. The way his lungs practically vibrated around the fluid there. Getting Owen upright helped. His lungs didn’t have to work so hard to keep up. Scott let him go to see if he could stand on his own, and the hacking noises subsided. He looked tired out from all that effort, but at least his breathing had returned to normal.

“How are you feeling?”

“Better.” He sounded tired too. 

“Ya sure,” Crow asked. There was still an edge of annoyance in its words, but it was duller now. Its tail was no longer whipping around frantically. Rather, Crow and Willow were standing close and shifting uncomfortably from side to side. 

Owen nodded. The corner of his lips pulled back into a half smile. “I’m sure. Just needed a second, but I’m good.”

“Good. Then apologize.”

“What!?” Owen looked affronted. “Why?”

Crow crossed its arms in front of its chest. “Because you cheated.”

“Did not.”

“Did so!”

“Did not! I was just being creative and came up with a new way to beat you both.” Owen’s smile lengthened to a full-blown grin as he looked from Crow to Willow. “Besides, neither of us made it to the attic so it’s not like I won at your expense.”

“You could keep going,” Martyn chimed in from where he was still standing on the tabletop. 

“Ah… I think it would be a good idea to call it a day,” Scott insisted. He wrapped a paw around Owen’s arm and gently tugged. “Let’s get behind the tub and up to the attic.

To his credit, Owen didn’t argue back or struggle. He looked too tired for that. Instead, the bigger rat let him tug him along and then kept going toward the top as Scott let him go. The tile was cool underfoot. The smell of floral soap was sweet and fresh. The path behind the tub was clear, almost like the bathroom itself was welcoming them home.

“I think that might be for the best. It’s been a long day,” Owen finally admitted, standing a little straighter as he strutted across the room. “It doesn’t really matter who wins anyhow.”

“Yeah, but I totally would have won,” Crow muttered, and Willow giggled. 

Scott smiled. This was much better. He and the others were just about to follow Owen when the sound of scrabbling caught their attention. It was coming their way. Everyone tensed, turning to see the source of the noise.

So help Scott, if that was a cat on its way-

A familiar purple shape came bobbing down the hall towards them. Scott felt himself let go of the breath he hadn’t meant to hold while the others began to relax around him. 

“Took you long enough, didn’t it,” Martyn shouted with a bark of a laugh.

The rat came to a stop behind Scott and doubled over. His breath was coming in heavy pants, despite the slow jog. The loser of the race that was no longer taking place. “Hey,” Acho finally managed to sputter as he reigned in his breathing. “What did I miss?”

___________________

Scott padded down the steps leading from his home to the main floor of the attic. 

His flower garden was still alive, despite the incoming cold, and the vegetable patch he had managed to throw together was one of the rats’ main sources of food now that snow covered the ground. The sunlight coming through the attic windows was just enough for his plants to keep growing, and it made his new home feel a little bit closer to his old one. 

Now that he had more than enough food for himself, he was consistently helping to keep everyone fed. Just earlier this morning he and Owen had sat down together for lunch. Scott had thrown together all the food. Now he was stepping away from his cooking pots with chicken soup, ready to be passed out to anyone looking for a warm meal.

He handed out full bowls to Oliver and Sniff, then Shelby, then Jimmy. With each rat fed, Scott had a nice chat to catch up before saying goodbye and moving on. When he stopped by Eloise’s art gallery, he was surprised to find El and Bek arguing inside.

“I’m sure he didn’t mean it like that,” Bek was saying. She leaned against the wall in between frames of paintings, watching El pace back and forth. 

Not daring to say a word, Scott reached out and wrapped his knuckles against the side of the open doorframe. Thump thump thump.

The two rats looked up in surprise, only to relax as they realized it was only him. “Hey, Scott.”

“Hi!” He stepped into the room. “Brought some chicken soup.”

Bek’s ears perked up. She pulled away from the wall with a smile. “Oooh! That sounds quite good right now, actually.”

“I brought plenty for both of you. Here.” He held one bowl out to El. “And here.” Then he shuffled across the hollowed-out room to pass another to Bek. Both brightened as they took it.

“So, is everything alright?” he asked, glancing back and forth between the two. “You two looked pretty serious a second ago.”

Bek shrugged. She slurped loudly, drinking the broth directly from the edge of the bowl in loud gulps. Scott tried to offer a spare spoon, but she didn’t take it when he held it out.

“Bek, please…” Eloise groaned.

The shorter rat lowered the bowl and smacked her lips. “Sorry. I don’t think anything’s wrong. El’s just being weird about things again.”

“I am not,” the taller rat snapped. “If anyone’s being weird, it’s Owen.”

Scott rolled his eyes. “Is it his cough again?”

“No.” She said immediately, then hesitated. She silently weighed her words in her head, tail flicking restlessly before she amended, “Okay, yes, technically. He was definitely still coughing today, but that’s not the real issue this time.”

The cough wasn’t the issue? What scheme could Owen possibly be getting up to this time?

Scott folded his arms in front of his chest. “Then what was the issue?”

“He’s being weird. He’s acting really weird and I don’t like it. Me and Bek got back from a pantry run and when we walked into the gallery, Owen was just… I don’t know. Sitting in a corner in the lower level?” She flung her spoon towards the open door leading to the scaffolding platform and still bare white walls that were waiting for future masterpieces. “Like, there was nobody else here. He just had his head resting against his knees, arms wrapped around his legs, like he was taking a nap. The light was off too, so I didn’t see him right away.”

Bek shivered. “Gave me a real fright, when you turned the light on and he shot to his feet. You screamed.”

“So did you,” El shot back. “Neither of us saw that he was here until the light came on.” 

Scott tilted his head. That certainly was… unusual. “Okay. Yeah. You’re right, that’s weird. What was he doing?”

“See!” Eloise straightened. She dropped the spoon back into her soup so she could scratch at the side of her head with free claws. “That’s what I asked him. All he said was that the dark felt nice, and then he rushed out.”

“Felt nice…?”

“We’ve been trying to figure out what he meant by that for the past half hour,” Bek added. “Eloise’s convinced the human girl slipped him some potion that’s turning him nocturnal-”

“We’ve already had to deal with potion issues.  I don’t understand why you think it’s so far-fetched. I still vividly remember getting turned into a CAT of all things!”

“But I think whatever cold he caught is just making him tired.” Bek finished.

He waited patiently for either of them to continue. For them to take the conversation somewhere else, or break into laughter and call it all a joke. When they didn’t, he awkwardly twitched his tail. They were both looking at him expectantly, waiting to see how he would reply. “Uh, I think Bek might be onto something.”

“See!”

Eloise was still balancing the bowl of soup in one paw, but she threw the other into the air and groaned. “Fine. Sure. I know mine sounds crazy in comparison, but neither of you saw his eyes. I swear, they were glowing when he looked at me.”

Bek scoffed. “Eyes don’t glow.”

“His did,” El insisted. “I swear, they really were glowing. Owen’s eyes aren’t supposed to be bright blue like that.”

Her words sounded sincere. There wasn’t a teasing bite, or smile pulling at the side of her lips. No twitch in the corner of her eye from struggling to keep a straight face. She was serious.

Scott’s tail went ramrod straight. “Blue? You’re sure?” 

She nodded. “Absolutely.”

“Did either of you think to go after him to check if he was alright?”

The two girls exchanged side glances before turning back to him and answering in unison.  “No.”

Of course they hadn’t.

Scott brought his paw up to his forehead. He pressed his palm against the center of his forehead as if it could chase away the headache that was starting to develop there. He took a deep breath in and sighed. “Which way did he go? I think I’m going to go check up on him and make sure everything’s alright.”

“He turned right when he ran out the door,” El said. “Not sure where he went, since he didn’t stick around long enough to let us ask. We’ll go with you and help you look for him.” She stepped forward. The now cold bowl of soup was placed on a nearby shelf next to the bowl Bek had just finished emptying. 

“We will?” Bek asked.

El nodded once more. “We will.”

Scott was grateful for the help. He didn’t argue as both girls followed him out of the gallery. With more eyes searching, they checked high and low across the attic. As they went, Scott dropped off more bowls of chicken soup and asked around if anyone had seen which way Owen went. It was Oli who eventually pointed them in the direction of the little food mart. 

Sure enough, Owen was inside the brick build rummaging through the chest inside. He pulled out a rather limp-looking bunch of lettuce leaves and began to nibble as they spotted him. 

“Owen,” Scott called. He rushed to the door with Bek and El hot on his heels. His best friend turned, eyes wide. They were notably not blue.

“Hey guys,” he greeted, waving the lettuce in his paw at them. “What’s up?” 

 “We were looking for you.”

“Yeah!”

 Eloise shoved her way forward. “What is wrong with you?!?” She had to squeeze into the small mart to do it, and the room was starting to get too cramped. Bek tried to follow, but she was too wide to fit in the small space and quickly gave up. Instead, she pressed herself against the glass window and watched with ears pinned back against her head. 

“Wh-” “Eloise and Bek told me that they saw you napping in the art gallery,” Scott supplied. 

“Oooooh, so that’s what you mean…” He looked a little sheepish as he put the leaves in his paw on top of the chest. “I wasn’t napping. I was just, you know… enjoying the dark.”

Eloise planted one paw on her hip. “You know that makes no sense whatsoever, right?”

“Don’t know what to tell you. It just felt nice. Good on the eyes, and the wall felt cool. It’s not like I thought much about it-” Before Owen could finish his sentence, Scott could hear the breath catch in his chest and rattle. The big rat doubled over, and both Scott and El backed away to give him space. Owen kept his elbow firmly over his mouth as the watery coughs took hold. When he finally managed to reign his breathing back in, he lowered his arm and opened his eyes.

Scott could have sworn he saw the briefest flicker of blue. Or maybe green? Something bright and alien to Owen’s dark eyes. But the color was there and gone in the blink of an eye. Had he just imagined it? Perhaps it was a trick of the light?

“Well, maybe you should go back to your clock and take a nap,” El snapped. She looked disgusted as she backed out of the room. “Get some good rest and get over that cold.” 

Owen let himself slump against the side of the food chest. “That… that might not be a bad idea,” he admitted. “The going back to the clock part. No promises on the nap.” 

Where seconds ago Owen had seemed content and full of life, the sudden coughing fit appeared to have drained all of that out of him. He looked tired now. Drawn out. Like some of the color had leached right out of him. It hadn’t even been that violent or lengthy of a fit. He often had much worse as of late.

Not to be put off by Eloise’s reaction, Scott readily offered his paw out to Owen. “How about we all go back to your clock? I’ve got plenty of chicken soup you can have if you get hungry.”

“That does sound pretty nice...”

Owen took his offered paw, and Scott tried not to focus on the way Owen’s fingers felt clammy and cold between his claws.

____________________

Christmas time was getting close and the attic was abuzz with excitement. Plans for a Secret Santa gift exchange were underway. All the rats were finding themselves a part of the holiday season rush as they prepared their gifts. 

Martyn had taken charge of this one. He had set up the whole event, convincing everyone that the best way to celebrate the Christmas season was with homemade gifts from the heart. He had set up the raffle to decide who would be giving their gifts to whom. He was the one who had set up the post box outside of the bar for everyone to submit their names for the event. He had even done up the entire building in some of the most over-the-top seasonal decor Scott had ever seen and the farm rat was loving it. 

Tis the season, and Scott was embracing it as much as anyone. He had already planned on giving a gift to everyone, but there was no way he was going to turn down the opportunity to join in on a Secret Santa. That just meant that the name on his list would get two presents instead of one. Scott was ready to go all out for it. 

Yes, it seemed like the holiday season had started to help some of the rats calm down and put to rest some of the old squabbles that had been going on for some time now. They had something to focus on, nice deeds to do, super cute decorations to put up, and the occasional visitor coming in from the cold outside to make their day a little more topsy turvy. That was where most of the excitement came from nowadays: the random people who just sort of showed up. Other than them, life in the attic was pretty peaceful.

So Scott was surprised when, late one night when he was ready to drop off his note at the bar post box, he heard frantic shouting and horrible retching noises. 

He froze about ten paces away from the bar. His fingers clutched tight around his book as something slammed and there was another shout. What on Earth was going on? 

He swiveled his ears to get a better listen. That was Martyn’s voice. What he thought was incoherent shouting turned into panicked, somewhat broken words. 

“Oh geez. I can’t believe… Ugh! Oh, come on! Why you… I just- You know, you’re lucky I don’t bar you from the bar again. Keep it in the can. That’s it. Deep breaths… There you are. Oh! Uh… Good lord! That’s so gross. You know, I’ve already got one crime seen taped off at this establishment! I don’t need another!”

Martyn’s babbling was repeatedly broken up by the sound of someone gagging and the splash of something wet hitting metal. 

Scott crept forward on soft paw steps. He was not sure what he had stumbled upon, but Martyn sounded close. Keeping his tail low to the ground and book against his chest, Scott inched his way around the side of the building until he could make out Martyn’s back in the dim lighting. 

Martyn’s ears were pinned against his head. His tail twisted with discomfort, and his eyes were looking everywhere but at the figure slumped over the tin can next to him. He was rubbing his scarred arm back and forth along their back like he was trying to comfort them, but the motions were stiff. 

Another retch split the air. Another sound like a garden hose being switched on, and the figure’s shoulders heaved. Martyn flinched. 

“You didn’t even have anything to drink,” the barkeeper mumbled.

“Is everything alright?” Scott called.

Martyn patted the other person’s back once more before turning to face him. He looked queasy himself. “We’ve got a bit of a mess in the bar right now,” he said with a grimace. “I wouldn’t suggest going in there at the moment.” 

“And who is that? Are they alright?”

“It’s Owen,” Martyn said simply. 

Sure enough, the next gag turned into a cough so ragged it sounded like ripping fabric.

“And I’m gonna be honest, I don’t know if he is alright,” Martyn continued. “He came here asking about details for the Secret Santa. Seemed fine one moment, and then threw up all over the entryway the next. And the counter. And my back room when I tried to bring him out here.” He gestured towards the bar’s back door. There were a few wet spots near the doorway that Martyn pointed to that Scott didn’t want to focus on too closely. “And before you ask, I didn’t pour him so much as a glass. Alcohol’s got nothing to do with this one.”

“I can believe that,” Scott nodded. He dared to inch closer. A sour smell hit his sensitive nose when he came within a tail’s length of the two other rats. Sure enough, it was Owen. His goggles had been tossed to the side, out of the way as his head hung in the tin can Martyn was using as a rubbish bin. His clothes looked crumpled and wrinkled. His tail and ears hung limp. “Oh, Owen,” he breathed, already pitying his poor friend. 

“Hey, Scott…” Owen’s words echoed and warped around the edges of the can. His voice sounded small.

“Are you feeling worse?”

“I’m fine.”

Martyn snorted. “Tell that to my carpets.” 

Owen’s ears drooped a little bit lower. “Sorry about that.” 

The apology seemed to take Martyn off-guard. Owen didn’t normally apologize so easily. Not without a couple of jokes or light teasing mixed in for good fun. It made Scott want to ask his friend ‘What’s wrong with you,’ but he knew he probably wouldn’t get an honest answer, let alone an honest one. 

“That’s alright,” Martyn finally said, giving Owen another gentle pat on the back. “I’ll just clean it up-” Owen pitched forward into the can again and dry heaved. Martyn yanked his paw away and stuck his tongue out, clearly struggling not to gag as well. “I’ll clean it up later. Blegh!”

Scott stepped up to place his paw on Owen’s shoulder. His grip tightened slightly when Owen’s heaving stopped and his friend relaxed into his grip. “You go ahead and clean up your bar now, Martyn. I can stay out here with him for a while.”

Martyn’s blue eyes narrowed at him. He almost looked relieved as he glanced back and forth between Owen and Scott. Only the twitching of his tail tip hinted at his hesitance to leave Owen while he was still like this. “You sure?”

“It’s fine. He’s my best friend. I can watch him.”

That seemed to be enough to convince the barkeeper. “Thanks, Scott. I’ll come back out here once I take care of Owen’s mess.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Owen grunted into the can.

“I know,” Martyn said before stepping back into the bar and pulling the back door closed behind him. 

The back of the bar was quiet for a moment. The only noise was the slight scrape of Owen’s nails against the bin and the rise and fall of their breathing. Scott was half afraid that if he tried breaking the silence, the pause in Owen’s coughing and retching would end and all of his troubles would come rushing back. Instead, Scott lowered himself onto the floor where there didn’t seem to be any suspicious-looking puddles. He crossed his legs out in front of him and pressed one shoulder against Owen’s side. 

It was Owen who broke the silence first. “Why are you here, Scott?” His voice didn’t sound so small this time. 

Scott shrugged. “I was going to turn in my book for Secret Santa when I heard the commotion.”

“Oh…”

“You?”

“Something similar. I wanted to talk to Martyn about the chances of someone not being able to make it to the gift exchange.” 

“What did he say?”

“That a gift could be given to someone else who can give it to the right person on the day of. Or we could just arrange to swap gifts with a delivery. I didn’t get the chance to ask him about when it would get delivered.”

“Oh.” 

They fell into silence once more. A moment passed where Scott could feel Owen shiver. His muscles locked up and claws dug into the rim of the can. Scott braced himself for the sound of gagging, but it never came. Owen’s breath quickened, then gradually slowed back down. His muscles untensed, and the threat passed. As he relaxed, he let himself slide down the side of the can to sit next to Scott. 

When Scott looked over, his dark eyes flickered blue-green in the low light.

“I really think I might be okay now,” he said slowly. “I think the worst of it has passed.”

“You should still stay right here, just in case. I don’t think you should be taking any chances right now.”

Owen winced. “I think that’s fair.” 

“You’re sick.”

“Maybe,” Owen huffed. Even now, he couldn’t sit back and accept that it might be true. “I could have just had something bad to eat.”

“What have you eaten so far today?”

Owen’s face instantly fell into a regretful frown. “Or maybe not. It probably wasn’t the food.”

“Why? What all did you eat?”

“The last thing I ate was the dinner you offered me.”

Scott had prepared a nice picnic basket with cabbage rolls, fruit salad, and ratatouille. They had enjoyed a nice outing on Owen’s balcony, bundled up against the brisk winter chill. They were all dishes Scott had made countless times before. None of them could possibly have made Owen that ill. 

Before Scott could ask him about lunch, the other rat hunched his shoulders and started coughing once more. It was gargled and sharp. The ripping noises that shook his lungs were enough to make Scott want to pull his chef’s hat down over his ears to keep the sound out. As the sound of Owen's hacking grew weaker and eventually died out, Scott watched Owen turn to spit into the can. 

“Your cough doesn’t seem to be getting any better,” Scott mused. 

“I know…” he said, annoyance and exhaustion evident in his voice. “It’s such a pain and it won’t go away.”

“Have you been resting?” 

“As much as normal.”

“Any more weird instances of hiding in dark rooms?”

“Scott…” Owen’s tone was bitter.

“I’m not going to complain. Getting a few more naps in would be good for you. So have you?”

“Maybe, but it’s not napping.”

“Uh-huh.” Scott didn’t believe him. “It’s winter, Owen. You never really stopped to slow down after you went into the basement. I think if you want it to get any better, you should take a few days and stay in bed.”

Rather than complain, or wave Scott off and say that he was fine, Owen seemed to seriously consider his words. His arm snaked over his waist. He clutched at his stomach like it was threatening to spill its contents again. “Do you think that would help?”

“I don’t think it would make anything worse to try.”

Owen brought his head up only to let it fall back against the can. Thunk! “Aw, but it’s going to be boring staying in bed all day.”

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll come to visit. And so will the others. We’ll keep you busy while you take it easy.”

“You promise?”

“Promise.”

“Good. Can we get out of here now, then? I think I want to go home.”

Scott pointed to the paw still wrapped around Owen’s waist. “Are you feeling any better?”

“Honestly…yeah,” he said. The grip he had on his stomach loosened. “It doesn’t feel like my stomach is on the edge of bursting anymore. It kind of feels stable now, you know?”

“Mm-hm,” Scott hummed. He bumped his shoulder once more against Owen’s and then unwound his legs so he could stand up. “I’ll go tell Martyn we’re going to get you home.” 

The barkeeper hadn’t made his way back out to them yet. Scott had a feeling it would be a while before Martyn finished cleaning his bar up. While Owen and Martyn didn’t always see eye to eye, Martyn would probably appreciate being told that they were leaving. The alternative would mean heading out without saying a word and letting Martyn come back to an empty back of the bar and no clue whether Owen was alright. Considering how he had been trying to comfort Owen when Scott first got here, it was probably safe to assume Martyn would appreciate the heads-up.

That and Scott still had his book to drop off. He was already here, after all.

Owen thumped the back of his head against the can once more. He tilted his head back so he could smile appreciatively up at Scott.  “Thank you.”

“And I’m going to ask if he has a bag or something we can take with us, in case you get sick again on the way back.”

The smile fell into a frown so suddenly, that Scott couldn’t help but laugh.

He brushed his dungarees off as he stood. His tail, cramped from being sat on for so long, gave an experimental wave to work the pins and needles out. Then he picked his way past Owen and the can.

Some morbid curiosity took hold of Scott at that moment. Before he reached the door, his gaze passed over the rim of the rubbish bin. It was still pretty dark, but he could make out the wet shine of the puddle at the bottom. 

Scott was no doctor, but he guessed that the dark red tinge to it wasn’t natural. Not considering what Owen had claimed to eat most recently.  Nor were the fleshy, glowing cyan chunks floating on top.

___________________________

Owen was finally getting some rest. 

Scott didn’t even have to beg him to stay in bed. He didn’t have to pester his friend with apologies and nervous requests to stay put. Owen didn’t fight him on anything anymore and didn’t complain about being cooped up in his room at the top of the clock.

That’s how bad it was.

It had Scott on edge.

The farmer rat couldn’t sit still. He busied himself coming over to visit all the time. Owen’s clock wasn’t messy, but Scott busied himself trying to clean some of the lower levels. He chewed on chunks of wood and wool, shaping them into nice things he could work into his Christmas gifts for the others. And when he ran out of ideas for things to do with what was already here, he took it upon himself to bring his hobbies closer and reduce his number of trips away from the clock.

Owen didn’t have a kitchen, but that didn’t stop Scott from hauling over his pots, pans, or even an entire stove so he didn’t have to stray too far to cook up a few meals. 

Most bowls and platefuls went to the many rats who came to visit their bedridden friend. It gave them a chance to stick around longer if they had a meal at the ready. Some meals were brought up to Owen. Soups proved especially difficult to carry while climbing up the gears to Owen’s room, but Owen was always grateful to Scott for bringing them. A few dishes were whipped up purely for himself. A rat’s gotta feed himself, too. 

Every time he poked his head into the dark bedroom, he would catch a flicker of blue-green before Owen registered that he was there and would greet him. Once, Scott made no attempt to make his presence known when he entered the bedroom. He didn’t knock against the door frame or call out, assuming that Owen would simply spot him in a moment or two. He did not. Scott waited, and waited, and watched as Owen simply stared at the blank wall. There was nothing to see. It was too dark for him to make out the natural grain of the wood. His unfocused eyes stared, and now Scott fully believed Eloise’s claim that Owen’s eyes glowed in the dark. 

And yes, Owen still had the cough.

A couple of days on bed rest seemed to have no effect on the malady. If anything, it was worse. They kept a thimble on the side of the bed at all times now. When Owen felt a coughing fit coming on, he would reach for the bucket and hold it close. As the coughs shook his body, he would sometimes cough up… something.

The first time Owen coughed it up, they hadn’t thought to have the thimble nearby. His friend had done the best he could and leaned over the side of the bed when something solid and wet went splat against the wooden floorboards. Scott had to clean that one up. Whatever it could have been was solid. Soft, but solid. Pulpy. It was always an unnatural mix of teal and orange.

Funny. He normally liked those colors together. Now though… This wasn’t cute.

The night behind the bar had been dim, but he still recognized it as the stuff he had seen in the tin can.

Scott had no clue what it was supposed to be.

After that, Scott made sure Owen had a thimble at all times. He instructed his friend to cough into it whenever he could. Then Scott could take care of the mess later. 

That proved to be somewhat difficult. Not even trash rat would bother with it. They were banned from tossing it in his dumpster. Scott was left to try digging shallow holes in the frozen ground outside to bury it or burn it in the family room fireplace when the coast was clear of cats.

He came back from one of those expeditions to find Eloise and Bek standing outside Owen’s clock.

“How’s he doing?” El asked as he approached.

Scott shrugged. “He’s still sick. Still coughing.”

“That bites.” Bek kicked her bare foot against the floorboard with a frown. She cast her gaze across the rest of the attic, eyes lingering on their neighbors’ homes. “It’s a shame there are no doctors up here.”

“I agree. None of the home remedies that we used on the farm are working.” He patted his palm against the thimble. Claws clicked against its side on impact. “I just got done emptying this for, what? The fourth time today? You don’t suppose the humans downstairs have some medicine?”

Eloise tilted her head. “That work on rats? I doubt it.” 

“Want some help?” Bek offered. 

El reached into her pocket and pulled out something that looked like a covered bowl. Through the see-through top, Scott could make out a bright red-ish orange liquid sloshing around. It was thicker than water or juice. As she held it out towards him, something spicy made his nose twitch. “Yeah. As I said, no doctors here, but I had a thought,” she said. “How about a home remedy? Back in the city, there were these places that sold food. And in their kitchens, they had all these pretty bottles of tasty sauces. There was one my family would use whenever we got sick. Called it hot sauce. Burned going down, but it helped clear the sinuses.”

Scott tilted his head. “He’s coughing, El. Not sneezing or blowing his nose. I’m not sure that will work.”

“Aren’t those things normally connected?”

“Are they?”

“Probably,” Bek chimed in with a noncommittal shrug. 

Scott’s tail lashed as he considered his options. That stuff smelled pretty strong. She called it a sauce, so it was like food. “He’s supposed to eat it?”

Eloise nodded. “We would put it on our dinner.”

At worst, they could run to get Owen some milk if it was too hot. He didn’t think a bite of something spicy would necessarily make the cough worse.  

“Sure,” he relented. “I guess it’s worth a shot. Come on. Let’s run it by Owen and see what he thinks.” He waved towards the opening at the base of the grandfather clock and started padding towards the entrance. The three of them shuffled inside, only to be greeted by the muffled sound of coughing. Scott sighed. “There he goes again.” 

“He sounds worse,” Eloise said, tipping her head to look up past the levels of gears lining the inside of the clock. 

“It’s dark, too,” Bek noted. “Is he doing that thing where he hides in the dark?”

“He’s still in the bed. Not hiding,” Scott supplied. “But the dark seems to help.”

She clicked her tongue. “Rather odd.”

He wasn’t about to disagree. 

The two girls waited long enough for him to grab a bowl full of chicken soup from his pot. They could put the sauce into that for Owen to try. Then they scrabbled up the gears to the sound of Owen’s hacking and wheezing. It drowned out the sound of their claws scraping against brass and nickel. It took a few leaps, and both El and Scott had to help Bek pull herself up the last ledge. 

Owen was still coughing as they reached to top. Scott’s ears drooped as he heard a pained wheeze between intakes of breath. He could tell the sick rat was getting tired. 

“Owen!” Scott called as he led the two girls toward their friend's room. “You alright? Eloise and Bek came by.”

“Hey th-” Owen couldn’t even finish up the greeting as they stepped into the room. He was curled up in bed, gripping the covers as he leaned over and shook with each raspy breath. Scott picked up the pace until he was at the bedside, holding the thimble out for his friend. Owen took it with a shaking paw. He gripped it in his lap, but this bought appeared to only be a cough. 

When it finally began to slow, Owen took a deep, deliberate breath, and breathed out a “Hi.”

“You look worse than something one of the cats coughed up,” Bek said bluntly. El smacked her shoulder and Scott pinned back his ears, but Owen smiled at the jab, so the farm rat didn’t audibly gasp in horror like he wanted to.

“I’d rather take getting chewed out by the cats at this point,” Owen said, his voice all but shot. 

“No you wouldn’t,” Scott corrected. Owen didn’t argue. 

“Well,” El started, holding out the covered bowl of hot sauce for him to see. “I brought something with me, that might be able to help.” Again, she explained what was in the bowl. How it was spicy and full of flavor. How at her old home they would use it to help clear their stuffy noses and make it a little easier to breathe.

Then Scott showed him the bowl of broth he brought up. “I brought some soup we could mix it into if you think it’s worth a shot. It should tone down some of the flavor and make it easier to eat.”

Owen wrinkled his nose. “Not the biggest fan of spicy food, but if there’s a chance it’ll work then it’s worth a shot.”

“You sure,” Eloise and Scott asked at the same time.

He nodded and reached out towards the bowl in Scott’s paw. “Got a spoon?”

Of course Scott brought a spoon. 

Eloise popped the cover off her bowl and tilted it. Scott brought the broth underneath the rim to catch a few drops before swirling the angry orange sauce in. Since El was the one who knew about the home remedy, he let her judge how much to put in. She let a few more drops dribble into the broth before pulling back her bowl and covering it back up.

“That should probably be enough,” she said with a flick of her tail tip. “Don’t want to overdo it.”

“How spicy is it,” Owen asked nervously.

“It is hot sauce, so pretty spicy.”

Owen slunk a little deeper under the covers. “What if it’s too hot?”

“Well, you want it to be hot if it’s going to work.”

“Uh… Actually… I don’t know about this anymore, guys.”

Bek snorted. “Don’t be such a baby.”

“I am not! Fine.” In the blink of an eye, Owen snatched the soup bowl and spoon out from Scott’s paws. “This better work,” he grumbled, before ladling a spoonful of the liquid into his mouth.

Scott held his breath for a moment as he watched Owen swallow. His friend blinked rapidly at the taste, clearly uncomfortable. But he went for another spoonful and downed that as well. He handed it back to Scott with more than half the broth left. 

“Feeling any better?” Bek asked brightly.

He held up one claw as if asking her to wait. His face contorted against the heat. His breathing became heavy and drawn out, but that was good, wasn’t it? Those were the deepest breaths Scott had heard Owen manage in a while. 

“Did it help?” he pressed when Owen didn’t answer.

In less than a second, Owen’s demeanor changed. He went from tense patience, face screwed up with discomfort at the taste, to twitching and thrashing silently. So silently, in fact, that they even couldn’t hear him breathe. 

Scott’s blood ran cold.

Owen wasn’t coughing anymore. Wasn’t gagging. He was wheezing. Gasping. Ribcage rattling. Convulsing. his back arched. He writhed beneath the blanket so wildly that it knocked the covers from the bed entirely.  Both paws went to the base of his neck and gripped at the soft tissue there, claws raking along the exposed surface. Angry red marks flared up against his skin, visible beneath his fur. 

“Oh my god he’s choking,” Bek shrieked.

Her words hit Scott hard, knocking his brain back into action. “H-how?!?! It was just chicken broth!” He didn’t understand. There weren’t any noodles or chunks of chicken or vegetables to worry about swallowing. 

He dropped the bowl and spoon in his paws, not caring when they clattered to the floor and sent broth splattered everywhere. It didn’t matter. What mattered was getting his best friend breathing again. Scott reached under Owen’s armpit and hauled the other rat closer to the side of the bed where the rest of them could reach him more easily. He bucked in Scott’s grip. He almost completely lost his hold on the other rat’s arm as Owen kept reaching for his neck. Not sure what else to do, Scott started pounding on Owen’s back with the base of his palm, praying it would knock his airwaves free. “What could he possibly be choking on?!”

“No no no! You’re doing it wrong.” Bek shoved him to the side and took over, wrapping her arms around Owen’s chest from behind. The back of his head nearly smashed into her forehead as he struggled to breathe, but she gripped tight. “You gotta do it like in the movies.” With that, she started pounding her fist up and in just below his sternum.

Scott was grasping at straws. Reacting instinctively without knowing what would help or why. Let alone how this could have gone so wrong. He rushed around the bed to the other side so he could face Owen. He passed El, who still stood shaking against the wall. He’d ask her to help, but what could she do, really? 

Scott crawled up onto the bed with Owen. He intended to hold Owen’s paws to keep them from knocking into Bek as she continued to attempt to force out whatever was caught in his throat. Before he reached out, though, Owen shifted his paws from scratching at his throat to clawing at the sides of his mouth. 

There, just visible past the foremost incisors, something was glowing at the back of Owen’s mouth.

Something teal. Something orange.

Thoughts of the fleshy thimblefuls Scott had been doing his best to throw away swam to the forefront of his mind.  The glow shook and strobed with every desperate attempt for air. The lumpy shapes the glow emanated from shook and wobbled as Owen opened his mouth wider and wider. Scott’s muscles locked up. He couldn’t have willed himself forward if he wanted to. Couldn’t think straight enough for it to occur to him to try. He watched as Owen tried reaching into his own mouth with desperate claws and scraped at what was inside. 

Bek gave another heave, knocking Owen’s paw away from his mouth with enough force for his flailing claws to rip a tear in his lip. Something hooked on his claw came loose, and with a wet plop, it fell onto the bedspread in front of Scott. 

It looked like part of a mushroom cap. 

A very familiar teal mushroom with glowing orange splotches. 

Something clicked in the back of Scott’s numb mind that this was probably what had been in those thimbles, although less smashed up and not swimming in bile. This cap was far more sturdy. He could still make out the delicate edges of gills lining the underside. The damaged end was blackened and wilted. The entire piece still glowed, despite being severed from the rest of the larger body. 

He had warned Owen about those awful mushrooms. 

Why couldn’t his friend have just trusted him and gone through with burning it?

“It’s not working,” Bek cried. She let go of Owen, cradling her wrists. Bruises were already becoming visible there beneath pale fur.

Scott blinked. 

Owen was reaching with one paw for his mouth again. The glowing shapes there were clearer than they were a second ago. More sharply defined. Larger. Scott could hardly believe what he was seeing as caps pressed against the backs of Owen’s teeth, threatened to grow out right past his lips. Owen was grabbing at them. Clawing at them. Pulling fistfuls of crushed mushroom stems and caps. Scott reached forward with a half-baked thought to help rip more away, but Owen smacked his paw away before he could get close. Owen’s other paw was reaching up towards some unseen point on the ceiling with eyes that were glassy and blank. Color flickered in the pupils. 

Orange, teal, orange, teal, orange, teal…

Scott whirled to look at Eloise. “GO GET HELP!!!”

She hadn’t so much as moved from her spot by the wall. At Scott’s words, her shocked face blanched. She was shaking in fear and reached for Bek like the smaller rat was a lifeline. “WHO DO I GET!?!”

“I DON’T KNOW!”

POP!

Owen fell limp.

Scott turned back to stare down at his best friend, too frozen in shock to move, dread pulsing through his veins where his heart stopped beating. “Owen…” he whimpered. The name sounded fuzzy to his ears through the radio static of his own thoughts. 

Owen’s chest was moving. Barely, but it was. Scott could see it rising and falling with short, shallow breaths. 

“Owen, please…” 

Please what? Answer? Survive? Be okay? 

The two girls gripped at each other. They stood in front of the entrance, their shadows falling over Owen in the bed. Through their quivering dark shapes, Owen’s eyes blazed.

Orange, teal, orange, teal, orange, teal…

“No more of that.”

Scott pealed his ears up away from where he had pinned them flat against the back of his head. “Owen?” His voice cracked. Owen’s voice sounded… hollow.

The fallen rat’s chest twitched. His arms drew in closer to his sides. His legs spread out over the sheets. Scott scrambled away to make room for his friend as a foot passed by where he had been kneeling on the bed. Every movement was agonizingly slow. Pained. 

“W-what d-do you mean?” El stuttered. “Y-you gave us a r-real fright, there.”

“I mean no more of that.” Owen’s voice sounded empty. Distant. Scott couldn’t make out his friend’s mouth moving in the dim lighting. Not at this angle. Considering what he had just seen, it was shockingly clear considering all the mushrooms he had to be talking around. “Whatever that was, it burned. No more burning us.”

One of Bek’s ears swiveled. “Uh… ‘us’? What do you mean ‘us’?”

With a long, labored heave that looked unnaturally limp, Owen’s head lolled back as he pushed himself up shoulders first. He sat up. 

Orange, teal, orange, teal, orange, teal… 

“Us.”

It wasn’t just Owen’s eyes that glowed anymore. They were vacant. Glassy, empty eyes with irises that flashed back and forth. But below his eyes, crawling out from the cracks in his mouth, flowing down with the line of blood escaping the cut on his lip, curling around his front teeth, were mushrooms. Many, many, many mushrooms. 

“We won’t let you burn us again,” came Owen’s voice, but it wasn’t Owen. It couldn’t be. His mouth didn’t move. His shallow breathing, now growing even shallower, hadn’t hitched or changed. Rather, with each rise and fall of the syllables, the glowing orange splotches strobed brighter. 

“No more heat. No more burning.” 

Orange, teal, orange, teal, orange, teal. Bright, dim, bright, dim, bright, dim. 

“Just the damp. Just the dark. Like me. Like you…”

He turned to Scott, but he didn’t actually look at Scott. Those eyes stared straight ahead. The pupils were so dilated, he couldn’t be focusing on anything in front of him. His head tilted, ears falling limply with the motion. 

“Hey Scott.” The mushrooms blinked with the hollow words. “You were helping me. Now I think you should help us…”

Owen lurched forward, reaching out for the nearest one of them. His claws brushed Scott’s arms and Scott leaped back. 

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!”

He shrieked. Behind him, Bek and Eloise screamed as well. They scrambled back as Owen pushed forward out of the bed. Every movement was sluggish and stilted. His muscles quivered with distress and his legs shook as he stood up, but he WAS up. And he was coming right for them. 

They bolted. All three dropped onto all fours and scrabbled through Owen’s house as fast as their paws could carry them. 

This was a nightmare. It had to be. Scott knew the mushrooms were dangerous, but whatever this was had to be something else. However, when Scott slipped on the carpet in the hall and slammed shoulder-first into the wall, the pain sent dark spots dancing across his eyes.

Dreams weren’t supposed to be this painful.

The three of them were halfway down the gears when Owen’s distant voice met their ears. It still had that hollow ring to it. “Come on Scott. Come on guys. You wanted to help me, right? Then come back. The dark is better.”

Scott clenched his claws and dared to look up. He couldn’t see Owen past the ledge. 

“Scott… Eloise… Bek… I thought you wanted to help?”

A shiver passed down Scott’s spine. Owen didn’t sound any closer. He wasn’t chasing them. He let go of the gears, allowing himself to drop the rest of the way to land heavily alongside the girls. The three of them looked up 

“Are you still there, guys?”

El placed a finger over her lips and glared at Scott and Bek. She flicked her eyes off to the side and waved in the direction of Owen’s mudroom. It didn’t take much to figure out what she meant. Scott and Bek shared a glance, then nodded and followed her around the corner. 

As soon as they were all packed into the cramped room like sardines in a can, Scott pulled the door closed behind him. She dropped the finger from in front of her mouth. 

“What do we do!? What do WE DO!?!?” she whispered frantically.

“I DON’T KNOW!”

They all scrambled, moving back and forth as much as they could in the small space as they talked over each other in a panic.

“Is he coming!?”

“I don’t think so.”

“It didn’t sound like it.”

“I don’t think we can be sure.”

“The door’s closed even if he was.”

“That just means we’d be trapped.”

“I don’t think he’s coming, though.”

“What even happened?”

“It’s those mushrooms,” Scott babbled, words flowing out of his mouth as quickly as they passed through his head. “Those were the mushrooms from the garden that we burned. I’d recognize them anywhere. They were in him! My god, his mouth was full of them. He was coughing them up all this time and I didn’t even realize-”

Eloise cut through his panicked rambling to grab him by the shoulders and give him a shake. “You’re the expert here on those things. Did you know they could do that?”

“Of course not!”

“Okay,” Bek started. “So a bunch of angry mushrooms were making Owen sick and now he’s…” She opened and closed her mouth a few times, but could not find the words. She helplessly gestured to the mudroom’s ceiling, approximately in the same direction as Owen’s room. “That. Now he’s like that. Didn’t the mushrooms from the garden get burned?”

“Yeah,” El hissed. “That took care of them last time. Should we try that again?”

“And do what?” Scott wanted to shout, but he strained to keep his volume down low. “Set Owen on fire?!?”

El blinked, her face going blank. “Right. Might need to think of something better.”

“What about what he said,” Bek said, her whisper now bordering on becoming a shout. “He said that something burned.”

“Yeah, the hot sauce,” El said dismissively. “I’m sure it was spicy and hot and everything I said it would be but that doesn’t actually help us now because it doesn’t actually burn things like a fire, now does it?!” 

“But he- it- they- whatever that was- I don’t know?! It didn’t seem to like it.”

“So you’re saying it caused this?”

“Those mushrooms were already in his system,” Scott admitted. “He was throwing them up for a while now. Whatever this is was already in him.”

“So the hot sauce made it worse? It pissed some bloody mushrooms off and made Owen…” Eloise didn’t even know how to finish her sentence. She threw her paw up in the air and turned. She pressed one of her knuckles against her forehead. 

Scott ran through everything he knew about the fungus in his head. From his early days on the farm, where he had seen the brightly colored caps from afar, to the blight they caused, and the wildlife that choked on their spores until they couldn’t breathe. The awful way it spread in the dark, closed-off spaces. Places like the basement.  

Places like Owen’s lungs. 

He shook his head. Now was not the time to dwell on that. 

At the farm, the only thing the farmers could do was burn it. Gather it up in a neat pile and set the whole thing ablaze. Even if there were a few mycelium roots below the surface, if they set the fire close enough to the patch, the heat still managed to leach through the topsoil and kill it off. 

Hot sauce didn’t put off real heat. Not like that. But the mushrooms reacted to it. He didn’t know if his parents had ever tried any irritants against something like that. Acid wasn’t necessarily available to a family of rodents working the field. 

He thought of the partially blackened piece of mushroom Owen had clawed out of his mouth. 

“Okay… I think… I think your hot sauce might have helped, actually.”

El pulled her knuckle from her forehead and looked at him from the corner of her eye. “You’re joking.”

“That’s what I was saying,” Bek exclaimed. All pretenses of keeping her voice down were tossed out the window. “It was mad about how hot it was. What if hot flavors work just like hot fires.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Probably. But I saw a piece break off that looked burned, and I know for a fact Owen hasn’t been around a fire for some time. I don’t know if it works like some sort of acid, but it did something.”

“Yeah,” El huffed. “It made him like THAT . Worse!”

Bek rolled her eyes. “That just means we didn’t use enough.”

Scott pointed to the smaller rat. “What she said.”

Bek didn’t seem to be prepared for him to agree with her so easily. Her eyes flew wide and her tail went ramrod straight. “What?!”

“I think you’re, right, Bek. I think we need to try using more.”

“But you- I thought- I can’t believe-” Eloise sputtered. Her paws waved uselessly in the air, grasping at straws. Finally, she gave up on trying to find an argument and slumped forward. “Fine.” She pulled the small covered bowl out. “I suppose it doesn’t hurt to try.”

“Great! Now we just need to figure out how to do that,” Scott said as he leaned his back against the door.

Knock.

Knock.

Knock.

“Is it nice and dark in there?”

All three rats stiffened at the sound of Owen’s voice filtering through the cracks in the door. Scott’s heart outright skipped a beat as he pushed off the door, trying to put as much distance between him and the door as he could. Considering the small mudroom, it wasn’t much. He hurtled into Bek and Eloise, who were pressing themselves through the hanging coats and boots against the furthest corner of the room. Something fell at his side. He tore his eyes away from the door long enough to see Eloise’s covered bowl of hot sauce bounce once off the floor and go rolling.

Squeak… click!

The doorknob turned and swung open. Blinking orange lights strobed across the room as Owen stepped inside. 

“Well, would you look at that?”

Orange, teal, orange, teal, orange, teal. Bright, dim, bright, dim, bright, dim. 

“It is dark in here. I knew you guys wanted to help.”

“O-Owen…” Scott said shakily. He pressed himself further into Bek and Eloise’s sides. “I-I thought you were upstairs in y-your room?”

“But you guys came down here,” he said through a mouth that did not form the words. His blank eyes passed over the room. “You can’t help when you’re down here and I’m up there.”

“Help with what,” El demanded.

“Us. And you.”

He took a stilted step forward, and every fiber of Scott’s being screamed at him to run.

“Go! Go! Go!” He squeaked, shoving Bek and El aside. Owen stood between them and the door, but he couldn’t stop all of them if they tried to go around them. 

Of course, that didn’t mean they would all be able to get out scot-free. 

Because Owen’s claws wrapped around the strap of Scott’s dungarees before he could make it past. 

His best friend’s paw gripped like a vice. His grip was so white-knuckled tight that it shook as he yanked. Scott was too busy trying to run forward to get a good grip on the floor with the soles of his feet. They slipped out from under him and the farm rat found himself suspended for a moment, staring at the retreating backs of the girls before his back hit the ground. 

Owen’s flashing eyes appeared over him. 

Orange, teal, orange, teal, orange.

“Hey, Scott,” the mushrooms glowed down at him. 

Scott tried to pull away, but Owen still had a grip on the strap. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the bowl Eloise had dropped. It was still covered and clean on the wooden floor, right there next to a set of boots. Scott reached for it. His claws brushed the rim, only for the strap of his dungarees yanked back once more. He couldn’t budge an inch as Owen forced the strap down against the wood planks, pinning him to the floor. The bowl rolled uselessly out of his line of sight.

“What are you doing,” Scott squeaked, voice small. His ears tried to swivel back to lay against his head, but they could only press uselessly against the floor. 

“Helping us,” the mushrooms in Owen’s mouth blinked. “Don’t worry, Scott. It’s not so bad. A little time, a bit of coughing… you’ll barely notice.”

Dread clawed at the pit of Scott’s stomach. Owen was still looking at him blankly, but the mushroom caps in his mouth flared. The gills widened, revealing dotted dark pores between their inner layers. Scott could make out the dark spore particles between them. The dread dug those claws in and yanked.

“Owen! Owen please- I don’t- I- I- Please don’t-”

“Take this!”

Owen tore his glowing eyes off Scott. The moment his head tilted back, the open end of a bowl hit him square in the center of his face. Rivulets of red-orange liquid sprayed out along the side of his head. It caught in his hair and dripped down his jaw, and when the bowl fell away, his entire face was covered in Eloise’s hot sauce. 

Bek stood in the door frame, wide-eyed, arm outstretched in front of her, utterly shocked that she had hit her mark.

The squeak of pain Owen let out made Scott flinch. He wanted to curl into a ball and cover his ears against the sheer agony that would have shredded Owen’s voice box if he was actually using it. Scott instead dug his heels into the floor and slid back as far as he could. Claws wrapped around his shoulders. To his relief, Bek had rushed to his side. She and El each took an arm and helped him up while Owen backed away. The slow, pained movements were now even shakier as he reached to wipe at the sauce covering his face.

Wherever the sauce touched the mushrooms, the stems and caps twitched and shriveled.  Steam hissed, bubbles popping along their wet surface as the lukewarm liquid wreaked havoc on them. Burnt, dried-out stems fell from between his lips and crumbled against the floor. 

A rather large mushroom broke free, falling to the floor. Owen let out a gasp. The sudden breath was heavier than what he had managed since the mushrooms appeared, and it triggered a cough. The same kind of heavy, burdened, full-body cough Owen had been struggling with for so long now. Scott could see flecks of hot sauce get sucked in from the edges of Owen’s lips, and full splatters of reddish-orange peppered the walls as the air was forced back out. He was gripping his throat again, but it wasn’t the desperate, clawing grasp from before. 

With each cough, more and more blackened bits came tumbling from his mouth. With each cough, his chest expanded more and more. He managed to pull in more air. Let out more ragged breaths. 

Bek and El’s grips on Scott’s shoulders tightened when Owen collapsed down onto his knees, shoulders stooped, and his stomach heaved. Scott didn’t react. Only watch. He had been around Owen’s vomiting spells longer than the two girls. He watched the puddle of bile and fleshy lumps that spread across the floor with cold recognition. 

The chunks of what he now recognized to be mushroom pieces bubbled and boiled in the puddle, withering away amidst the swirls of undigested orange hot sauce. 

Owen heaved again. And heaved. He kept going until there was nothing left, and even then he dry-heaved once or twice before he fell back into a weak cough. It was an exhausted cough. One that barely even managed to shake the rat’s shoulders. One that made his elbows waver as he tried to hold himself up off the messy floor. A few more flecks of orange and teal fell from his lips. 

The coughing stopped. 

It felt like an eternity passed in the time Scott, El, and Bek sat there, watching Owen pant. They were holding their breath. Didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Didn’t react in any way, as if the moment was so jagged and sharp that any change might cause it to break. Or to break one of them. 

But if nobody broke the moment, than there was no way to know if it could be fixed.

“O-Owen?” Scott flinched as the sound of his own voice startled him. It cut through the quiet like a knife. He would have reached out to his friend. Risked that bit of movement, but Bek caught his wrist before he could go far.

Both she and El held him back. Their eyes were brimming with fear and concern, both emotions warring over what was best. Should they help Owen? Stay away from him? 

“Are you back to feeling like yourself?” Bek asked carefully.

Owen looked up. 

Orange, teal, orange, teal, orange, teal…

“I…” He took a deep breath. A small, tired smile pulled on the corners of his mouth as the flicker in his eyes finally guttered out. “I feel better…”

Thump!

Owen’s shaking arms finally gave out. He slumped down to the floor. Eyes fell closed. His body went still outside of the rise and fall of his chest.

And for the first time in a long time, Owen’s breathing sounded normal to Scott’s ears.

#mcythorrorgiftexchange #horror #body horror #mcyt fanfiction #rats smp #scott smajor #owengejuicetv #bekyamon #soupforeloise #alternate universe canon divergence #hurt/comfort #and then some more hurt #sickfic #vomiting #nonconsensual body modification #mind manipulation #unconventional use of hot sauce #embedded art #it's at the end

[theminecraftbee]

Grian paces in front of the Entity. “Okay, but it definitely kept me alive,” he says. “Right? I had feather falling boots but that was too much of a coincidence all at once, it definitely kept me alive.” There’s a track in the dirt. “If it kept me alive, then—well of course I don’t know why, it’s—we’re both concerned here! I’m not an idiot—"

“…Grian?” asks Mumbo. Grian snaps to attention and turns to look at Mumbo. “You good there buddy?”

“Yep! Everything’s peachy over here!” He leans over against the Entity, trying to put on a charming, disarming grin. He misjudges and ends up flapping around like a bird someone had pushed off of a tree for a moment instead before scrambling back to his unconcerned position.

“Okay,” Mumbo says slowly, “because it sounds awfully like you were talking to your rock.”

“What? Psshaw. No. Perish the thought! To a rock. Really.” It wasn’t that subtle. No, shut up, it was about as subtle as he’s ever been. It’s not that subtle though. Not that the Entity can talk. Well, it’s had much less time to practice being subtle about things well it can suck Grian’s—

“Are you absolutely certain you’re okay?” Mumbo asks. “If you aren’t, I can always, er. Well I’m not entirely certain, but Scar still has a standing offer about vex magic that—”

“Absolutely not!” Grian yelps at the same time as the Entity yells about absolutely not allowing that in his head.

“Okay, okay, geez. You just seem a bit off, is all. Did something happen?”

And the thing is—did something? It had definitely saved Grian’s life. Maybe it liked Grian! But it wasn’t supposed to do that. Not that Grian would know, the Entity just keeps dropping these things—well it’s not like the Entity realized Grian wouldn’t understand—look, if the Rift is broken that’s a problem because Grian’s already started pulling out more limbs of the Entity and if they have a conflict on their hands that’s Bad. But just because the Entity doesn’t think it’s supposed to happen doesn’t mean that it’s bad, right? Grian’s meddled with plenty of things beyond the mortal ken without a pushy rock! Even if he hasn’t meddled with this—

“Grian? Hello? That’s it, I’m going to get either Xisuma or Scar, whoever I run into first.”

“No! There’s nothing wrong at my megabase that’s concerning me and also any beings I may or may not have invited into my head and we should absolutely stay neighbors because there’s no danger to you at all!” Grian blurts out.

Everyone—including the Entity—is silent for several long, agonizing seconds.

“That’s… specific,” Mumbo says diplomatically.

Grian turns to the Entity, giving up. “This is entirely your fault,” he complains. “Now we’re going to have an elf poking around at us.”

A pause.

“Unless.”

He turns to Mumbo. He smiles. Mumbo steps back. “Uh, Grian. Not liking the expression there, I have to say. Maybe—maybe we will just forget this, how about? And I have another lump I can move to, really, this will all work out—”

The Entity whispers something in Grian’s ear. Grian listens.

If he can’t solve one problem, he can at least knock out another one. He’s not sure why he hadn’t thought of this sooner. Honestly, Mumbo won’t mind, will he? They’re friends! And, anyway, Mumbo won’t really remember until it’s done.

“I think it will all work out,” Grian says, and he opens his wings and steps towards Mumbo once more, cornering him against the side of his nearby base. “Don’t worry. I’m really excited to be neighbors!”

(Somewhere, Grian tries to reach to decide who’s thinking that, between him and the Entity. He gives up. It doesn’t matter, though. He has far too many other things going on to pay attention, right now.)

#a bee fic #hermitcraft #grian #mumbo jumbo #cosmic horror #kind. kind of? #mind manipulation #i would like the entity and grian to be partners in crime whose thoughts are sort of awkwardly mashed together currently #the problem is of course that neither of them have planned particularly well for their current situation #…and that enough extra dimensional magic is very good at making you forget the right decision. #anyway this started as a stupid joke and then VEERED in the ending #don’t invite space rocks or extra dimensional rifts to hitch a ride with you kids. #unreality #NOT REALLY it’s more of. what of Grian’s thoughts here are his and what are not #tell me if there’s a better tag for that I’ll tag it #i wrote this at 2:30 am so sorry if it’s incoherent anywhere #possession

[fukia]

Uncontrollably sobbing;;; I’m so obsessed with how beautifully precious this very specific slade is,,,

He’s got that Bojack Horseman silly, that big round singular eye, and a mask that makes him looks like a fucking splitface tortie/calico/chimera kitty

//deathstroke more like deathheartattack// I love him with all my heart and soul//

#deathstroke #slade #slade Wilson #teen titans #teen titans go #teen titans go to the movies #deathstroke cute #slade cute #cute slade #cute deathstroke #teen titans slade #dc comics #dcu #dc universe #will arnett #mind manipulation #more like heart manipulation #poor choice of wordplay lol #oo it is the split faced kitten in need of the ears and the tail! - ttg starfire probably #(he directs movies on the side because there’s not much call for contracted murder in ttg)

[snowflakeanimelover]

Hi! Can you do a Yandere Elijah Mikaelson fic similar to pulling heartstrings? I love your work btw! It always cheers me up ❤️

Ahh thank you!! <3 I am so happy to know it makes someone smile :) I’m actually pretty proud of Pulling Heartstrings. Definitely a favorite. Still amazed people asked for a part 2 lol. Elijah does deserve some love tho.

Relationship: Elijah Mikaelson x Female Reader

Fandom: The Vampire Diaries, The Originals

Warnings: YANDERE, creepy, stalking, kidnapping, mind manipulation, Elijah is nice, he’s also a little OOC…sorry 0-0

DISCLAIMER: I usually write yandere stuff with a not so happy ending unless specified otherwise by the requester. If there is anything triggering that's in the warnings, then please do not read for your own safety and comfort. 

— — — —

Beating Hearts

You were the pawn of the queen and king in a chess game. It was obvious to you and all of your friends. Although you cared for them deeply, since they were the only close friends and family you had since childhood, the realization of how things changed tore deep into your heart. Ever since Elena, one of your best friends, met an over one-hundred year old vampire things have certainly changed.

All of your lives were tied around supernatural fingers. There wasn’t a day where you didn’t talk about the original vampires, the werewolves, and any witches who weren’t on our side. There wasn’t a day where you could relax. 

As if you’ve never asked for something to come up and keep you on your toes instead of being so bored in your life as a teenager. This was something you didn’t really ask for. And it just so happened that your life seemed to get worse. Elijah was on your side, for the most part, when first meeting him. He wanted to take his own brother down and make sure his curse wasn’t broken. In this case, keeping Elena alive. 

Elijah was a kind man to you. To all humans in the group, technically. Which only seemed to be you and Elena. There were times where Elijah was welcomed into our home so he, Elena, and Alaric could talk business. You always seemed to be at the wrong place and wrong time, making you awkwardly sit in the corner of the room while they did what they had to do. And when Elena gets an interrupted phone call by none other than her boyfriend, it leaves the room to just you and the original. 

A brief talk is all it was. Him making you smile, and you making him smile. It left as quickly as it came with Elena bringing usual bad news. The group left, insisting you stayed. Even Elijah was sure to agree with Elena on that idea. 

You took the rest of your time and days minding your own business, clearly noticing how they didn’t want you involved. You figured you’d cope with your loneliness somehow or another, but a simple piece of paper changed your mind. 

You didn’t see the group much during the weeks. But you didn’t have to in order to get a smile on your face every day. Elijah was leaving letters for you in your room. It started off as apologizing for not greeting you and asking how your day was. You must say that your heart was beating a little faster every time you saw a note hidden somewhere in your room. 

Notes soon turned into almost daily visits. Sometimes you went out in town with him, and other times you sat in your home sipping tea. It was all fun and admirable to you until he said he will be getting a bit more busy. Those smiles you had every day because of him have left when you couldn’t see him at all. It was only three days of no Elijah, and yet that seemed to make his promise of protecting you break into tiny little pieces. 

“Hello, Love.” Klaus greeted, his sharp eyes staring right into your soul. You tried to shut the door on him, aware of the warning Elijah has given you about his own brother. To your surprise, he stopped the door from shutting with a simple hard held grip on it, pushing it back open. He clicked his tongue in disappointment. “Now, now, sweetheart. It’s rude to shut doors onto your guests.”

“H-how can you get in…? I didn’t invite you in.” Your voice was a whisper, too scared to set off the big bad wolf’s timer.

He chuckled, a deep rumbling that made your spine shiver. “I’m afraid you don’t own the house anymore, love. Now, I suggest you cooperate or things will get messy.” He takes one step forward before falling to the ground with a loud snap echoing in the house. Elijah stood over Klaus, his hands smoothing out his nice suit.

He looked up at you as he quickly got closer. His big hand envelops your own. You were too shocked to do anything at the moment. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you? I don’t smell any blood on you.” He looks all over you. You could see the fear in his eyes.

“What…what just happened?” You ask him.

He doesn’t answer, wrapping his arm around your waist to guide you out of your own house. “Come. I’ll take you to a safe place.”

— — —

The more you stayed in the cabin, the more your brain started to scramble and cook. It has been about a week since Elijah brought you to a secluded cabin in a forest. You never thought to leave as his words were very clear that leaving would bring you doom. But now…now you were getting suspicious. 

“You said I could leave when it’s safe and it’s been over a week.” You start just after a few minutes of the handsome man arriving. 

“And I keep my word.”

“So?” You stand up, anger rising in your system. “Is it safe?”

His body was tense, straightening up at your threatening stance. You knew full well he was much stronger than you, but you had every right to fight for your freedom. It has been suspicious to you for him to not let you leave. 

He lets out a heavy sigh. “It isn’t, I’m afraid. My brother still wreaks havoc in town.”

Your blood boils, remembering specifically what he said just a few days prior. “You're lying.”

“Pardon?” He was getting defensive now. 

“You’re lying! I heard you on the phone two days ago! You said Klaus left town. Why are you keeping me here?!”

His eyes got dark by your words. “I assure you, it’s still quite dangerous with his hybrids around.”

“I…I don’t understand. I thought he only wanted me to be a hostage to get Elena. If this whole ritual thing is done, then he won’t need me anymore.” You try to piece together the information you were able to grab. “I’m leaving.” You suddenly say.

The wood under your feet creaked as you walked to the front door, opening it to step out. “I’m tired of you lying to me. I thought we were friends-” You mumble to yourself but was cut short to some kind of invisible wall blocking you in. You remember this very well. Bonnie telling you all about her spells, and one in particular can lock people inside rooms or certain areas.

You turn around to ask the man himself why there was such a spell, but he was right before your eyes. His fingers gently glide over your cheek as he looks down at you. “I was hoping you wouldn’t notice so shortly.” He was almost cooing, his voice so gentle it could make you fall asleep. “But I’m afraid I can’t let you leave.”

“Wh-why…?” You wanted to cry. You were so confused by everything that’s been going on. Making a friend who has apparently kidnapped you and doesn’t seem to want to let you go.

“Because I love you too much. You can get hurt in that god forsaken town.” He says the last sentence bitterly. “Your friends… they don’t seem to care for you as much as I do.”

Deep down, you knew he was right. But you still had the heart to try and escape. To live freely once more and see your friends and family once more. Although they haven’t been the best of friends, you know they still care for you.

“You are a strong woman.” He comments, now using both of his hands to caress your face. “Which leads me to do something I never thought I’d do.” 

As soon as his eyes bore into yours, you knew exactly what he was going to do. You struggled in his grasp, trying to get away before he could do anything. “P-please…! Stop!”

“I’ll protect you with my life. I won’t let you go.“ He starts. 

Your body seemed to have relaxed beyond your control. “You’ll protect me…” You mumble, repeating his words without any thought.

“Stay by my side…forever.” 

“I’ll…stay by your side…” You smile gently, bringing your hand up to caress his cheek. “Forever.”

#the vampire diaries #the originals #elijah mikaelson #elijah #elijah mikaelson x reader #elijah mikaelson x female reader #yandere elijah mikaelson #yandere #yandere vampire #klaus mikaelson #stalking #kidnapping #compulsion #mind manipulation #elijah is kind #x reader #reader #female reader

[malehypnofantasy]

Acting shocked when she said she's pregnant as if you didn't cause all of it. Next step: gaslighting her that her hoe ass were the cause of it and blamed it on her for not just staying inside her dorm room rather than partying with frat bros if she's so afraid of getting pregnant. The other bros would probably gaslight her the same way and she will left with no choice but raise the baby with her rich nerdy boyfriend, assuring the poor cuck that this is their baby despite they only fucked for once or twice rather than risking losing that moneybag if she revealed herself to be pregnant with other people's baby.

#alpha gaslight #male manipulation #mind manipulation

[witchofthesouls]

(Anyone remembers that scenario with Getaway and Rodimus siring upon a Fae-Touched!Liaison that got cyberformed? Here we go again.)

Something bothers Getaway, far more than usual.

You had to change your approach. Getaway believes the Nudge-gun had reshaped your memories and it had.

But you got them back.

(A magic mirror once gleamed and asked What do you wish? with your own inverted face. Upon your answer, your doppelganger grinned a million fractals of glorious and damning shards. Splintered infinities and Truth. It reached out and placed a shard into each eye and you both bleed like monsters and gods.)

You stare into the mirror of the captain's private shower rack, and blue lenses and white pupils stare back. 

If you stare long enough, you can divine the shards, each of them spinning and spinning, fracturing, repairing, growing, clawing out of the white-

The newspark cries and you snap back into the present.

The newspark cries and you nuzzle their soft body as they fret into your neck, tugging on the cables that mimic your hair, gumming on it. Milk-white optics blindly stare as they pur, slipping into your field, buzzing and yanking until you soothe it into a steady, easy pattern. They buzz, searching for a laughing sun that’s no longer with them.

Rodimus is gone. Getaway might as well be as he drowns in his captaincy.

The newspark purrs, no longer crying, and you plan.

_____

The thing is, Getaway lies.

It’s not condemnation. You know he lies. The problem lies where Getaway does it to himself as well. He believes in his own fabrications. A shallow mask that becomes his reality until something breaks it.

(Getaway could be the most marvelous actor if given the proper training and the chance, but it would eat him until he had nothing left to give, and you suppress the shiver that rolls down your spine at the ghostly, distant cheer of the starving, distorted voices.)

You can see it as he crushes you to the couch, when he watches you with hot-cold, hungry, optics across a room, when he pretends to sleep in the berth as you take care of the newspark, when he spins a dazzling tale to all the other mechs in the ship, when you cradle him in your lap…

This new vulnerability is strange from him. It began after Rodimus (and the others) had been left to fend for themselves.

Before Rodimus would sprawl across the couch, taking it over, and allowing you access, only to throw a leg across your lap with the newspark cradled on his chassis. Getaway would be either perched on the arm by your side or using your own legs as a cushion on the floor, viciously hogging the snack bowl and the remote until Rodimus finally relents to trade the bit.

You expected him to take Rodimus’ space on the couch on movie nights, but he doesn’t. He had taken the captaincy, the office, the berth, and even the snacks and personal products by Rodimus.

But strangely enough, he still perches on the couch’s arm by your side or sits by your feet, leaning on your legs. The newspark curls over the leftover space, seemingly so much smaller as they soak the faint remains of Rodimus’ biosignature.

Somewhere during the movie, Getaway will start drifting a hand up your leg, and will eventually find his way on your lap, pressing his face into you with a quiet almost-sigh. Field muddled in a not-quite agitated way until you ‘absentmindedly’ start to stroke across his back, careful not to go near his exposed neck.

The film keeps rolling into another and another without a word between you and him in this strange, truthful intimacy. It only breaks with the newspark fusses to be fed and then it’s time to move to the bedroom.

Some nights Getaway spawls across the berth, taking up the Rodimus-less space, turning into his pillow with little to say, besides a ‘good night’ and mimicking sleep as you settle in.

Some nights, he fucks you as he something to prove. Rutting you with a brutal force as he punches the air from your frame and drinks your expression with a burning focus, leaving both frames steaming and electrical burns on the sheets. In this mood, he doesn’t move from you. You learn to sleep under the weight of his frame and his spike still twitching inside you.

No matter what, he’s gone by the time you wake up.

_____

You don't like the look in Froid's optics. You barely like the mech at all. 

Under that veil of professionalism is the spark of madness that’s familiar to you, that raw, consuming, and greedy hunger as he looks at you and your sparkling.

(Did Getaway tell him anything? Or did Froid figure it out?)

You titter guilelessly at the psychologist, turning into Getaway’s shoulder, murmuring sweet nothings as newlyweds in love do. Getaway is too well-trained to freeze from the sudden behavior, but he acts the part of a loving partner, pressing his mask to your crest. You hold his gaze and over the private comm, you tell him to be careful.

Froid has that same look of greed when he looks at Getaway.

______

In the privacy of the shared quarters and in bed, you feed the newspark and clearly state, “Be careful when you make deals. You don’t play directly against the house. Toll is unforgivable.”

He doesn’t answer. Pretending to sleep.

(Getaway likes to manipulate and play but he has a visceral need to be slanted in a good light. The fact he doesn’t even tries to soothe that worry or deny the accusation that he can’t handle himself is damning in and of itself.)

______

You leave the newspark with First Aid, who’s lonely in an empty medbay, and press a chaste kiss to his cheek, “Take good care of my darling moonbeam.”

First Aid asks what's wrong as your child barely fusses in his arms. Those blind optics stare at you in a strangely knowing manner before tucking into the medic for a nap, frame curling into the mech and field disappearing like morning dew.

You tell him a truth:

You need to clean house.

#transformers #transformers idw #idw #mtmte #moonbeams and looking glasses #getaway #reader insert #rodimus #rodimus prime #froid #first aid #humans into cybertronians #humanformers #bitlets #sparklings #valveplug #mind manipulation #dubcon #magic #maccadam #my writing #the most terrifying of monsters are the ones that walk among us #bye bye Froid you shouldn't have turned at nasty greed on the fam #getaway is a slippery bitch he's hard to nail

[doflamingadonquixote]

Even the devil was once an angel | [2/?]

Summary: You are a psychiatrist and decide to play a dangerous game with the worst of criminal minds. Or: you're a bit bored too.

Pairing: Jim Moriarty x Fem!Reader

Chapter word count:

Warning: +18, mind games, angst and smut, hurt/comfort, stalker!Moriarty (Jim Moriarty is his own warning)

Previous Chap: 1

James Moriarty decides to show up assiduously for every appointment. You find a change in the tenth session.

You didn't think the consulting criminal was so competitive when it came to winning a bet on his superiority. You had, by mutual agreement, arranged two days a week where he was to come to your office and at the appointed times.

You had no intention of accepting his offer to give you an entire attic just for his sessions. The egocentric little bastard had to be a real patient if he wanted to continue playing the game.

After several positive feedbacks in putting stakes in your relationship, you had ventured to put a time limit on your work.

You had asked for a year, a year without having the pressure and the unawareness that, at any moment, Moriarty might shoot you in the head.

He simply laughed at you and rejected your request with a: "Where would be the fun in that?".

By studying him, confronting him, listening to him you had come to the conclusion that he was seriously suffering from a psychopathic personality disorder.

He often enjoyed constructing stories. And with those stories he would put you in great difficulty.

He was so adept at lying that when he finally asked you: "Truth or lie?" You were faced with a Pandora's box that you didn't know whether you wanted to open.

Another thing that made you curious and confirmed your assumptions was the nervous jerks that lit him up like a fuse. You thought you heard your secretary knocking things off the desk, out of the office, when Moriarty's scream came suddenly.

Even so, with a few more sittings, you had managed to avoid touching any sore buttons that would upset the man in front of you.

He always sat at your desk, creating a position of authority over you and often played with the objects distributed on the surface.

You lowered your eyes and found the pencils neatly and straight, arranged next to the laptop. He had already been inside for several minutes and they were still there, neatly arranged.

Your thoughts were abruptly interrupted by a tennis ball bouncing violently against said pencils, breaking the order, and then landing on your lap. 

You tried to hold back a smile as you lifted the toy and brought it before your eyes.

Another thing you'd discovered about Jim Moriarty was how much he loved disorder and chaos, and that anything that wasn't to his mental standards had to be torn down.

“So, doc, truth or lie?”

He rocked back against the swivel chair, terribly discombobulated as he let his back slide down.

You opened the notepad on which you had jotted down summary diagrams to help you determine the information he had given you during the session. He tried to peek from your position, raising his posture slightly, but you lifted the notebook so that he would not read.

“You're not a maths professor but you probably wish you were, considering the way you frowned when talking about the poor university performance, almost as if to remedy it.”

Moriarty crossed his hands over his belly covered by a dark blue linen shirt and gloated at your deductions.

“It's not true that you have contact with your family, your lack of empathy and your criminal record would prevent you from having relations with them.”

His offended sigh distracted you from your next remark. He had an exaggeratedly shocked expression on his face and his right hand had risen to rest where, you presumed, his heart lay.

“I'm offended, doc. I pride myself so much on the relationship I have built over the years with my little brother.”

Your eyes focused on the notebook to prevent the criminal from understanding your reaction and, to make it more believable, you made more of a circle around the word 'brother'.

Moriarty sneered as he straightened in his chair.

“But don't bother conferring with the old Ice Man. I've been very thorough in erasing traces of the past.”

You gave him a sad smile that hid the strong sense of disappointment.

“Ever heard of attorney-client privilege, Mr. Moriarty?”

He made a thoughtful groan but didn't add anything else. 

You really believed that the therapy was progressing at the right pace. Moriarty had even gone so far as to turn his conversations into something very close to a confession.

But suddenly, the perfectly mapped out road you had built up to that moment collapsed in on itself and you with it.

That day you were quietly listening to the reflections of one of your young patients. He was one of those somewhat hesitant ones, who are never quite sure whether to say the right thing or not, so building up a sort of confidence had taken you many weeks.

And James Moriarty had probably managed in two seconds to overwhelmingly destroy it.

That day he entered your office with a frightening carriage, leaving behind your secretary's frantic pleas for him to politely stay out of the session and wait.

His footsteps were heavy and for the first time you found him locked in one of his best dark suits.

He crossed the threshold and dropped into his usual chair, placing his leather shoes on your computer on the desk.

“They're unbearably fucking boring!” He dropped his head back, colliding with the backrest and sighed audibly. “How can you be so blind to such a clear clue!”

Your confusion quickly turned to anger as you watched the young secretary look from Moriarty to you with a startled and agitated expression.

In addiction, the boy on your couch had curled in on himself, and he too had his gaze focused on the newcomer.

Swallowing the lump that had blocked your breath for a few seconds, you forced your body to react in the most natural way possible.

With an apparent calm, you stood up and offered your hand to your client who took it, albeit hesitantly.

“I'm sorry for the inconvenience, Thomas, but it seems I have an emergency to attend to.”

You walked him to the door, reassuring him that the session would not be paid for and to make an appointment as soon as possible with your secretary. You left him in her care and closed the door with a snap.

Showing menace towards the most dangerous man in London, and (why not) perhaps the world, wasn't the smartest thing you could do, but James Moriarty had quickly gotten under your skin, irritating you to the point of exhaustion.

Your fists clenched spasmodically and you could feel your nails pushing painfully against your palms. Your cold face changed to an offended and furious frown as you watched the man at your desk.

“I am quite sure Lucia informed you that I was busy.”

You finally caught his attention and he arched his neck to look at you.

“And I'm supposed to care about that?” He asked undisturbed, as he probed you from head to toe. He was probably enjoying your first human reaction to his person. 

“It should.” You bit your tongue to avoid adding that you doubted his respect, however, and moved a few steps closer to prevent your words from reaching those outside the door.“He is a patient in real need of assistance and you have interrupted his time, Mr. Moriarty.”

He shrugged, sneering. 

“So am I, didn't you hear what I said earlier?”

He was clearly poking at you now, and you were getting pulled in.

“To you this is all just a stupid game. A way to fill the void that your, oh so immense, knowledge cannot fill.”

You spat out the words in anger and judgment, which didn't suit you at all and was extremely unprofessional.

He raised his hands as if a weapon had been pointed at him and you feared his sniper would threaten you again at any moment.

“Forgive me, doc, for giving you that feeling. What can I do about it?” His voice was clearly mocking.

“Get those shoes off my desk and sit on the couch like any fucking therapy patient.”

Your throat suddenly went dry, preventing you from hurling yourself at Moriarty again and, in the several seconds of silence that sliced the air, the criminal got up and went to sit comfortably in the armchair you had so quietly suggested to him.

You remained staring at the empty desk for a few seconds until a shaky, uncertain breath finally left your constricted lungs. 

You analysed yourself. James Moriarty had taken you by surprise. You had not pre-set your attitude, which helped keep the man from reaching your personal sphere as a human being and not as a doctor. 

And by barging in like that he had managed to get around the barrier and intrude.

You raised a hand, massaging your forehead and pinching the base of your nose as if to regain some semblance of self-control.

“I apologise for my behaviour. I stepped out of character.”

Moriarty was looking at you intently and for the first time you thought he was taking you seriously.

Your back touched the chair you were sitting on a few minutes earlier and you sighed.

“The robot attitude wouldn't hold for long, I assure you. I like you, doctor. Maybe we can be friends.”

His comment made you laugh unwillingly.

“I'm your analyst, not your friend.”

“One doesn't exclude the other, does it?”

You opened your notebook but didn't comment. His words suddenly seemed very real to you, very meaningful. Moriarty had always been good with words, with his eyes, with his body language.

Stupidly, in the midst of his complaints about Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson, you wondered what it would be like to be friends with an internationally known criminal.

#jim moriarty #jim moriarty x reader #female reader #bbc sherlock #sherlock fandom #sherlock fanfic #sherlock holmes #angst and smut #hurt/comfort #terapist to friend #friend to lovers #male yandere #mind manipulation

[errantnight]

Hello! I have extreme torment combos from your whump-weel: "pstd of the lab" + "panic attack during battle" + "nightmares of the lab" - what a deadly combo for our favorite ex-SOLDIER ❤️‍🩹

For you and also for the request for 'sleepwalking' and 'puppetry'

This could be stand alone but it is definitely the second chapter of Induction. You don't have to read that to understand this but it'll probably be more fun if you do!

Cloud’s lungs burned as he doubled over, the Buster sword nearly falling from his numb fingers as he tried to breathe. Black spots danced at the edges of his vision as he swayed to one side and nearly fell. He managed to suck in a tiny bit of air, shuddering as he blew it back out and tried to take another. He pressed a hand against his chest, his heart pounding beneath his palm far more rapidly than even a fight should cause.

How long had they been fighting… no, how long had it been since Sephiroth began to toy with him? He suddenly couldn’t remember… he tried to look around him, it was too dark to see - just a creeping blackness and a low icy wind that cut into him as much as the tip of Masamune.

Where, how had he…

He stumbled forward as he felt yet another shallow wound open on his back. His shirt was shredded, hanging from his elbows in black, blood stained, tatters. With a grunt of pain he forced himself back up, trying to spin and face his tormentor - as if it were any use. The moment he met Sephiroth’s eyes, saw the faint smile ticking up the corners of the man’s mouth, he was gone again.

“Where are you, really?” Sephiroth spoke behind him, for the first time during their fight it was something more than a taunt or a mocking laugh, “aren’t you just dreaming, Cloud? Trapped with no way out, did you really think you were worth rescuing?”

The words didn’t make sense, Cloud was awake, he wasn’t (trapped strapped down drowned TRAPPED STRAPPED DOWN DroWnedTraPpeDstra) He clutched at his temple, yanking viciously on his hair, trying to rip the dream/memory/horror out of his head by the roots.

He wouldn’t stop, Sephiroth kept going, his words and his sword cutting and cutting.“Too weak to be of any use to Hojo. But I… I could make use of you, my confused little puppet.”

“Don’t,” Cloud couldn’t even hear his own voice over the sound of water in his ears, “I can’t, I don’t want…”

He tried not to scream as more blood spilled down to splatter the ground in the growing pool at his feet, another and then another, cuts opening and bleeding and his back would be a map of scars if he survived.

“Tell me where you are, now, Cloud.” Sephiroth demanded, harsh, biting, then much softer, cajoling, “Which one are you?”

Cloud couldn’t keep a panicked whine that gasped from his mouth, finally losing the battle against himself to keep tears from rolling down his cheeks. What did Sephiroth even mean? Cloud was here, he’d been here for… he was here. One? Which… which ONE?!

“Do you have a number?” behind him, the man’s voice went from merely questioning to something too close to pity for Cloud’s taste, “or are you a failure? You’ve done nothing but fail your whole life, isn’t that right, Cloud? Not even good at being tortured, experimented on like an animal. An animal would have been a more useful subject than you are.”

Another cut, deeper this time, slashed along his right arm. “Sh..shut up,” Cloud whimpered, visions of green and grey static parting a little to show a procession of men with the same face and then just green-green-green-gr

Cloud stumbled forward and collapsed with a broken scream as Masamune slashed across the back of his calves, the Buster clattering to the ground as he voiced his agony. The sobs, screams, he’d been holding back the whole time began to wrench out of him. He was a ball of misery on the ground, shuddering as his hand slipped against the ground as he tried to rise, his heart felt like it would beat out of his chest.

“All you have to do,” Sephiroth was in front of him again, his green eyes locking on Cloud’s and everything blurred as tears filled his eyes again, “is show me where you are. My puppet, my Cloud, I chose you. So different from the rest. Uncover your eyes and let me see!”

“I can’t!” Cloud screamed as Sephiroth vanished again, the words breaking as they left his throat, “I don’t know, I don’t know! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!”

“I know what you need,” Sephiroth’s voice behind him was full of sadness, tragic and understanding, “let us go back to the beginning.”

Whatever air was left in his lungs was punched out of him as he looked down at himself. Blood coated the silver blade emerging from his chest, positioned in just the right place to not kill him instantly. He made an animal sound of fear as he was lifted, just like the first time, but backwards - he couldn’t grab the blade this time. 

Somehow, the inevitability of it all left him relaxing in something like relief - If this was the end, well he’d done what he could. He went limp as he was raised higher and he began to slide back. He watched the moonlight glint on the blood that smeared up the blade as his weight dragged him down it. There was no pain, he realized, merely a creeping weakness that slowed his heart and eased the choked breaths that became deep and even. Panic receded, and a strange calm spread through him.

“Shh,” Sephiroth’s hushing whisper was close. Cloud could feel the breath on his cheek as he came to a stop against the hilt of the nodachi, “there you are puppet, all better now? No more pain, no more fear. It’s all over now.”

The former general was so strong, he held Cloud’s body aloft on his sword with only one hand. His other stroked through Cloud’s hair, pulling his head back to lay against Sephiroth’s shoulder, “Puppets don’t feel, Cloud, all they do is what they’re told,” His voice was soft and coaxing, “I’ll take all your pain for you, all the fear, all the difficult choices.”

Cloud turned his head toward the man’s voice until he could feel lips touching the shell of his ear. His vision glitched green again, but the static cleared and left everything crisp and glazed with a jade green light. No pain? No fear? What was a choice anyway, and why did it matter so much?

 “It doesn’t matter anymore,” Sephiroth echoed his thoughts and Cloud found himself nodding. Nothing mattered anymore, it was over, wasn’t it? He was going to be… he was finally… and he was so tired. “I’m all that matters to you, aren’t I?”

Cloud sighed, deeply, “Yeah,” he felt fresh tears roll down his cheeks but it wasn’t pain or fear. Those were gone, they were something other people… that people felt. He blinked into the emerald darkness, trying to remember what he’d been doing all this time. Where was he?

“Good boy, so close,” Sephiroth’s lips pressed against Cloud’s hair, “what am I?”

The answer was easy to find, written into his soul as it was, “my everything…”

“Very good,” his Master’s hand drifted down from his hair to cover his eyes. That was perfect, it took away the questions and the uncertainty that lingered deep in Cloud’s mind that he wanted to rip out of himself. It wouldn’t hurt, nothing hurt anymore, he didn’t feel after all…

Warmth blossomed in his chest, like blood welling and rushing down. He felt it now, he felt such peace in the darkness behind his eyes, “Everything, you can have it, everything, Master.”

“Of course, Cloud. I’ll take it all away. Now, my precious puppet,” black gloved fingers pressed hard into Cloud’s temples, “I just need one more thing from you.”

“What?” Cloud, whimpered, “Master?”

“I need to know which one you are,” Master said, as the pressure in his mind grew, “just open your eyes, puppet. Wake up.”

Cloud’s head lolled forward and he reached up to try and pull back the cloth that covered his face, looking around him from where he was wrapped in the arms tenderly holding him like something precious. The soft whispers of the ones (and twos and fourteens and thirty-eights) all around him came to a stop. New words took the place of the one they all knew.

Chosen

Chosen

Sephiroth

The one, no the forty-ninth, knelt slowly, cradling Cloud against his thin chest before he raised him up to Master like an offering.

Master’s voice was so clear in the sudden silence and all around them the other numbers fell to their knees.

“There you are, my Cloud.”

#asks #request #whump #ffvii #ff7 #cloud strife #sephiroth #puppet!cloud #mind control #mind manipulation #fanfic