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p-artsypants · 2 years ago

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Arcadia or Bust (19)

Arcadia Oaks High School Stadium

FF.net | Ao3

I ran a poll to see what WIP I would update next and this story won! I had been hesitating on this chapter for a while since it deals with a topic I know little about…

Football.

Ultimately, I got a basic rundown of the rules from my husband and ran with it. Please don’t correct me in the comments, I’m sure I’ve made a mistake.

That being said…this chapter is chaos and I hope you all enjoy.

–

Barbara was not happy.

“No. Practice is one thing, but a game? No sir!”

“But mom! They’re all counting on me!”

“It’s a game, Jim. If we were talking about the safety of the world I’d give it a little thought, but not high school football! And I have to work that night so I can’t even be there to check on you!”

Jim sighed, knowing that his mom was completely justified in feeling like this. “But it is just a game. I’m not going to war. How badly could a couple of high school boys hurt me?”

“Jim, do you know how many football injuries there are in a season?”

“I’m assuming more than I thought?”

“No football.”

Jim screwed up his lips, “Alright, then how about this: I play as long as I feel good. If I start to ache or twinge in any way, I bow out.”

Barbara was quiet, contemplating.

“I’ll be really careful, mom. I just…I feel like it’s a way to make it up to the town for the whole…” he flexed his arms and swung them like a gorilla. “I know it’s not much, but I think it will mean more to them.”

Barbara dropped her arms in defeat. “Kiddo, you have to stop playing with my heart strings. Fine. You can play. But please be careful!”

“Don’t worry, I will!” He gave his mom a kiss on the cheek.

“And tell Coach Lawrence if anything happens to you, I’m suturing his mouth shut!”

“Horrifying mental image, mom!” Jim called as he retreated into the garage.

Upon opening the door, Claire and Toby were waiting.

“Where’s Nari?” Asked Claire.

“She’ll be out in a minute. In other news, I’m cleared to play on Friday.”

Toby laughed. “How did you manage that?”

“I’m not above begging.”

“I am ready!” Nari skipped out of the house, notebook in hand.

“Is that my Journal?” Jim asked.

“Yes, you said that you had written down all accounts of events while you were Trollhunter. I thought I should read it first before Bellroc and Skrael.”

“So you can tear out all the personal parts, right?”

“Oh no!” She hugged the journal. “Those are the most important! Your thoughts and feelings, everything that makes you a human…I promise to cherish it.”

Jim shook his head slightly in embarrassment. “Okay…”

As they were talking, Jim noticed a strange car coming down the road, it slowed in front of his house, but didn’t park in the driveway.

“Who’s that?” Claire asked, following his gaze.

“One guess.”

James Lake Sr. got out of the car, leaning to say something to the driver, and then started toward the house.

“On your way to school?” He asked, good natured.

“Where else would we be off to on a Wednesday morning?” Jim snapped back.

“Fair enough.” As he headed into the house, he passed Nari and peered at her curiously. After all, she could be wearing human clothes, but that didn’t make her look any more human. “Another…uh friend?” He refrained from saying ‘freak’.

Nari smiled at him. “Nari, of the Eternal Forest!”

“James Lake,,” He held out his hand to shake.

“Oh! You are the Trollhunter’s father? How wonderful to meet you!” She clasped his hand in both of hers.

Almost immediately, her eyes flashed with a bright light and she tore away from him, and shuffled back towards Jim.

“What? I know my hands are cold, but they’re not that cold…” He chuckled. “Have a good day at school, kids!” He waved as he walked inside.

“J-Jim…” Nari stuttered, as she clenched onto Jim’s sleeve. “I…I’m so sorry. Your father…he’s…he’s horrible.”

Jim patted her head calmly. “I know he is Nari. I’m sorry you had to see whatever it was that you saw.”

Nari pursed her lips, unconvinced that Jim truly knew what his father was hiding.

–

With all the work Jim had to do to catch back up, the week went quickly, and Friday approached before he knew it.

“We didn’t have time to get you a preferred number, so you’ll just have to deal with being number 64,” Steve explained while they were in the locker room.

Jim held up the XXXL jersey against himself. Once upon a time, he’d be swimming in it, but now…it might be a bit snug.

“This has to go over padding, right?”

“Yeah.” Steve patted the plastic suit of armor Jim would be donning for the battle…mainly just shoulder pads and a cup. “Unless you want to try to go without?”

“I think my mother would kill me if I didn’t wear any padding.” Jim winced. He already had his uniform in place from the waist down. He opted to go without the thigh and knee pads. He took the shoulder pads and put them on. Then he put the jersey over it. It wasn’t completely uncomfortable, but not nearly as natural a feeling as his Daylight Armor.

Steve practically had stars in his eyes. “You’re going to make them pee their pants!”

Jim stood, not thrilled that the shoulder pads partially blocked his peripheral view. But it was kind of cool that Steve looked small to him, even in his own gear.

“Alright,” Coach Lawrence announced as he walked into the locker room. “I’ve been meaning to send this helmet back since it was cracked, but I took a dremel to it and made holes for your horns.

Jim attempted to put the helmet on, but the holes weren’t big enough.

In the end, Coach reviewed the plays with the team while one of the other players used the dremel to make the holes bigger. Finally, the helmet snapped into place and the team cried out with a unanimous ‘yay!’

Coach looked like he was going to cry. “You look like a tank,” he sniveled. Then he collected himself. “Alright, remember team, Jim’s going to get the ball and run it in as often as possible. Keep the other team back, because they’ll no doubt try to take him out. Per doctor’s orders, if he feels hurt, he’s to be benched. We’re a team. Jim’s going to turn this season around for us, but he can’t do it alone. Don’t slack off, don’t leave it to him. Work together, just as we have so far. Now…who’s ready to kick some ass!?”

All the boys put their hands in the center of the circle and did their game chant. “MOLES DIG HARD!”

–

Bellroc and Skrael followed Nari to the football field. While Nari was getting used to wearing human clothes to stay inconspicuous, Bellroc and Skrael stayed in their natural forms.

It was a good thing the people of Arcadia were used to magical beings, or they would have gotten a bigger reaction than just a few confused looks.

“So, tell us again, the Trollhunter is participating in a battle?” Skrael asked.

“No no,” Nari laughed. “They have assured me that this combat is truly a sport, a game. There will be no bloodshed.”

“Then how do they determine the victor?” Asked Bellroc.

“I am unclear on the rules. But as the name suggests, I believe there are feet and balls involved.”

They approached the gate, where they were stopped. “How many?”

“How many what?” Asked Bellroc.

The ticket booth volunteer rolled his eyes. “How many tickets do you need? It’s 5 dollars a person.”

“What do we need tickets for?” Asked Skrael.

“To…get in? Are you not here for the game?”

“We were not aware there was a need to exchange goods to enter this arena.”

The man sighed. “Look, I can’t just let any magical beings in here. How would that be fair?”

“Nari!” Toby called, running towards them.

“Oh! Toby!” Nari smiled.

He slowed his trot as he noticed the other two with her. “Oh…are these your siblings?”

“Can you guys move over?” Asked the ticket vendor. “There’s a line forming.”

Toby grabbed the three and tugged them over a few feet. “Hi, I’m Toby, friend of Jim’s.” He held out his hand for a shake.

Neither Bellroc nor Skrael went for it. “You are friends with the Trollhunter?”

“Oh yeah, me and Jimbo are best buds!”

“I can attest to this,” said Nari. “Toby and Jim are very close.”

“Interesting to see the company the Young Trollhunter keeps…” Noted Bellroc.

“Perhaps you can help us, Toby. We wish to see Jim’s battle, and we cannot gain entrance.”

“You need money, dudes.” Toby took out his wallet and looked at the few bills within. “Hmm…well, I guess I don’t need dinner…”

“Save your money, One Called Toby,” said Skrael, holding up a hand. He then raised his other hand, where a ball of ice began to form. Using both hands, he manipulated the ice ball into a small diamond ring.

He approached the ticket counter and held it up to the vendor. “Here, proprietor, an enchanted ring. While worn, it keeps any vessel of liquid cold. Would you accept this in exchange for entrance?”

The man took the ring, put it on, and took a sip of his drink. “Wow! It works! Never a lukewarm beer again…yeah, this will do. You four can go on in!”

Skrael bowed his head and gestured the others forward.

“Wow! That was amazing!” Said Toby. “Can you make other enchanted items?”

Skrael and Bellroc chuckled. “Where do you think magic comes from? We are magic embodied.”

“Awesome sauce!” He squealed, then he patted himself down. “Can you enchant my keys so I can never lose them?”

Again, the three mystic beings laughed.

“Your desires are so simple, yet so delightfully wholesome,” Nari giggled. She waved her hand and the keys flashed yellow. “No matter where you go, your keys will find you.”

Toby squealed in excitement. “Ohmygosh Darci’s never going to believe this!”

“Do not think we are enchanting objects at every request. Balance must be maintained. A set of returning keys may not tip the scale, but if we fulfilled every request, it may.”

“I understand. I won’t tell anyone!” He totally was. “Now, let’s find some good seats!”

Not long after they got inside the gate did Bellroc stop. “I smell the cooking flesh of a mammal.”

Skrael sniffed the air. “As do I.”

“What? Oh. That’s a really weird way to say you smell food. It’s probably the concession stands…you know, where they sell snacks?”

“Snacks?”

“Food,” clarified Nari. “Some human foods are very delectable.”

“I would like to consume the cooked flesh,” said Bellroc.

“Again, a really weird way of saying that. Let’s get in line then.”

In line, Toby described the different menu items to the Order, while other people in line gave them strange looks.

“What is a…‘walking taco’? Does it have legs?”

“No, no…” Toby explained, ready to explode. “It’s ground beef, you remember the hamburger? It’s crumbled into a bag of corn chips and sprinkled with cheese and lettuce. It’s like a taco, but more portable.”

“I believe I shall have the ‘Hot Dog’. I am intrigued by the cylindrical meat,” said Bellroc.

“And I shall have a ‘Walking Taco’,” said Skrael.

“Toby? I do not wish to consume meat. Is there something without it?” Asked Nari.

“Oh yeah! You can have popcorn! You’ll like it!”

Finally, armed with food, Toby led the Arcane Order into the packed stadium to find seats.

It was a good thing they stood out, since Darci and Claire spotted them quickly and stood, waving from the student section.

Through many ‘excuse me pardon me’s, the group made it to the row, to find just enough space for them all. They rearranged so that Toby could sit by Darci, which left Claire to sit by Nari and the rest of the Order.

“Claire, these are my siblings, Skrael of the North Wind, and Bellroc, Keeper of the Flame.”

Claire offered a polite smile, despite how scary these two newcomers were.

Hadn’t Jim and Nari mentioned they wanted to purge the earth of life?

“And this is Claire, the Trollhunter’s mate.”

“He chose a human as a mate?” Bellroc scoffed.

“We were dating before he was transformed,” Claire offered as an explanation.

“Ah, I see then. Was it difficult to adapt?”

“I think it was harder for him,” she smiled softly. “Jim is rather easy to love.”

Skrael gave Bellroc a look, though what it meant, no one was sure.

“Claire,” Nari asked. “Can you explain what the rules of this battle are? They asked me, but I cannot explain it.”

“Oh, I can, sort of. There’s a lot of small rules that make it more complicated…but basically, there’s two teams. The Arcadia Moles, Jim’s team, and the Reese Puffer Rockets. Both teams start in the middle of the field, and have four chances to get the ball down at least 10 yards…that’s what the white lines on the field are for. The ultimate goal is to get to the end zone. The side with the scoreboard is our side…we don’t want the ball over there. We want our team to get the ball over on this side.” She pointed at the end zone closest to them. “When they make it to the end zone, it’s called a touchdown, and worth six points. The team with the most points when the clock runs out, wins.”

“What are the large yellow posts for? Are the losers strung up to them in the end?”

“No no no,” Claire laughed, a bit horrified. “Those are goal posts. After a touchdown, players can try for an extra point by kicking the ball through the goal.”

“Seems fairly simple, as most human activities tend to be. What weapons do the combatants have?”

“Oh, no weapons. They can tackle each other, but no punching. It’s not really a battle at all.”

“Hm…and here I thought the humans had found a way to focus their bloodlust.”

“It can still be brutal. But the object of the game is to get points, not hurt others.”

“We shall see if that is true.”

–

At 5:30, the broadcast began. “Gooooood evening ladies and gentlemen! I’m Eli Pepperjack.”

“And I’m Shannon Longhannon.”

“And we’d like to welcome you all to this very special game!”

“Arcadia Oaks High has had a very rough season so far, with not a single win! But that all changes tonight!”

“That’s right Shannon, because tonight, we’re welcoming a new player onto the team! Jim Lake Jr. is in the stadium tonight!”

The crowd went crazy, shouting ‘Lake! Lake! Lake!’

“Just listen to that crowd! You know that’s a hometown hero when you hear that,” Shannon chirped.

“Lake is replacing Shamus Johnson as Running Back. Johnson is suspended for three games for bad behavior.”

“Can you say that over the radio?”

“He shoved me in a locker yesterday. I don’t give a flip.”

“Lake has had a rough season himself,” said Shannon. “At the beginning of the summer, he valiantly rescued and saved dozens of lives during the ‘freak tornado’ that broke out over the canal. He sustained some serious injuries, but not enough to keep him down! He returned from a backpacking trip from New Jersey just in time to start the school year. While still injured, Jim topped his gym class records. Then, only a few days ago, tragedy struck.”

“Jim’s a real special guy,” said Eli. “He’s got a growth defect, so when you see this hulking blue skinned, horned teenager…you’re going to want to call the army.”

“And that’s exactly what happened! The army came and took Jim away.”

“Now, if you haven’t seen the online campaign #FreeJimLakeJr, you must simply be living under a rock!”

“And considering that Jim is here and ready to play goes to show that the campaign worked!”

“Now, I could go on all day about Jim. He’s a real pal. But he’s not the only heavy hitter on the field.”

“You’re right about that, Eli. Steve Palchuk, Quarterback for the Moles has been a real threat on the field.”

“That he has, Shannon. Remember that touchdown he had against the Ducks? Pure poetry.”

“The only one scored the whole game. You’d think they would have scored more playing against a field of birds.”

“Didn’t you know? Ducks are extremely violent creatures. Only second to geese.”

Shannon shivered. “I just got chills. We’re playing the Geese next week.”

“That’s okay! Jim’s a great chef! I’m sure he’ll whip up a nice goose dinner.”

“Oh, I’m getting the announcement that the game is about to begin. Looks like the Rockets are gathering on the field.”

–

Ray Tanner was a Junior at Reese Puffer. It was a larger school than Arcadia, by a long shot, but he still had a prominent place on the team as one of the Defensive Ends, the player best suited to tackle the Running Backs.

“Hey Ray! You up for going over to Kelsey’s after the game? You know it won’t take very long. These guys have been pushovers all season,” said Zach, another Linemen.

“Yeah, I have my swim trunks in my bag. I think the bus ride home will be longer than the game!”

The boys laughed as the loudspeaker turned on. “Introducing your Arcadia Moles starting lineup!”

“This oughta be good,” said Ray to his friends.

“Starting with the offensive guards, we have Sophomores Wayne Franklin and Jordan Cooke.”

The Rockets watched as names were called and students ran out. Each kid was as lanky and pathetic as the last. Some were tubby, but not bulky, and ran rather slow. The Rockets snickered to each other.

“Now coming in, Junior Steve Palchuk, your Quarterback.”

Steve hit the field, raising his arms to encourage the chants and cheers.

“Oh he looks like he’ll put up a fight,” said Zach.

“Yeah, but he’s just one guy. If that Johnson kid is Running Back again, there’s not going to be any issues.”

“And finally, the player you’ve all been waiting for!” ‘The Eye of the Tiger’ started playing over the speakers. “Coming in at 6'6, 300 pounds of pure muscle, The Man, the Myth, the Legend…your Running Back Jim Lake Jr.!”

The crowd went wild with cheers as Jim hit the field.

Ray Tanner felt weak.

This guy was a foot taller than his teammates. He was easily the biggest dude on the field, including everyone from the Rockets. And by god, he had horns and blue skin!

He had a nice hustle onto the field, and waved humbly to the crowd that continued to chant, ‘Lake! Lake! Lake!’

Ray Tanner wondered if there was a hot tub at his friend’s house, as he figured he’d be rather sore by the end of the night.

—

“Well Shannon, I can see from here that the Rockets are looking pretty shaken by the appearance of our secret weapon.”

“That they are, Eli. But does Jim have what it takes to change the tides of war? Let’s see! Looks like the Moles won the coin toss, so they’re on offense. The Rockets will start the kickoff here in a moment.”

“While we wait, did you know that Jim is building his own house with his bare hands?”

“Wow, really? That’s so impressive!”

“I saw it myself. Last I knew, he was installing the plumbing all by himself too.”

“And here I’m having a hard enough time holding the flashlight for my dad when he fixes the sink! Let’s hope that Jim continues to heal up nicely so he can get back to his project.”

“I talked to his girlfriend, Claire Nunez, this morning too. She said a lot of people were coming out tonight specifically to see Jim. Unfortunately, his mother Dr. Lake couldn’t make it, as she’s hard at work in the hospital. But we’re going to give her a shout out in case she’s near a radio. Hi Doctor Lake!”

“Hi Doctor Lake!” Shannon parroted.

“Oh, looks like the kickoff is lined up. Number 37, Finch, is up to kick for the Rockets and wow! It’s a beautiful shot down the middle, landing at the 30. Looks like the Moles will have a lot of work to do!”

“They’re playing it from where it landed.”

“Palchuk is at the center…he snaps, passes it to Lake. Lake’s booking it! Look at him go! He’s at the 40…oh and a Rocket slams into him, but Lake is completely unphased! He’s at the other 40, another Rocket has leapt onto his back, and Lake has wrapped an arm around him and is carrying him down! 20…10…touchdown for the Moles! My god I’ve never seen anything like it!”

“And look at how gently Lake sets that Rocket on his feet. He even brushed off his uniform. What a gentleman!”

“And are the Moles going for a field goal? No! Looks like they’re going for two! They’ve lined up…the Rockets have formed a tight defensive line.”

“Looks like they’re preparing to play Red Rover over there, Eli.”

“It sure does! We see Lake has the speed…but will the other team block him off?”

“Palchuk snaps and passes it off to Lake. Wait, Lake is backing up? What is he doing? There he goes, running right at that line of muscle! He’s jumping it! Like a graceful gazelle, Lake has cleared the defense! That’s two more points for the Moles!”

“Uh Jim? The Track and Field Team are calling. They want you to sign up.”

“Oh, looks like the Rocket’s coaches aren’t big fans of Lake’s actions. They’re talking to the ref.”

“I don’t know, Eli. I don’t think there’s anything in the rules about jumping over people.”

“The ref has allowed it! The Moles pull ahead by 8 points! Now it’s off to the Moles to Punt.”

–

Football wasn’t Walter’s favorite game. In fact, he rather disliked it. But he didn’t mind watching Jim absolutely decimate the opponents, and recording the highlights for Barbara. Since Jim was off the field currently, Walt went for coffee at the concession stand.

“What do you mean you don’t have coffee? It says it right there on the board!”

“I’m sorry sir, we just sold out of what we had before we thought we would. We’re brewing some more now.”

“Unbelievable. You know who never runs out of coffee? McDonalds, that’s who!”

Walt recognized the voice then. It was Merlin, out in the wild for the first time since…well, he hadn’t seen the man for a while. “Merlin? Is everything alright?”

The wizard turned and looked at the man. “Oh, you…you’re involved with the Trollhunter’s mother, right? I don’t believe I caught your name.”

“Walter Strickler…but just Walt is fine. I’m also Jim’s principal.”

“Ah, that’s right. So, you’ve come to see Jim give those boys what for, have you?”

“That’s about right. Barbara is working late, so I promised to get some of his plays on my phone for her.”

“Yes, very nice. I came to see the Trollhunter in action as well. From the first five minutes of the game, I’d say that potion worked rather well, don’t you think?”

“I thought it worked rather well when he was able to take down Gunmar, this is secondary.”

“A Trollhunter’s job is never finished.”

“Here you are sir,” the cashier set a styrofoam cup down. “Careful, it’s very hot.”

“Oh, thank you.”

Walter nodded in agreement. “Yes, Jim’s always going to have a lot on his plate. Especially since the Arcane Order has come to judge him.”

Merlin sprayed out his scalding hot coffee. “THE WHO WHAT?!”

—

“7 minutes left in the second quarter. Moles lead 48 to 7. The Rockets are looking shaken.”

“How’re you doing Jim?” Steve asked. “You’re absolutely crushing it out there!”

Jim rested a hand on his stomach, trying to soothe the burning ache in his wound. Somewhere in the first quarter, he took an elbow right in the wound that still hadn’t healed from Morgana…not that his ramage in sunlight or the experiments at the army base helped at all. “Yeah, I’m doing fine. Good thing we’re so far ahead. I might need to bow out soon.”

“BOW OUT?!” Shouted Coach Lawrence. “No no no! You can’t Lake!”

“But the score–”

“We’re so close to breaking a record here!” He gripped Jim’s shoulders and squeezed slightly. It was like squeezing dry clay. “You got this, Lake! I’ll rally the others to keep the Rocket’s off of you!”

Jim glanced at his side. His white jersey only had the tiniest twinge of red on it. Little more than a rug burn. Other guys had been hurt worse than that today alone.

“Okay. I’ll keep going.”

“Check back with me at half-time, okay?”

“I can do that.”

–

“3rd down, 12 yards to go. The Rockets are pushing forward, trying to make up points but the line just won’t budge. Those boys on defense might be thin, but they’re made of rubber! They’re taking hits like the kids under the bleachers at lunch.”

James Lake Sr. didn’t often spend Friday nights in, but ever since Jim’s capture from the army and subsequent campaign for freedom, he had been hesitant to go out. But the divorce was almost over, and he was close to signing away the house to Barbara so he could officially cut ties and flee. Maybe to the East Coast? Maybe a different country? Iceland was supposed to be rather beautiful.

“Touchdown Rockets! Number 17, Freeman has been doing an excellent job at scoring despite the hefty defense from the Moles tonight. Not as good as Lake, but we’re not here to brag.”

There was a small part of James that wanted to go down to the stadium and watch. After all, that was his son playing. His boy. His boy bowling over high schoolers left and right.

But the radio would have to be enough.

There was a knock at the door, and at first, James didn’t think much about it. This was such a sleepy suburb, nothing ever happened. That’s why he and Barbara had picked his house way back then.

But then he realized what time it was, and began to wonder…who would be stopping by at this time of night? Maybe…maybe…

He turned the volume down on the radio, only to hear the knocking again, more insistent.

“Draal?” He called towards the basement. He hadn’t exchanged pleasantries with the huge troll, but he came to respect him for the power he represented. He was the prison guard to his inmate…but also a variable guard dog in general.

Draal did not answer.

“The game. I bet he went to watch,” James muttered to himself.

Slowly, and quietly, he went to the window to peak out and see who was there.

Shit.

—

“And that’s halftime folks! Moles lead 80 to 16. Make sure to get up and stretch, take a tinkle, and visit the concession stand.”

Jim rested on the bench, his side throbbing. Word must have gotten around on the Rocket’s side that that side was his weak spot, so he’d been jabbed there two more times.

He kind of assumed the guys that did it probably cracked an elbow in the meantime, but wowzers did it hurt.

“Uh oh,” said Steve, looking at the red stain on his jersey. “That’s not good.”

“I’m sure it’s not that bad, but my mom’s going to kill me.”

“I’m sorry for pushing you, Lake,” said the coach. “I’ll get the medics out here.”

“Are you alright, Master Jim?” Blinky’s voice appeared, but all Jim saw was the mascot. Come to think of it, the costume looked a lot…less plush than usual.

“Blinky?” Jim asked.

The Purple Mole Mascot raised its foam head, and Jim realized it truly was Blinky…painted purple with a jersey and just the foam mask as the costume. “Like my disguise? I wanted to get close to the action, but didn’t want to risk being seen by the other team.”

“That’s hilarious, Blink,” Jim grinned.

“Thank you, and ARRRGH and Draal are just under the bleachers.” He pointed a few feet away where the trolls sat crouched in the shadows. They both waved. “Now, the question remains. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, Blink. The wound is tender, so I think I’ll need to stop now, but I’ll be okay.”

“Well, there goes the record. Oh well, there’s always next week!” Coach said optimistically.

“If I may,” said Blinky, “I may have an alternate solution.”

“Oh? And what’s that?”

“I have with me, the Glamour Mask.”

“And that is…?”

Jim explained, “do you remember when I returned to school looking like a human? This mask allows you to change shape into anyone you want.”

“So we’re substituting someone in? Who?”

Blinky looked back towards where ARRRGH was hiding. “He’s wanted to play a real game for a while now.”

“I can’t imagine that’s a good idea,” argued Jim. “ARRRGH is just so big and I worry that—”

“Great idea Blink!” Coach cheered. “ARRGH has been practicing at night with the boys. He knows the plays better than most of them! Let’s sub him in! Jim, go hit the showers.”

“Are you sure?”

“STATE RECORD BABY!!”

—

“We’re moving into the 3rd quarter. Moles lead 80 to 16. We’ve received a page for a Ms. Tickles. Ms. Tess Tickles, your son is looking for you at the—wait a second. I know this handwriting! Very funny, Toby!”

The student section was in great spirits. Someone had brought a bottle of blue face paint, and it had made its rounds, half of the bleachers were the same blue as Jim in solidarity.

“Nari, did you enjoy your exploded corn?” Asked Bellroc.

“I did indeed! How was your…cylinder meat?”

“A disappointment, I must say.”

“I have half of the bag left, if you would like to try some.” She held the paper bag out to her sibling.

“I appreciate it.” Bellroc took a handful and shoved it in her mouth. “A much better mouth feel, I think.”

“Yes! Go go go! Yes Trollhunter! Show the tiny humans who owns this realm!” Skrael screamed down to the field as ‘Jim’ ran to the endzone with three players draped over his back.

“I am very pleased to see you enjoying yourself so much, Skrael!” Nari chirped.

“He has always enjoyed the prolonged suffering of humans more than I have,” Bellroc noted. “Though, Trollhunter Jim has certainly made this combat very enjoyable.”

Claire listened to this conversation, but didn’t say anything. It didn’t sound like they were swaying the other two Order members away from their hatred of humans, but it didn’t sound like it was getting worse. So that was good, right?

—

“35 seconds left in the game. 1st down and 20. If the Moles can score at least one more point, they will have beaten the state record for most points scored in a game. Currently, the record is 141 points, scored back in 1924. The Moles are at 140.”

“That’s quite the feat, Shannon! The Rockets did a great job getting 40 points today, but they aren’t letting the Moles take the record so easily.”

“Here’s the snap. Palchuk hands off the ball to Lake and wow! Dogpile from the Rockets! Look at that! Every member of their team is piled on Lake right now!”

“Is he down?”

“No! He’s not running, but he’s still moving! Ladies and gentlemen, Jim Lake Jr. is carrying a team of 12 football players into the endzone!”

“You love to see it, Eli. The Moles are walking alongside, making sure none of the Rockets fall.”

“This is surely the most bizarre game anyone has witnessed.”

“Lake just passed 10, and he’s still going. By god, he’s still moving.”

“Shannon, this has to be a new record in and of itself. Most teenage boys deadlifted into the endzone.”

“Number 54 of the Rockets has fallen off. He’s taking a running leap, and his teammates have helped him back onto the pile! I’m certain those teammates at the bottom are suffering.”

“And the crowd is cheering him on! The energy in the stadium is deafening.”

“He’s a yard away…Touchdown Moles! And that is the game ladies and gentlemen! Moles win 147 to 40! They take the state record for most points scored in a game! Jim Lake Jr. is a hero once again in Arcadia! I’m Eli Pepperjack and I have to go kiss someone!”

—

ARRRGH hustled off the field so that Jim could have the real celebration with his team. Gatorade was dumped, there was screaming and jumping. Guys climbed on Jim, who just laughed and spun them around.

“Jim!” Claire called from the sidelines.

“Claire!” He called back, opening his arms for her.

She ran and hugged him, careful of his side. “Are you okay?”

“Completely fine. Got a little bandage and ointment and I feel much better. Thank you.” He leaned down and gave her a kiss to her lips.

“You did great!” Then more quietly added, “while you were playing.”

He chuckled, “you noticed?”

“I know you well, Jim Lake Jr.”

Jim just grinned at her as the team continued to celebrate.

—

While the rest of the team departed to shower and change, Jim left with Claire to meet up with Toby and the others. As they walked, Jim noticed a missed call and voicemail on his phone from his mom.

“Hi honey! The hospital is really slow tonight, so they moved me to on-call. I’m just going to swing home and then I’ll be by the stadium to watch. See you!”

Jim frowned as he looked at the call. It had been received an hour ago, around half-time. But she had never texted him to let him know where she was sitting.

He called her back. Maybe she just couldn’t get a good seat? The phone rang and rang, and then eventually went to voicemail.

“You didn’t happen to see my mom in the stands, did you?” He asked Claire.

“No? I thought she was working.”

“She was, but she said she got to leave and was coming to watch. Let’s go wait by the gate for Toby and the others. Maybe we’ll see her.”

They watched the crowd filter out, with lots of celebratory pats and handshakes delivered to Jim as people walked passed. Merlin was the first to find them, congratulating Jim on a ‘roaring defeat’. Then Walter arrived.

“Did you see my mom?” Jim asked as soon as he was in distance.

Walt looked startled. “Your mother? I didn’t talk to her today. I didn’t know she would be here.”

Jim repeated what he had told Claire and only grew more and more anxious as Walter seemed clueless. Surely she would have found him if she had made it. Maybe she was called back to work and got swamped. Yeah, that was more likely.

Soon, Toby, Darci, and the Arcane Order met them at the gate.

“How did you guys enjoy the game?” Jim asked.

“It was totally crazy bonkers banana pants!” Toby squealed. “You were unstoppable! And that ending! The whole team! We beat the record!”

“You know to fly under the radar, we can’t actually report that we broke that record, right?” Claire reasoned.

“What?! Oh come on!”

“Claire’s right. As fun as it is, officials will want to know why a teenager was able to carry 12 players 30 yards. We can’t tell them I’m a troll. It’s too risky. Besides, ARRRGH substituted for me in the second half.”

“What?! Wingman played and I didn’t even get to know?! Boo!”

“Your dedication to your job is admirable, Trollhunter,” said Bellroc. “To protect the magical creatures is the most important. More important than a silly human game.”

“Right,” he answered rather absently.

“Are you okay, Jim?” Claire asked. “And I’m not talking about your side.”

He frowned. “I can’t explain it…but I have a weird feeling.”

Just then, the last of the crowd left and Blinky, ARRRGH, and Draal emerged from under the stands.

“Love the costume, Blinky,” Toby laughed. “I wondered who was in there, since Darci was in the stands.”

“Did I do a good job? I thought I did a swell job hyping up the crowd while Jim was off the field.”

“If no one else was entertained, I certainly was,” said Draal.

“You just enjoy seeing me humiliate myself.”

“ARRRGH had fun!”

“Thanks for stepping in, Big Guy,” Jim gave him an affectionate punch to his shoulder.

“Now Jim, if I recall, you were preparing celebratory desserts in Heartstone Hall?”

“Oh yeah! I have pie and ice cream back in Trollmarket. I’d just like to pop in at my mom’s place first.”

“We shall go back to Trollmarket, but we shall pass on the celebration,” said Bellroc.

“Speak for yourself, sister,” objected Skrael. “I would like some of this ice cream the Trollhunter offers.”

“I’ll go with you!” Said Nari.

“Well, whoever wants to come can come, I’ll meet you there,” Jim stated, backing away to go to his truck.

Claire was only a few steps behind. “Mind if I tag along?”

“Not at all. I want to drive by the hospital and see if my mom’s car is there.”

“Okay. It probably will be. I’m sure she sent that message and then immediately got called in. It happens a lot, right?”

“Yeah, and I’m sure you're right…I just feel…maybe I’m just over protective.”

“No harm in double checking though, right?”

“Right.”

Jim drove over to the hospital and circled the area she usually parked. There were plenty of open spaces, but her car was nowhere to be seen. He did a lap through the parking lot, and nothing.

“Maybe she got held up at home.”

Jim didn’t say anything, dread creeping in through his stomach.

The drive to his mother’s house was quiet as Jim was mulling over the worse case scenarios, while still being rather winded. Claire just kept him company, and let him think in peace.

When they turned the corner to his block, he could already see the red and blue lights flashing on his street.

“No…” He floored it, speeding down those last few streets.

Six police cars lined the street in front of his house, and an ambulance parked in the driveway. Jim parked in the road haphazardly and ran towards the house.

The door was open, and worse still, his mother’s car was in the driveway, and the driver’s door was wide open. Her purse and phone laid on the cement.

“Sir, you can’t approach,” said a police officer.

“This is my mother’s house! Where’s my mother?! Where’s my mom!?” Jim all but roared in the policeman’s face.

Detective Scott came running then, and got between the two. “I got this Dan,” he waved the other officer off. “Jim, someone broke into your house. Your father was home at the time, but he’s–”

As if on cue, a stretcher came out of the house, with James Lake Sr. strapped in.

“Dad!” Jim called, running to him. Later, he’d kick himself for shouting that out, but in a moment of weakness, it was all he had.

James looked at him, with one horribly swollen black eye, a clearly broken nose, and other assorted bruises over his face and neck.

“Where’s mom? What happened?”

“He can’t answer,” said the EMS worker. “His windpipe has been crushed.”

Though he couldn’t speak, James made a great show of raising his hand to show off his phone, and typed in the passcode. He then handed it to Jim.

“What…? Why are you giving me this?”

James just squeezed his hands around the phone before letting go and closing his eyes.

The EMS didn’t dawdle any longer and loaded James away.

Jim stared at the phone in confusion. Wouldn’t James want to contact people from the hospital? Like that girl he was with?

Claire, ever faithful and comforting, just stood beside him, hand on his back.

“Jim,” Detective Scott started again, slowly. “Nanna Domzolski was the one that called. She said she heard your mom screaming and fighting. But when we arrived, they had left already, and your father was beaten to a pulp. We have to conclude that whoever this was…they took your mother. I’m sorry.”

#arcadia or bust #tales of arcadia #trollhunters #toa #jim lake jr #fanfiction

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songsformonkeys · 4 years ago

Text

Digging Up Bones (whiskey x f!reader) - chapter 3

[Banner by the lovely @yespolkadotkitty ]

Summary: You work for the Statesmen as the head of their medical department. It’s your job to patch up anyone who gets back wounded and to work on ways to prevent them from getting badly wounded in the first place.

Agent Whiskey, in particular, seems to be more accident-prone than the rest and he never passes up a reason to come see you, whether for real injuries or imaginary ones. The two of you form a close friendship, which slowly turns into something more.

Then a British man with a headshot wound and a fascination with butterflies shows up in your emergency room and in the events that follow you’re forced to reevaluate just about everything you thought you knew about your partner.

Warnings: canon typical violence

Masterlist

Chapter 3

The following three days passed in a slow fashion. Not just because Whiskey was gone but the rest of the agents seemed to be staying out of harm's way as well. It was a bit boring, but that was something Tonic had taught you not to complain about out loud since it apparently made it sound like you longed for injuries and carnage.

On the bright side, the slow days gave you, Ginger, and Tonic time to begin interviewing the agents on base for their emergency folders for the Alpha-gel.

The three of you had realized that while the gel and the nanites healed the brain perfectly fine they still needed something to counter the retrograde amnesia, which seemed to be a standard side effect. The sample of agents that had needed to use the gel was still small and so you couldn't draw too many sure conclusions from it, but every single one of them so far had suffered memory loss. It had been Tonic's idea that reminders of a past trauma might jump-start the memory again. The results had been good but guessing and digging up past traumas had been painstakingly difficult and had taken up more time than ideal. So you had collectively decided that each agent should have a file or a folder containing their very worst memory and ways it could be triggered.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

On Wednesday evening, you curled up in your armchair and called Whiskey. He picked up after three rings.

“Moonshine, “ he drawled, voice sounding a little tired.

“Sorry, did I wake you?” you asked, suddenly feeling a little bad. It wasn't that late in the evening but maybe Whiskey had needed to tuck in early.

“No no, I was awake,” Whiskey assured you, “Just got home from a looong day at an art auction. I'm not sure if you've ever been but it is possibly the most boring thing I have ever done.”

“Yeah? What was so bad about it?” you asked, smiling to yourself. You would be caught dead before admitting it out loud but you had actually missed him these past few days.

Whiskey began describing his day. A soon as he began talking, his voice relaxed you. You pictured him walking around in a swanky hotel room, with a view of the big city, probably still wearing his hat. You were half convinced he even slept in that thing.

Whiskey told you about the auction and the few stuck-up people who had pretended not to understand his southern accent just to make him feel less than. Then he told you about the way he'd later wiped the smug smiles off their faces by actually bidding home the small painting they had been ogling.

“Champ might kill me for it, 'cause it cost a small fortune, but it was worth it!”

“What will you do with the painting?” you asked.

“Hm,” Whiskey said and you didn't need to see him to know that he was shrugging, “Dunno. Might hang it in my apartment. It's a beautiful painting, reminded me of someone special... Speaking of my apartment, have you finished the cake yet?”

You nodded, before remembering that he couldn't see you.

“Yes, Ginger and Tonic helped me eat the rest of it.”

You had been over to Whiskey's apartment the day after he'd left. When you'd gotten to work, his key had been in a white envelope on your desk and you hadn't been able to keep your curiosity at bay for longer than a workday.

The apartment hadn't been quite what you thought Whiskey's home would look like. It had been much neater and cleaner than you had expected, for starters. You had expected more of a bachelor pad but Whiskey's apartment was quite nice. It looked lived in but not messy. Each thing seemed to have its own designated spot. As you had walked around the living room towards the kitchen you had taken in the big, comfortable-looking couch and multi-colored knitted blanket that looked like it was homemade.

There had been a couple of books on art history resting on the wooden coffee table. You had stopped, slightly in awe, in front of the big bookshelves that covered a whole wall of the room. You'd never pictured Whiskey to be the reading type, but here was clear proof otherwise. You had scanned the titles of the books and the exceptionally wide array of subjects made you suspect that a lot of these had been read for previous missions. But there had been a whole shelf of fiction too and you smiled a little as you noted that a lot of them seemed to be old western classics.

You had found the cake in the fridge in the equally clean kitchen. The cake had been in a plastic container and Whiskey had stuck a post-it note with a smiley on the lid.

“I liked your bookshelf. And I borrowed a book from you,“ you confessed over the phone and Whiskey chuckled in response.

“Is that so? Which one, if I may ask, was it that caught your fancy?”

“Lonesome Dove.”

“Ah, a classic! Didn't have you pegged as a western girl, Moonshine.”

“I'm not sure if I am, I've never read any. But you had a lot of them and I thought...” You cut yourself off, glancing over at the book on your bed, “You had a book on human anatomy as well that looked interesting and one on make-shift medical treatment when you don't have access to a hospital. I didn't take those, though. It felt wrong to take so many books without asking...”

Whiskey chuckled again and the sound did weird things to your insides, or maybe it was the nerves of having just admitted to raiding his bookshelf.

“Darlin', if it makes you happy, you are more than welcome to help yourself to any book in that apartment”

“Really? But what if it's a book that you suddenly need?”

“Then I'll know perfectly well where to find it.”

You couldn't really argue with that logic, didn't really want to either because the prospect of getting to read all those books almost made you giddy.

“So besides ogling my books, what else have you been up to while I've been gone?” Whiskey asked and you proceeded to tell him about the work with the Trauma Folders, which Tonic so affectionately called them.

“You still haven't submitted yours either, by the way,” you told him. Whiskey didn't immediately answer. The line was dead silent for a few seconds and just when you were about to ask if he was still there, he cleared his throat.

“Yeah, I know. I promise to get right on that as soon as I'm back, okay?” He sounded a little odd and your brow furrowed slightly. Whiskey cleared his throat again.

“Look, darlin', I'm pretty dead on my feet right now and as lovely as your voice is to listen to, I think unfortunately we gotta hang up before I start snoring on you.”

“Oh, of course! Sorry, I've talked too much.”

“Hardly,” Whiskey replied and his voice was warm and soft again, which eased the nervous knots that had begun forming in your stomach at his abrupt attempt to end the call. Usually, that was your role to try and say goodnight and his to try and linger. “I cherish every word, which is why I prefer to be awake for them. Call me tomorrow again?”

“Sure. Good night, Whiskey.”

“Good night, darlin'”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If the previous days had been slow, the following day was anything but, at least when the afternoon rolled around.

Ginger had called you about some very strange low-frequency readings coming from a church nearby in Kentucky. She told you that she and Tequila were gonna go check it out but that you should be on standby, just in case.

You told her to be careful. Ginger was excellent at her job but she was also one of your closest friends and you couldn't help but worry.

After you'd ended the call, you immediately set about preparing the emergency room and double-checking to make sure everything was there. Seeing as neither of you knew what the strange readings had been about, it was difficult to prepare for every possible scenario, and while you knew that the health effects of exposure to extremely low frequencies were being discussed in the medical community, no one knew exactly what the effects were.

It seemed like a lifetime had passed before Ginder called you again. You heard the sound of the helicopter in the background. She told you that they'd be there in thirty and that they were bringing someone in with a headshot.

“I'll get the chamber ready for him!” you told her

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thirty minutes later, on the dot, you watched as the helicopter landed and Tequila emerged, carrying a man in a suit. The man's face was obscured by the balloon containing the Alpha-gel but his clothes looked expensive.

“Entry point?” you yelled, over the sound of the helicopter as you waved for Tequila and Ginger to hurry inside.

“Straight through the left eye,” Ginger replied and you winced. The left temporal lobe would be damaged, for sure, maybe part of the occipital one too. You were confident that the nanites would be able to rebuild the brain matter but with the temporal lobe damaged you worried that the memory loss might be even more extensive than what you'd seen before and you wondered if it would affect his speech.

“Exit point or is the bullet still in there?” you asked.

“The bullet went all the way through as far as I could tell. Not sure what he was shot with though so we'll have to scan to make sure there's nothing left in there.”

Said and done. When you got down to the medical rooms you first put the man through a thorough scan of his skull. Just like Ginger suspected, the bullet had gone straight through and it luckily hadn't left anything but damaged tissue in its wake. Tequila helped move him over to the nanite chamber. Carefully, you removed the Alpha-gel balloon and quickly closed the chamber around his head.

“What happened?” you asked as you sat down in front of the computer and began tapping away at the keyboard, starting the machine and readying it for the healing and rebuilding process.

“We have no idea,” Ginger said. “We found him like this outside the church, no sign of who had shot him. Inside the church, however...”

“What?” you asked.

“Inside was a total fuckin' bloodbath,” Tequila supplied, “Whole congregation just...slaughtered.”

You looked over at the strange man.

“You think he did it?”

Both Ginger and Tequila shrugged.

“We don't know. But he's got blood on him that isn't his own and there was no gun in his hand so he clearly didn't shoot himself, which means someone got away from that Church alive.” Ginger reasoned, “And there's one more thing..”

She pulled a pair of glasses from the pocket of her jacket. The left glass was shattered.

“He was wearing these. These aren't normal glasses, which means he's not a civilian. And his watch... he's some sort of intelligence. I'll dig around and see if I can find out whom he belongs to.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You called Whiskey again that evening. He sounded more awake today but you could practically hear the frown on his face when you told him about your strange new guest. He was not happy.

“He's an agent?” he asked.

“We think so. Ginger is running some tests on his glasses and his watch to see what we can figure out but so far we have no idea whom he's working for. So we just have to wait for him to wake up and see how much he remembers.”

“I don't like this,” Whiskey stated. “Not one bit. If he's intelligence, he's dangerous, Moonshine. You shouldn't be alone with him, not under any circumstances!”

“I won't,” you reassured him while rolling your eyes. “Agent Tequila also has an over-protective streak and has, therefore, put himself on guard duty until further notice. I've had him looking over my shoulder all evening.”

You had found it somewhat annoying but Whiskey had instantly calmed down upon hearing that bit of information. He told you to promise to listen to Tequila on this, which you reluctantly did. You didn't tell Whiskey that if the arrangement continued, you would have to come to some sort of agreement with Tequila on how close was close enough for protection. You couldn't have him reading over your shoulder all day long or you'd go stir crazy.

Whiskey continued to ask you a bunch of questions about the strange man and you couldn't answer a single one. He asked you about the signal too and you couldn't give him any answers to that either. It was all Ginger's area of expertise and you told him as much.

“Sorry, darlin', just wanna make sure my favorite girl is safe until I get back.”

Whiskey's words made you smile stupidly, despite the slightly patronizing undertone of them. You would like to think you knew how to take care of yourself, especially around your patients. But you did enjoy it when Whiskey called you his favorite. No one else had called you their favorite before.

After a few more minutes of chit-chat, you both said good night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next day, your patient woke up.

It had been decided the day before that Tonic and Tequila would be the first ones to greet him. Tequila because of the whole bodyguard business and Tonic because he was by far the one who had the most experience with calming people in shock and panic. You had only sulked a little when you'd sat down the desk on the other side of the one-way mirror showing you the stranger's cell. You turned on the cameras in the other room to record the interaction before leaning forward over the desk to watch.

As anticipated, the man was more than a little freaked out by waking up in an unfamiliar place with unfamiliar faces around him.

“Where am I? Who are you?” he immediately asked and you raised your eyebrows as you noted his British accent. The stranger tried to scramble off the bed where he'd been lying. Tequila took a step forward but Tonic quickly held up a hand to stop him.

“You are in a hospital,” Tonic told the frightened man and gave him a calm smile, “My name is To...Tom.”

“A hospital? What happened?” the stranger asked.

“We were hoping you would be able to tell us. You were in some sort of accident and when we found you, you were unconscious.”

Unconscious... that was definitely an understatement to describing having had one's brains blown out through the back of their head.

“Do you remember anything of what happened?” Tonic continued.

The British man looked around the room with wild eyes but he was already calming down a bit. While you were a bit jealous that Tonic, or Tom apparently, was the first one to get to talk to your new patient you had to admit that it was a privilege to get to watch him work. Tonic continued talking to the man and answering his questions by saying just enough to calm him but not enough to confuse him.

You found out that his name was Harry, but he couldn't remember his last name. He was from England and he thought he was 23 years old, which he most definitely was not. You caught Tonic and Tequila exchange a look as Harry told them his age. If Harry couldn't remember anything beyond his 23rd year then you estimated that he had forgotten more than half of his life. And since he wasn't one of your agents, you had no idea how to bring those memories back again...

Tonic and Harry spoke for a while longer and Tonic told him about his injuries. He also told harry about the memory loss. Harry didn't believe him until Tonic guided him over to the one-way mirror separating you from them and let Harry have a look at himself. You stood on the other side of the mirror and could watch as realization dawned on Harry. His breathing immediately sped up again and he was beginning to panic.

“Harry,” Tonic said calmly, “Harry, I'm gonna need you to breathe slower with me, okay? We've seen this kind of memory loss before and we will do our very best to help you recover the memories you can't remember right now”

“Think of it as one hell of a hangover,” Tequila supplied and Harry gave him an incredulous look.

“Hangover?” he asked in a weak voice “I look old enough to be a grandfather and I don't remember any of it... I don't think anyone has ever been drunk enough for that kind of hangover.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tonic and Tequila handled the whole ordeal in a way that made you proud to call yourself their colleague and they stayed with Harry for most of the day, talking and explaining. Harry listened patiently and you had to give him credit for taking the situation a whole lot better than some of the Statesmen who had gone through the same thing. He was scared and worried, sure, but he managed to keep his panic in check and asked Tonic a whole bunch of relevant questions.

You wished you could have stayed and watched all afternoon but eventually you had to go back to your own office and begin typing up your report.

You had barely gotten two paragraphs in when your phone started ringing.

“Moonshine?” Whiskey said as soon as you picked up and you could immediately tell that something was wrong. He sounded scared. There were car horns blaring and loud crashes in the background.

“Yes. Whiskey what's...”

Whiskey cut you off before you could finish your question.

“Where are you?” he asked and when it took you a fraction of a second too long to answer, he repeated the question, “Moonshine! Where are you?”

“I'm in the office. Whiskey what's wrong?”

“Good! Whatever you do, stay where you are! There's something in the air! People are killing each other!”

“What?” Before you could say anything further, your door burst open and you screamed from surprise.

“Moonshine!” Whiskey yelled, panicked, as Ginger stormed into the office and pushed you out of her way to get to the computer. She began tapping on the keyboard and you watched as she pulled up live feeds from several cameras around the country. Your mouth fell open as you watched the chaos that filled the screen.

“MOONSHINE!” Whiskey yelled again and you realized you hadn't answered him.

“I'm fine!” you quickly assured him and you heard him exhale loudly. “Ginger just showed up. What the hell is going on?” The last question was aimed at them both. The quality of the feeds wasn't the best but there was no mistaking what was going on. All over the country, people were killing each other.

“The fuck if I know,” Whiskey said at the same time as Ginger supplied the slightly more helpful “It's the same signal! It's the same low frequency as we picked up from the church. But this is all over...well the world”

She turned and looked at the phone in your hand.

“Is that agent Whiskey?”

You nodded but then froze as you heard a banging noise on the other end of the line, which sounded much closer than the previous ones. You heard Whiskey curse.

“Whiskey?”

There was another crash and he cursed again.

“I'm sorry, darlin', I seem to have a visitor. I gotta go.”

“Whiskey,” you begged and you heard your own voice break as you spoke his name.

“Don't worry, sweetheart. I'll deal with this and then I promise I'll come right home to you. You just promise to stay inside and stay safe, okay?”

What about you? you wanted to ask, but Whiskey had already hung up.

“He'll be fine,” said Ginger, who must have seen the expression change on your face. You nodded. She was right. Whiskey was an excellent agent. He would be fine.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He would be fine. You managed to convince yourself of that up until about an hour later when the office phone called. You were too busy clutching your own phone, waiting for Whiskey to call back, to pay any attention to the other phone so Ginger picked it up and answered. She exchanged a few cryptic comments with the person on the other line before ending the call by saying:

“We'll be ready for him.”

After she'd hung up the phone she turned towards you.

“Whiskey's on his way back. He's been stabbed but according to the pilot, he's stable. They're flying him back now. “

#whiskey/reader #whiskeyxreader #agent whiskey #kingsman golden circle fanfiction #kingsman golden circle #my fanfiction #female reader

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vampiregirl1797 · 4 years ago

Text

First Days With Your Boyfriend’s Cardigan

Spencer Reid x Reader

GIF Not Mine.

Click Here For Masterlist

Word Count: 2,199

Summary: Y/N is starting her first day at the BAU as a technical analyst working alongside Penelope Garcia. She turns up wearing one of Spencer’s beloved cardigans to offer her some comfort on a particularly anxious day. How will the others react when they make the connection between Y/N and Spencer?

Requested by: @synthemo

I took a deep breath as I stared up at the FBI building in Quantico, Virginia. My boyfriend, Spencer had gotten me a job working alongside the BAU’s technical analyst, Penelope Garcia. I still had absolutely no idea how far his influence had contributed towards me getting the job, all I knew was last Wednesday at 9am I’d had a job interview with Garcia and the unit chief, Aaron Hotchner. The latter had been a little intimidating, but I’d been prepared for that thanks to Spencer’s forewarning. Thankfully, Penelope had been bright, bubbly and had made it impossible for me not to relax in her company. The interview had passed in a blur, and I’d received a call three days ago telling me I had got the job and I started today. Spence had gone in before me— he’d been called in for a child abduction case in L.A, and after rushing to get ready in under five minutes, he’d left me with a kiss and a quietly murmured ‘good luck today honey.’

I’d fallen back asleep within minutes, but when my alarm had gone off this morning, the nerves had woken with me and had been getting progressively worse since. So I’d grabbed one of Spence’s cardigans on my way out of the door— he’d worn it all day yesterday so it smelled of him, and the soft, warm fabric made me feel almost as safe as I did when I was in his arms. I was hoping no one would notice, though it was pretty oversized on me, but I could have easily bought it this big on purpose. Even if they did, I couldn’t bring myself to be too bothered by it; Spence was my boyfriend, he made me feel loved and safe, and I wasn’t going to be embarrassed for needing that today.

I found Garcia in her bat cave pretty easily— she’d given me a tour after my interview last week and she brightened up as soon as she saw me and gave me the biggest hug, immediately making me feel more at ease.

‘Y/N! You’re here, I’m so glad you’re here, I’ve been looking forward to this since your interview last week, I knew then that you were my missing I.T. soulmate, the yin to my computer yang.’ She paused for breath, noticing the understanding smile on my face, ‘you know exactly what I mean, don’t you?’

‘I do,’ I nodded, settling into the wheeled chair she pulled out for me and taking in the many screens that were clearly my set up, because they were the only ones in the room that were blank. While Garcia’s were lit up with programmes, search results and surrounded by so many bright, fluffy objects that instantly made my mood brighten just that little more.

‘So where do we start?’ I wondered, wrapping Spence’s cardigan tighter around me as I listened to the information Hotch had asked us both to gather.

‘Okay, so apparently our newest resident sicko is someone in this family’s life. His preference is teenagers and due to the fact that Kellen David disappeared without a struggle, the team thinks that the kid knew his abductor,’ Garcia started, handing me a list of handwritten names and sectors for me to search.

‘Got it, what permitters am I searching for?’ I asked, loading the system that I created onto my set up— I’d had it ready to go for days so it only took a few minutes to set up.

‘Any man who seems involved in the David’s lives, relatives have already been cleared, so anyone from outside blood relations who appeared when Kellen was coming out of infancy.’ Garcia reeled off, typing on her computer as she spoke.

After a moment, I joined her, both of us working silently, well up until my phone rang and I nearly fell out of my chair in surprise. Garcia laughed at my reaction and nodded towards the headset next to the phone. With a sigh I slid it on and hit answer.

‘You’ve reached one of the two technical analysts for the BAU.’ I murmured into the phone, nerves clearly present, but they disappeared when I realised who I was talking to.

‘Hey honey,’ Spence said, his voice soft and I felt my anxiety completely diminish, ‘how��s your first day going?’

‘Good, I’m over half way through the list Garcia gave me and I haven’t found anything yet.’ I told him, discreetly inhaling his scent from the cardigan I was still wearing as he spoke; with the sound of his voice and his aroma that was imbedded in his clothing, my anxiety didn’t stand a chance of re-appearing.

‘I’m glad to hear it. I’m actually calling to ask you to search something for me, would that be okay?’ He asked, sounding almost timid and it made my heart soften in his chest. He was always so considerate with me, always asking me something in a way that was clear that I could say no if I wished.

‘Of course it is. What do you need, Doc?’ The nickname slid past my lips without much thought, but I did smile when I noticed Spencer’s change in tone, hinting at the flustered state that always followed that particular endearment.

‘Can you check where Garrett Harold was around the time of the abduction?’ He said, and I knew if I could see him right now, he would be blushing and his eyes would have darkened from their usual light cinnamon to chocolate in his desire. Depending on his mood, that particular nickname could make him beam with pride, blush bashfully, or make him so overrun with desire that we would both be naked within minutes. It was unfortunate he had the latter reaction when I was thousands of miles away from him.

‘According to credit card statements Garrett Harold was only a few blocks away from the David’s house fifteen minutes before the abduction. He bought a large caramel latte, and he even purchased a flight to Paris from his phone but there’s no record of him being in France.’ I told him, crossing my legs as I tried to dampen my own desire that always arose in response to his.

‘Thank you, honey.’ He hung up and Garcia and I fell back into the comfortable silence we’d become accustomed to very quickly.

I didn’t know that Garcia had been half listening to our conversation, and that hearing the relaxed way I spoke to him had allowed her mind to remember where she’d seen the cardigan I was wearing before. On the resident genius, Spencer Reid. She grinned and turned back to her work, wondering how long it would take the other profilers to realise what she’d picked up on in under an hour.

‘How long until they’re back?’ I asked Pen for what must have been the hundredth time, but I couldn’t help it, I’d heard that Spence and Derek had to talk down the suspect. I was beyond proud of him for saving Kellen David, but I after I’d heard Garrett had fired a shot at my genius because he wanted to be shot dead and not go to prison, well I needed to see him with my own two eyes to make sure he was okay.

‘They’ll be here in a few minutes, Derek just texted me and said they’re in the elevator.’ Garcia said, typing a response to Morgan and squealing when I grabbed her arm and pulled her with me to the elevator.

When the doors finally slid open, I offered everyone else bright smiles but made a beeline for my resident genius and threw my arms around his neck. I could hear exclamations of surprise from behind me, but I didn’t care and nuzzled into his chest, inhaling his familiar scent, my eyes fluttering closed at how much stronger it was coming from him than the cardigan I’d been holding hostage all day.

‘Hey honey,’ he chuckled, holding me just as tightly and I smiled when I could hear him inhaling after he’d buried his face in my hair, ‘I’m okay, I told you I was.’

‘I know, but you could have lied to stop me from worrying,’ I replied, not even bothering to open my eyes.

‘Well... you’re not wrong.’ His tone was sheepish.

‘Did you get hit?’ I pulled back, my eyes taking in his appearance as if I could see any injuries that would be hiding underneath his soft cardigan, shirt, tie and dress pants.

‘No I moved out of the way, he shot the wall and Derek shot him.’ His eyes were soft as I linked my arm through his and allowed him to lead me back into the elevator.

‘Don’t you have paperwork?’ I wondered, but couldn’t stop myself from subconsciously holding him tighter at the prospect of him leaving me.

‘No, I finished it on the jet, had a feeling we’d both need each other’s company tonight.’ He smiled, caressing the side of my face and bringing my lips to his as my eyes fluttered closed at his touch.

I didn’t notice the surprise on five of the six agents faces as they saw our familiarity that clearly hinted at a romantic relationship. The sixth agent was grinning at seeing Reid so comfortable and clearly unbelievably happy around me, well, that and the sight of the shock on her family’s faces. I was too wrapped up in how Reid’s lips felt against mine; warm, soft and comforting that I couldn’t have told you my own name if you’d asked me in that moment. As the doors slid closed, Spencer broke the kiss, resting his forehead against mine as we both regained our breath.

‘I think the cats out of the bag,’ he murmured, his eyes glittering with mirth.

‘They didn’t know?’ I frowned; I’d figured Spence had told them who I was when he’d suggested me for the job.

‘No, I wanted you to know you got the job because of how amazing your technical analyst skills are, not because of your connection to me.’ He explained, his hands moving through my hair as he spoke.

I felt my eyes soften and I was pretty sure I felt my heart fall a little bit deeper in love with the brilliant, wonderful, considerate man in front of me. I noticed he was avoiding my eyes, probably because he was afraid of how I’d react at his team knowing we were together.

‘I love you, Spencer Reid.’ I murmured, smiling when his eyes met mine, the brown having melted to syrup as they softened, ‘and I don’t care that the team knows, you’re the most incredible man I’ve ever met, why wouldn't I want everyone knowing that I love you?’

His eyes closed for a moment, and when he spoke I could hear the emotion that he was trying so hard to control in his voice, ‘I love you too, Y/N.’

He kissed me again, this kiss was different than the relieved kiss we’d shared earlier. This one was full of love, happiness and the adoration we shared for one another. We pulled away as the elevator came to a stop, and walked out into the lobby and out of the building hand in hand.

‘Have I ever told you how much I love seeing you in my clothes?’ He casually mentioned as we walked to his car— I’d gotten the bus this morning seeing as he’d had to come in before me.

‘Hmm...’ I pursed my lips, pretending to give it some thought, ‘no I don’t think you have.’ I teased, knowing that he told me every time I “borrowed” his cardigans, shirts or T-shirts.

‘Well I really love it.’ He smiled, caressing my face as he murmured, ‘I love how you borrow my clothes because they smell like me, and because they make you feel safe and remind you that you’re loved.’

I felt tears form in my eyes, once again blown away by his perceptiveness, at how well he knew me. I didn’t know what to say, other than once again tell him how much I loved him, because what was there to say to that? I wanted to tell him how much it meant to me that he knew me so well, that he took the time to understand me in a way that no one else ever had, but I just couldn’t get my lips to form the words. But I didn’t need to, because he already knew how much he meant to me, how much I adored him, how I couldn’t bear to be without him. It was obvious in the way his eyes softened as he observed me, the gentle way he tucked my hair behind my ear and the kind but firm way he held my hand. He knew me better than anyone else, and I knew that it was the same for him too. Spencer was my other half, and words couldn’t adequately describe how grateful I was to have him in my world as the love of my life and my best friend.

A/N: @synthemo I don’t know if this is what you envisioned, but this is where I went with it. I know I went a little OTT with the fluff, but what can I say, I’m an addict when it comes to fluffy moments with Spencer Reid. I hope you liked it && I’ll try and get through some of your other requests when I’m off work later in the week! ☺️

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #Criminal Minds

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hale-13 · 3 years ago

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Febrile

By Hale13

For the Summer of Whump Day 23 - Sick

“Don’t,” Peter grouses, spitting out the last bit of bile in his mouth in the sink in the men’s restroom at Midtown and pointedly ignoring the look of disapproval both Ned and MJ are giving him in the mirror as he rinses his mouth out and washes his hands.

Words: 2101, Chapters: 1/1 (Complete), Language: English

Fandoms: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)

Rating: Gen

Relationships: Peter Parker & May Parker, Peter Parker & Tony Stark

Characters: Peter Parker, Ned Leeds, Michelle Jones, Tony Stark, May Parker, Helen Cho

TW: Vomiting

Read on AO3 or below the line break.

“Peter,” Ned’s voice is exasperated and he looks irritated. MJ’s face is still (mostly) an indifferent mask but he can see her eyes brows pulling in the way they do when she’s concerned. “This has been going on for three days now,” he complains. “you have got to tell May.”

“Sure don’t,” Peter says, drying his hands off on a scratchy paper towel and trying to surreptitiously blot at his sweaty face before tossing it in the trash.

“You’re an idiot,” MJ tells him with an eye roll and a soft shove of her shoulder. It completely throws off Peter’s limited equilibrium and makes him sway into the wall. Ned’s glare becomes even sharper.

“I’m fine,” Peter tries and even he can hear the lie in his words now. He totally isn’t fine. He’s not fine at all actually. He’s had a fever, vomiting and stomach cramps for going on three days now and he’s just not used to getting and staying sick this long since he got bitten by the spider. A cold or a twenty-four hour hell flu? Sure. Consistent nausea and a low to mid grade fever for seventy-two hours? Unheard of.

“This is pointless,” MJ’s voice is monotone as she tosses Peter his phone which he fumbles, just barely catching it with the tips of sticky fingers.

“When did you take my phone?” He asks confused.

MJ guides him out the door and towards the front office – the exact opposite direction he needs to be going if he’s going to make it to his chemistry class. “I took it from your pocket when you were re-enacting the exorcism. Happy should be here in like ten minutes.”

“MJ,” Peter whines, not putting up a fight when Ned grabs his other arm to help with the pulling and directing. “I don’t need to go home.”

“Yes you do,” Ned’s tone is firm. “No one wants your flu Peter.”

“Alright that’s… fair,” he admits. “But my homework-,”

“We’ll get it for you,” MJ reassures as the office comes into view. She pushes him into one of the chairs sat outside and marches in to speak to the secretary. Peter pouts and crosses his arms. Yeah he feels like shit and he really just wants to sleep and, sure, his lower abdomen is really cramping and hurting but he got shot two weeks ago and the pain isn’t that bad. He can totally handle it. “You’re signed out,” Michelle tells him when she comes back, offering Ned a note to excuse his tardiness. “Let us know that you didn’t die okay loser?”

“Bye Peter!” Ned says brightly, back to his normal self now that he knows Peter is actually going home.

His friends finally gone, Peter drops all pretense and lets his face rest against the cool wall next to him, letting his eyes slip shut in relief – his forehead was burning. He pulled the sleeves of his hoodie over his hands and shivers. Maybe it is good that he goes home. He can take a nap and recuperate and be back at school tomorrow completely better.

Yeah. He just needs to nap.

“Well your scary girlfriend wasn’t kidding,” Mr. Stark’s voice rips Peter out of his near-sleep and has him blotting out of the chair, nearly falling over if he hadn’t caught himself on the way. “You look like shit kiddo.”

“Mr. Stark,” Peter squeaks, surprised at seeing his mentor at his freaking school what the hell. “What uh… what are you doing here?”

“What does it look like?” Tony asks with good humor, looking at Peter over the top of his AR glasses with a concerned smile, eyes scraping over him in a clinical way. “I’m here to get you.”

“Uh no offense, but why?” Peter asks, tripping over his book bag on the floor and falling back into the chair. Tony raises an eyebrow.

“Because I’m one of your emergency contacts,” he answers like this is the most obvious thing ever and Peter blinks a little in confusion. Mr. Stark is one of his emergency contacts? Since when? He opens his mouth to ask this very question when a sudden bout of nausea rolls over him and he, instead, scrambles to his feet and down the hall to the nearest bathroom.

He barely makes it to the sink before he starts gagging and dry heaving, nothing coming up but leaving him feeling dizzy and light-headed. Peter leans his head against the porcelain of the sink with a low moan, gagging again on the end and leaning his face back over the sink to drool out the excess saliva in his mouth.

“Yikes,” he hears Mr. Stark mutter behind him and then a calloused hand is running carefully through his hair and resting on his forehead. Peter pushes his face into the cool palm subconsciously and keeps his eyes closed as he tries to push the nausea down. “Yeah you’re definitely coming back to the MedBay with me.”

Peter lets out a wordless whine but doesn’t protest beyond that. It has been three days of this after all – maybe it is a good idea to consult with a professional?

“Come on buddy,” Tony says as he slings Peter’s arm over his shoulder and starts dragging him out of the bathroom and towards the entrance to the school. “You have a date with Dr. Cho and your aunt is waiting to hear the results of her exam.”

Happy actually looks concerned when Peter sees him standing outside of one of the many town cars Mr. Stark owns and he doesn’t say anything when he takes Peter’s bag from Tony to put in the front seat. The leather of the back seats is cool and the interior is darkened by the tinted windows and Peter lets out a sigh of relief, resting his head against the window; already half asleep.

The drive is, thankfully, quick and Peter dozes through most of it – still nauseous but able to hold it down for the most part. Soon enough they pull into the underground garage of the Tower and Tony is hustling him into the elevator which rockets them up to the MedBay floor without either of them having to say anything.

“May wants you to call her once you get settles,” Tony says, rapidly texting on his phone.

Peter squints his eyes at his mentor. “I’m not sure how I feel about you two texting,” he says.

“Oh we’re besties,” Tony teases, pocketing the phone with a shit eating grin. “We have coffee every other Wednesday.”

“I… don’t know if you’re serious,” Peter says, concerned. He probably doesn’t want to know to be honest. The doors of the elevator trundle open and Tony steers Peter into an empty exam room, directing him to sit on the exam bed. It only takes a second before Dr. Cho bustles in.

“Hey Peter,” she says with a smile as she rubs hand sanitizer into her hands and grabs a set of gloves from the box on the wall. “Tony said you were sick. Want to tell me about what’s going on?

“Nausea mostly,” he says as she runs a thermometer across his forehead and frowns at the readout. “My stomach hurts.”

“Well you have a fever of just over one hundred and two,” she says as she clips a pulse ox reader to his finger and wraps a blood pressure cuff around his arm and lets it run. “And your blood pressure is a little low,” she narrows her eyes at the reading and unhooks the machines. “Lay back for me?”

Peter does and stares at the ceiling as she starts to palpate his abdomen. He could probably fall asleep here actually if he – “OW!” He exclaims, curling away from Dr. Cho’s hands and wrapping his arms around his stomach to protect it.

“Well I have a tentative diagnosis,” she says snapping off her gloves. “We’ll do an ultrasound to confirm but, congratulations, Peter you have appendicitis.”

Peter and Tony both blink and then look at each other and then back. “For three days?” Tony questions, scooting Peter over to sit next to him on the bed and run a hand soothingly up and down Peter’s back. It doesn’t stop the stabbing pain in his abdomen but it helps.

“His healing factor is probably slowing down the progression, preventing it from rupturing as quickly as it could or should have,” she says, typing something into Peter’s chart on her StarkPad. “I’ll have a tech confirm with ultrasound and get a surgeon out to do the surgery. It’s pretty quick – one hour tops and then a few days recovery and you’ll be good as new.”

“Surgery?” Peter asks hoarsely, feeling his heart rate speed up. He’s never had surgery before.

Dr. Cho looks up at him and her face softens a little. “It’s an easy procedure,” she promises. “You won’t even realize that you’ve had it really and. Once you wake up, you’ll feel immediately better. Everything will be fine,” she promises and Peter nods with a gulp. He can feel stomach acid rising in his throat again and lunges for the emesis basin sitting on the bedside table, gagging into it.

“Let it all out Webs,” Tony says, rubbing his back sympathetically. “Got anything to help with this doc?”

“I’ll have the nurses start and IV and give him an anti-emetic,” she said, passing a new basin to Tony and taking the one from Peter’s slack grasp. “Just try to relax okay Peter?”

“This sucks,” he grumbles, letting his head fall over to rest on his mentor’s shoulder and relaxing when he feels Tony’s finger scrub though his hair to massage his aching head.

“Sure does kiddo,” Tony agrees, pulling the blanket up to Peter’s chest. “But at least its an easy fix.”

“I don’t want surgery,” Peter tells him quietly. Even with all of his many Spider-Man injuries he’s never had to be put under for anything. “Is May on her way?”

“Happy went to get her,” Tony promises him. “And surgery seems really scary but its not I promise. It’s like taking a really good nap and May and I will both be there alright? It’ll be fine Underoos.”

“Okay,” Peter says quietly, feeling slightly better but still a little concerned. But he would have May and Tony with him. It would be fine.

————————————————

“Guess we still need to tweak the anesthetic formula for you just a bit,” Mr. Stark says apologetically as he mops up the sweat on Peter’s brow with a damp cloth and supports him as he retches again. The surgery had gone well and had been quick. Waking up however?

Not so much.

“Just let it out baby,” May croons as she rubs his back, sweaty and making the thin hospital gown stick to his skin uncomfortably. Peter just gasps a little and squeezes his eyes closed, trying to take deep breaths through his nose to quell his nausea.

“I’m good,” Peter croaks a minute later, letting his aunt settle him back into the bed and fuss over him. He had barely woken up after the surgery before the vomiting started again. It had alarmed Tony but May and Dr. Cho had both determined that it was just a poor reaction to the anesthesia they used. With how fast him metabolism was, it should move through his system quickly.

“Can I get you anything sweetie?” May asked him, brushing his damp hair out of his face and sitting on the edge of the bed facing him.

“I’m okay,” Peter said, his eyes drooping from exhaustion. Tony squeezed his hand and tucked his blanket in a little tighter around him warming Peter up from the inside a little. He was so glad and thankful that he had the chance to get closer with Tony over the last couple months since the incident with the Vulture. The man was still a little awkward and learning how to be a mentor but he was trying and that’s all Peter could ask for. “Just want to sleep,” he said softly, letting his eyes slip closed.

“Okay baby,” he heard May whisper, running her fingers through his hair and Peter felt the ghost of a smile on his face. Yeah, he could probably handle this recovery.

#summerofwhump #summerofwhump23 #Prompt: Sick #irondad #spider man #Summer of Whump 2021

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spacestationdaedalus · 4 years ago

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post-canon JM but make them vigilante monster hunters

never seen a single episode but i think this might be the plot of supernatural? idk i bugged the server with this and now other ppl have to see it.

tw for general monster-related horror and descriptions of it, and very very mild injury

ao3 link here!

...

It's late. Again.

She sighs, rubbing at her eyes until starbursts dance in her vision. If her lab manager knew she was in here at god, is it already 3? in the morning, he would probably have a fit. But it's not her fault her work has been so. Uncooperative. Realistically, she could be doing some of this at home, but the lab computer already has everything she needs, and it's so much easier to focus here.

Well. Most of the time.

Her water bottle is still half full, but she decides a walk to the vending machine at the end of the hall would do her some good. She can stretch her legs and get some caffeine at the same time. Best of both worlds.

Right then, a sound cuts through the air. It's a dull roar, crescendoing to a peak that it maintains for a handful of seconds before fading away. As jumpy as she gets this late, she hardly bats an eye as she digs her wallet out of her backpack. It's a common sound to hear in the building, one that you get used to quickly once you spend some time here. The university has a wind tunnel it uses for classes, as well as research. She's seen it before, used it first hand - even down in the basement of the building, the roar of the compressed air tank when the valve is switched practically shakes the foundation. That's how you tell the first years apart from everyone else. They're the ones who jump when they hear it, looking around in confusion, and sometimes fear. But it doesn't take long for it to become background noise.

She's more concerned about the fact that it's so late. Some poor graduate student, down in the basement in the middle of the night running the tunnel instead of sleeping. Or doing literally anything else. Unfortunately, she can relate.

The door shuts with a weighty slam behind her. The silence of the building is even sharper after the echo of the wind, and she fights down the urge to shudder. The hall is long, dark - the university installed motion activated lights in most of the buildings a few years back, and the effect they create as she walks down the hall is surprisingly eerie. The fluorescents flicker on with the faintest clicks and hums as she walks below them, boots clicking against the tile floor. She's a fast walker, always had been - and the incessant sound of her footfalls in the quiet somehow puts her even more on edge.

The pale light from the vending machine reflects against the linoleum in a way that could be inviting. In theory. But it's really more off-putting than anything else, like the sickly glow of a motel sign off of the interstate, flickering a destitute "no vacancy" into the night. The selection is slim, but she punches in the code for an overpriced iced coffee that feels cool and familiar in her hand.

The scream of the wind tunnel comes and goes again, louder, now that she's outside the lab. She can't help the unease creeping down her spine in the wake of its silence. On one hand, it's a comfort to know at least one other person is in the building with her. But even then, the still quiet it leaves behind is always worse, and it sends the hair on the back of her head standing at attention.

It only gets worse as she walks, and she fights the urge to look over her shoulder. Everyone knows the feeling - when you're a kid, and you sneak into the kitchen in the dead of night to get a drink, only to sprint back up to your room as soon as you can because you're so, so sure something is coming for you.

And now that she's thinking about it, she can't not think about it, which is as futile as it is frustrating. She tries to force it down along with the beating of her heart, but the fear simmers beneath the surface like a pot on the stove, two seconds from boiling over. She's already more than halfway back, just a few more seconds and she can slam the lab door shut behind her and feel almost safe.

The roar of the tunnel, again. She can't help the jump, this time, on edge as she is. Strange, they don't usually run it so many times in so few minutes-

A thought comes to her then, without warning, the way they do when you realize you've forgotten something important. She remembers the conversation with striking clarity - Ajay, her roommate, working on a big research project. He needed to test his prototype in the wind tunnel, and he'd lamented to her over dinner the other day that a replacement part they needed downstairs wouldn't arrive until next week. Which sucked, because he has a deadline for a paper submission coming up and needed more data-

Most of this is useless. But she remembers, now, better than anything she ever has, that the wind tunnel hasn't been working all week. The lab is closed, would be until Wednesday, until the new part comes in.

The roaring shriek comes again, pounding against her eardrums in a way it never has before. Oppressive. Almost hungry. It's closer, it's louder.

It's behind her.

She turns. As she chokes on her own heartbeat and sinking dread, she turns.

And something is behind her.

Thin and wrong, inky black and too many limbs. A long torso with a long head attached, crooked on its neck. Gaping white sockets where eyes would, should, be. It has no mouth, and yet she knows with absolute certainty that it was making that sound. A mocking imitation of something so familiar.

And she knows, an anchor sinking into pitch black water, that it's going to kill her.

blood blood i need blood your blood your face you

It's in her head, a voice with no mouth to speak it. She opens her own mouth to scream, but it's useless to her. Nothing comes out, not even air. Maybe she can run, she has to run, has to get away. But she can't bring herself to turn even a sliver from the nightmare in front of her. A deep, primal fear convincing her that the second she can't see that thing is the second it will get her.

Maybe she can run, still, with her eyes on it. But one of her feet finds the other in her panic, and she falls to the floor. She thinks she feels a pain in her wrist, but it's dull and far away. Hardly a blip on the radar of fear fear oh my god what is that thing-

It's coming for her, all bending joints like limbs of a puppet, pulled by invisible strings, limping, creaking in unnatural steps and lunges. Its eyes never once leave her, glued to her in hungry determination. The roar comes again, but it's twisted and warped like scrap metal and just as jagged around the edges.

And then it stops. Not more than ten feet from her. Frozen. She doesn't breathe, she doesn't think she could if she wanted to.

"That's enough."

It's a man's voice, from behind her. She doesn't have it in her to turn around, to look away. But it doesn't matter. Whoever it is god she hopes it's a who and not a what steps up next to her, in front of her. It might not be accurate to say he's shielding her, but he's between her and it, and she doesn't feel relief, but she feels. Safer, somehow.

She's never seen him before. His hair is long, streaked with grey, half tied up in a bun at the back of his head. He's wearing a long dark coat over long dark pants, tucked into black combat boots. And that's really all she can see from the floor.

As he steps forward, the creature seems to recoil. It hisses, maybe, and then another sound follows. A sad remixing of its own imitating screech from before, not quite a howl but more of a cry. It sounds pained, almost, creaking and desperate. Limbs rear up, but amount to nothing. It's an uncoordinated movement as it falls back on something like haunches.

"I'm watching you, now. There's nowhere you can hide from me."

The man's voice sounds strange to her. There's a cracking, almost static quality to it. She has no idea what the man could possibly be doing, but it looks like it's working.

Until it isn't.

The thing writhes and shrieks again, louder. She can feel it down into her bones, scraping at her marrow, god she wants to throw up. The man in front of her staggers slightly. He mutters something like a curse under his breath, brings a hand to his head. The thing is moving again, shambling towards them. It looks weaker, shakier than before but no less threatening. No less horrifying. Maybe even more so, with the look of a sick, maimed animal as it staggers down the street.

She thinks she might be about to pass out with the sudden chill that overtakes her. But the fading of her vision never comes, and is that. Her breath? She can see it in the air in front of her, condensing like it does on cold winter mornings. With a blink she realizes there's a fog as well, come seemingly from nothing. It's thick and low-hanging, coating the floor of the hall and swirling upwards. It chills her exposed skin, goosebumps racing up and down her arms.

She assumes the thing must be doing this, a defense mechanism or something, but it's slower than before. Subdued. It's still making its way toward them, but it looks lost, like a fawn trying to walk on new legs.

Until another man comes from an adjoining hallway, and bashes its head in with a baseball bat.

It's a solid hit, and the thing goes down almost immediately. The man, the new one, gives another swing, and another, and a few more, for good measure. His bat is slick with something dark and oily. And then the thing is still.

It's quiet for a second, two, then-

"Excellent timing as always, dear." The staticy click of the first man's voice is gone. He sounds out of breath, even though he hardly moved.

The second man laughs, and the cold and the fog seems to fade with it. He's bigger than the first man, taller. He's wearing a bomber jacket over a nondescript t-shirt, fingerless gloves and jeans frayed at the edges. Like he just walked out of an action movie. Or a horror movie. With the thing laying at his feet, the second might be more fitting.

"That was cutting it a little close, Jon. We knew it was with the Stranger, that it could fight you off-"

"Yes, yes, thank you, Martin. That's what the bat is for, after all. The Lonely was probably a bit overkill, though."

"It's not overkill if we don't get ourselves maimed, Jon-"

The first man - Jon, apparently - turns to her then. His face is scarred, and dark shadows hang under oddly bright green eyes. But his gaze isn't unkind as he looks down at her.

"Sorry, are you alright? I was hoping we could take care of this when everyone was gone, but-" He laughs darkly. "Well, I was in university once, I should have known at least one student would still be here in the middle of the night, even on the weekend."

The man going by Martin walks over, as Jon extends a hand to help her up. She's lost all hope of her brain trying to process what's happening but step one can at least be get off the floor. But she can't even do that properly. The hand she raises is the same one she fell on, and the twinge from her wrist shoots up her arm almost immediately in a shout for attention.

It must show on her face too, because Jon makes a sound and then Martin's asking her, "Oh, are you hurt?"

"Uh, n-no, I mean…'s just, uh, my wrist. Kinda, fell on it funny." Her voice isn't exactly steady, but it's a far cry from where she was expecting it to be. At least she's orbiting the realm of comprehensible.

Martin crouches next to her. Up close she can see his face in more detail - his eyes are a slate grey, like the fog from before. But they're kind, wrinkled at the edges when he smiles softly at her. "Mind if I take a look?"

She's not exactly in a position to say no, so she gingerly holds her arm out. His hands are rough, calloused, but surprisingly gentle as they probe her wrist. She can't stop the trembling, now, completely unrelated to the pain.

"It's a sprain." Jon says, laced with certainty somewhere above her.

Martin sighs, long-suffering. "Thank you, Jon, I was getting to that."

"Just trying to help." She can't see him, but she can practically hear the cheeky smile tacked to the end of that sentence.

"As much as I hate saying it, he's right." Martin eyes her with something close to humor, like they're in on a joke together. He shrugs a backpack off of his shoulders, rummages through it with one hand. "I think we have some elastic bandages left for something like this…"

"Front pocket." Jon says again. He's moved closer to the thing, the corpse, it must be, now. He's turned away from her, and she can't see his face.

"Thank you, love."

"Of course."

"Um-" She cuts in suddenly, her nerves and panic getting the best of her. Martin looks up from her hand, and Jon turns back to glance at her.

"Sorry, uh, I just- what the fuck was that?"

"I'd tell you not to worry yourself over it, but I don't think that's much of an answer." Jon says, coming back towards them. He crouches down before he continues. "Let's just say this is...our day job."

"It is three in the morning, though."

"That would be the, colloquial use of the term, Martin."

"Just saying." With Martin in front of her she can actually see the cheeky grin, this time.

He uses the bandage to wrap her wrist. It smarts a bit, but the pressure helps. He's clearly adept enough to do this and talk at the same time, because he cuts in next. "We're here to make sure things like that-" he gestures with a nod of his head. "-don't hurt anyone."

Her mouth is full of sawdust. "W- what, like, monsters and shit?" She always did swear a lot when she was stressed.

"More or less."

"If it's any consolation," Jon says. "These things aren't exactly...common. You have to have a special kind of luck to run into something like this."

Yeah, luck.

He sighs, then. He looks tired. "I'm so sorry. If it means anything. This isn't the kind of thing you'll be able to just forget, or-"

"That's why we're here." Martin cuts in. He's finished with her wrist, neatly wrapped and held in place with little wire clips. "To try to stop stuff like this from happening, before it happens. Sorry we were late."

It's not a stretch to imagine what would have happened if they hadn't shown up even later, or not at all. But it's something she will try very, very hard not to think about.

She swallows. "I guess...thank you, then."

"Of course."

The adrenaline and sudden lack thereof leaves her with a jittery exhaustion deep in her core. But she has so many questions, how could she not-

A chill, and a rush of wind and waves hit her before she can get another word out. It's gone as quickly as it had come, so much so she thinks she imagined it. But suddenly, she's alone.

The men going by Jon and Martin and the misshapen corpse of that thing are gone. The hall is just as it had been before, dim lights and freshly polished tile. No sign of anything, or anyone. Except for her.

She knows with crushing certainty that it wasn't a dream. Couldn't be a dream. But she knows that's what people will tell her. So she says nothing. She says nothing, and hopes nothing ever leads her to cross paths with those two ever again.

#the magnus archives #tma #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #jonmartin #tma fics #my writing #wrote this at 4 in the morning and realized i actually vibed w it so here we are

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kumeko · 3 years ago

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A/N: For the @afterschoolzine! Sabito and Shinobu would probably get along with tormenting bullying helping Giyu, but only after they got to know each other.

…

There were many times when Sabito didn’t know what to do with the supposed human being known as Giyu Tomioka. Sure, they’d been friends since they were kids, with all the embarrassing stories that entailed. Sabito had watched as his best friend learned to ride a bike, accidentally asked out a girl (and got rejected in the same breath), and got more injuries from stray balls than was statistically probable. They’d gone through school together, even university, and by now he could confidently say he knew Giyu inside and out. Hell, he might even know Giyu better than his parents did.

Yet, despite that, Giyu somehow found a way to shock him every couple of months. Like today. Sitting in the middle of the staff room of the high school where they both taught, Sabito looked down at his half-filled coffee mug. Considering it was his second cup in the morning, he had to be awake. He glanced up once more at the nervous man in front of him. Not that most people would be able to tell. Giyu’s expressions ranged from rock to blank sheet for those who didn’t know him. Clearing his throat, he asked, “Run that by me again?”

“The students are asking me for advice,” Giyu repeated slowly.

That was exactly what he thought he’d heard. Sabito sipped his coffee, the bitter liquid jolting his senses. “They’re coming to you for advice?”

“Every morning.” Giyu’s shoulders sank at the memory. “I can’t give them advice.”

“That right there is the reason why,” Sabito muttered dryly, raking his hair as he took in his friend. To anyone else, Giyu’s words would have sounded callous, but Sabito recognized them for what they were: an admission of his abilities. An admission he agreed with utterly—sure, at that age, he’d also thought most adults were put together and knew everything about anything. Yet even just looking at him should have clued in the students that Giyu wasn’t the best choice. He was wearing a tracksuit, for crying out loud, while everyone else wore some level of professional clothing.

And no, being a gym teacher did not excuse Giyu’s lack of common sense.

Giyu nodded, taking his response far more seriously than he’d intended. “Could you do it instead?”

“Me?” Sabito frowned, not interested. He had his hands full with his class, let alone whatever kid thought that Giyu of all people was the best person to hear his worries. “You’re a teacher, too. You have to be able to handle this yourself.”

“Right.” Crestfallen, Giyu’s shoulders sank even further and he hung his head. It was like kicking a puppy.

Biting back a groan, Sabito gave in. As pathetic as his friend was sometimes, he could never let him flounder for long. “Alright, alright. I’ll help. But only if it looks like you can’t handle it.”

Giyu’s eyes almost sparkled and Sabito wondered just how long it’d be before he regretted his words.

-x-

There were many tasks Sabito had to finish before class started in the morning. Making sure his lesson plan was set, homework was marked, his supplies were ready—mornings were a busy time for him in general.

They were even busier now that he had to watch over Giyu. Even worse, he couldn’t just do it from a safe distance like a normal person. No, Sabito had to hide behind a row of bushes lining the school entryway, just centimeters away from his friend and the students as they slowly trickled in. He felt like a stalker from a cliché shoujo manga.

Peeking through the bushes, he watched as student after student was inspected by Giyu. At least it made sense now. It was hard to find a teacher alone in the morning, with all the pre-class prep. The only one consistently available and easy to find was Giyu. If Sabito were a teen and really needed the advice, he’d do it too. But only if he couldn’t wait till afterschool.

It seemed he wasn’t the only one with that thought. Sabito had been lurking in the bushes for a good half hour and students hadn’t so much as smiled Giyu’s way, let alone asked for his help. Maybe Giyu had imagined it. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d misunderstood someone’s intentions. He’d been infamous—

“Yes?” Giyu asked, his voice unnaturally loud as it cut through Sabito’s thoughts.

Sabito jerked his attention back to Giyu. Next to him stood a shorter boy, his expression animated as he talked. The burn mark on his forehead marked him as one of the kids from Shinobu’s classes—Tanjirou, if Sabito remembered correctly. Giyu kept looking back at the bushes panickily, not that Tanjirou noticed.

Shoot. Sabito silently apologized before leaning forward as he strained to eavesdrop on the conversation.

“—so we ended up deciding on a school play,” Tanjirou rattled off, his eyes bright as his voice increased in pitch. “And Nezuko’s going to be the princess!”

Giyu was sweating buckets, glancing from Tanjirou, to the bushes, and then back again. He didn’t say anything as Tanjirou rambled on and Sabito had to resist the urge to laugh. No wonder the kid had flocked to Giyu. To an outsider, Giyu was a great listener. He kept quiet, didn’t interject more than necessary, and always paid attention.

However, anyone who knew him longer than a few hours would realize that wasn’t the case at all. The only reason he kept quiet was because he couldn’t figure out what to reply with and by the time he did, it was always too late to respond. It was a cycle of sorts.

“She’s so cute in her dress,” Tanjirou gushed, almost vibrating from excitement. “Though she also looks really handsome in the knight’s suit.”

Giyu opened his mouth to say something before closing it.

“It was really hard, actually, picking a position—” The bell rang, cutting off Tanjirou before he could ramble for yet another twenty minutes. Jumping in surprise, he waved as he dashed toward the school. “Sorry, I’ll explain later!”

By the time Tanjirou reached the school doors, Giyu managed a weak, “…bye.”

Sabito snickered as he stood up, dusting the leaves off his suit. Stepping out of the bushes, he approached his friend. “What was that?”

Shooting him a baleful look, Giyu closed the school gates. It creaked as it moved, almost drowning out his response. “I…couldn’t help him.”

“I don’t think he needed any help,” Sabito replied wryly, rubbing his neck. There was not a single part of the conversation that looked like Tanjirou had expected a response, let alone wanted one. When Giyu still looked downcast, he squeezed his friend’s shoulder. “Seriously, I think he just wanted someone to listen.”

“But—”

Sabito interrupted firmly, “Sometimes that’s all there is.”

“…if you say so…” Looking utterly unconvinced, Giyu slowly trudged toward the school looking like a dog on his last walk.

There were times when Sabito was certain Giyu should have tried his hand at acting, he had the theatrics for it. “Fine, fine.” He rolled his eyes. “I’ll come again tomorrow, alright?”

-x-

Sabito sighed as he crouched behind the bushes once more. He certainly hadn’t expected to do this again, yet here he was, skulking in the shadows. Unlike yesterday, though, he was prepared this time with a coffee in hand.

Once more, students trickled in slowly, their arrival coinciding with club activities and class duties. Tanjirou didn’t appear this time. Yesterday’s chat must have cleared his system and Sabito resisted the urge to laugh as he remembered Giyu’s expression. This time, he’d take a photo of it. There were endless uses for it.

All he needed was a student pestering Giyu. Fortunately, he didn’t have to wait long as yet another one of Shinobu’s students just appeared in front of Giyu like lightning. Even if the blonde hair hadn’t given away who it was, the sobbing would have. Zenitsu bawled like a baby, water escaping his eyes like a waterfall.

“She didn’t want to date me!” Zenitsu wailed, his voice oddly clear despite his tearful state. “I bought her flowers, got her candy, and she didn’t want to date me!”

His voice increased in pitch with each complaint and maybe he should join the choir with range like that.

Giyu raised his hands helplessly, like he didn’t know what to do with them. This was perhaps the worst topic to ask him for advice. Sabito could count how many dates Giyu had been on with one hand. “Uhhh….”

“I’m going to die alone!” Sobbing, Zenitsu grabbed Giyu’s jacket and blew his nose on it.

It was almost enough to break Giyu’s stoic expression. He looked ready to die at any moment and it was a miracle he hadn’t recoiled after that.

Not taking any notice, Zenitsu pressed closer, still crying up a storm. “No one loves me!!!”

A small puddle started forming at their feet and Giyu looked down at Zenitsu frantically before turning to the bushes. There was no mistaking it this time, that wide-eyed panic was a clear call for help.

Automatically, Sabito started to rise before realizing he didn’t have a clue on how to react either. Were all the kids in Shinobu’s class weirdos? This wasn’t a normal level of heartbreak that any teen faced, no this was some existential crisis and it would take a therapist or two to fix.

All of a sudden, the tears stopped, and Sabito jerked his head up to catch Zenitsu’s smile as he pulled away. He wiped his eyes. “Thanks, I feel better now.”

Do you? Sabito almost asked, before remembering that he was hiding in the bushes like some sort of creep.

Aside from his red-rimmed eyes and runny nose, Zenitsu didn’t look like his heart had just been broken at all. Instead, he appeared practically cheerful as he skipped onward to the school. He even made a call me gesture as he passed by a girl.

Immediately, Giyu turned to Sabito’s bush, his expression identical to a kicked puppy’s.

Well, it wasn’t like Sabito had known what to do then either. Silently, he resigned himself to yet another morning in the bushes.

-x-

Wednesday was utterly absent of heartbroken boys or overly enthusiastic brothers. In fact, as Sabito sat behind a bush for the third day in a row, he had to keep pinching his wrist to keep awake. There hadn’t been a single student who’d bothered Giyu and secretly Sabito hoped that this would be the last of it. He did not like the fact that his footprints were now embedded in the mud here, or that he was seriously considering setting up a stool.

Five minutes before the bell rang, Sabito stretched his arms behind his back. Well, that was it. The only students left were the chronically late ones and considering that Tanjirou hadn’t passed yet, he was probably dashing up the street now. Resting his jaw on a hand, he waited impatiently for the kid to show.

He didn’t have to wait long. It only took fifteen seconds for a mop of brown hair to appear. A blur hurtling down the school path, Sabito could just make out a waving hand and a rush of apologies before Tanjirou disappeared through the school gate.

Turning back to Giyu, Sabito’s jaw dropped as the other infamous sibling ran in. Every part of her was a school violation, from the tips of her pink hair to her wrinkled socks to the pink contacts in her eyes. The biggest issue, however, was the loaf of bread in her mouth, making it impossible for her to talk.

There was something physically impossible about it, yet he couldn’t deny what was in front of his eyes. Looking just as shocked as he was, Giyu stepped forward to block her path. “That…”

She stopped in front of him, cocking her head expectantly. The bread remained in her mouth, the size somehow staying the same despite how much she chewed.

“That bread.” Giyu gestured at her mouth. “You will choke.”

Nezuko stared up at him for a good long second before nodding. Then she was gone again, bread still in her mouth, and Sabito wasn’t sure if she had even understood the question.

-x-

It was amazing how quickly a person could get used to something. Sabito had been sitting in the bushes four days in a row now and it felt like part of his morning routine to grab a stool, drag it to the bushes, and drink his morning coffee as he watched students and teachers arrive.

He was absolutely certain that another student would appear today, and the only question was if it would be someone who had already come or if it would be someone new. While he would never admit it aloud, this was starting to become the highlight of his day. If they made a betting pool out of it, he’d have raked in a fortune.

Well, as long as it wasn’t about guessing who’d come next, because oddities of oddities, Kanao was nervously tugging on Giyu’s sleeve today. Red-faced, she stuttered as she asked, “C-could you h-help me with something?”

Sabito rubbed his eyes, but the sight before him didn’t change. He would have thought that for any problems she had, she’d have gone to her sister. Maybe it was about Shinobu? Sensing something juicy, he leaned forward eagerly.

“I wonder how he’ll deal with this.”

Sabito froze at the slightly musical voice above him. There was no mistaking Shinobu’s voice, they verbally sparred several times a week now, and he tried to remember to breathe as she set her own stool next to him. Maybe he’d summoned her by thinking of her. That was supposed to only work with devils, but then again, she was close enough.

Not noticing his condition, Shinobu sipped her expresso as she watched the comical scene before her. “I can’t believe he actually went to you for help.”

“What?” Sabito broke out of his state to turn to her. “You did this?”

“Not exactly,” she corrected, utterly amused. There was a mischievous glint in her eyes. “I just let my students know Giyu was very good at listening.”

“You sly fox.” Shaking his head, Sabito sighed. It made a lot more sense now, the strange students that Giyu kept seeing and how most of them were from Shinobu’s class. This had to be some sort of stress relief. “You have nothing better to do than to tease him?”

“It’s not like you’re much better,” Shinobu pointed out, rolling her eyes.

He couldn’t deny it. There were plenty of times he’d done something just to see how Giyu would react. In front of them, a red-faced Kanao kept looking at the bushes nervously as she talked and Sabito asked, “And Kanao?”

“Okay, I might have sent her.” Shinobu shrugged easily. “But he needs to get better at this. He’s a teacher, after all.”

He couldn’t deny that either. Sometimes, he wondered if Shinobu actually liked Giyu, if this was her way of showing her friendship. A bigger part of him knew better than to ask.

-x-

There was only one problem student on Saturday, and for once Sabito was certain that this wasn’t Shinobu’s doing, even if the kid was in her class. For one thing, Inosuke wasn’t asking for advice or rattling off about some personal event. For the other, he was climbing over the massive ten-foot-tall wall that surrounded the school.

Giyu stood on the other side, his hands up nervously in front of him as he got ready to catch the student.

“I! Got! This!” Inosuke grunted, straining to keep a grip on the wall as he slowly lowered himself.

“You can’t do this,” Giyu replied back worriedly, and it was at times like this that Sabito had to begrudgingly agree to Shinobu’s point. At some point, Giyu had to learn how to talk to his students.

“WHAT?” Inosuke roared, his muscles tensing as he hurriedly lowered himself. Alas, just as they predicted, his grip wasn’t strong enough and he slipped down the wall instead.

Giyu ran under him, catching him in his arms before bumping into the wall from the rush. Eyes wide, he stared at the shocked bundle of boy in his arms. “You’re okay.”

It wasn’t a question, just a statement, and it was all Inosuke needed before he tumbled out of Giyu’s hands and onto the ground. Staring up at the wall, then at Giyu, Inosuke growled, “I could have handled that!”

“You couldn’t,” Giyu replied honestly and Sabito face-palmed. Honesty had its place, but Giyu had never figured out what that was.

Instead, he had said the worst words Inosuke could have heard, riling him up. “I CAN! AND I WILL!”

As he ran to the school like a rampaging boar, Sabito sighed. This wouldn’t be the last time Inosuke climbed over the school wall, not by a longshot.

-x-

“So?” Giyu asked, looking just as nervous as he had last week when he’d first brought up the issue. There was something expectant in his eyes, something that wanted more than just empty compliments.

Sabito scratched his cheek. Despite Shinobu’s meddling and aside from Kanao, the other students had genuinely come for Giyu’s help. And luckily, none of that stuff required actual help. If anything, they seemed content with just someone listening. Luckily, listening was Giyu’s strength. “You’re doing fine.”

“I am?” Surprised, Giyu stared at him as though he’d grown two heads.

“Really, you have!” Sabito clapped his friend’s back. “Just keep doing what you always do, and it’ll be fine.”

Reluctantly, Giyu nodded. “If you say so.”

“I do.” Sabito smiled. This was all for his friend’s sake, he reminded himself. So Giyu could become a better teacher.

This was not in the least because Shinobu had promised a more exciting problem next week.

#kimetsu no yaiba #tomioka giyuu #sabito #shinobu kochou #tanjiro kamado #zenitsu agatsuma #inosuke hashiriba #nezuko kamado #fanfic

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vintagedolan · 5 years ago

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genius (egd)

when college goes online, ethan gets to see you put your mind to work, and he realizes that maybe he can’t keep up

word count: 2.7k

warnings/tags: fluff, insecure!ethan, just lots of fluff okay

ps: this is my first imagine on this blog, feel free to send in requests! i’ll write most things! hope you enjoy :)

When you had to go to campus for school, it just seemed like you were going to work for Ethan. The schedule changed each day because of your classes, but you always managed commuting back and forth well; after all, why live on campus if you could live with him for free. You usually gave yourself a few extra hours around campus - nine times out of ten, your favorite coffee shop - to get your work done. E and Gray respected your need to work on school, but sometimes it was hard to focus if they were filming a video around the house.

But with the switch to quarantine and therefore online school, everything had been turned on its head. And Ethan was acting... different

The biggest change had been your location. As soon as quarantine was beginning to shut down travel, Ethan begged you to come back from California to be with him and his family in New Jersey.

It had only taken a few “Baby please, I can’t focus if I don’t know when I’m gonna see you next” type of pleas for you to succumb, and with online classes you had no reason not to. But that wasn’t the only change...

Your mornings started per usual - you were trying, no matter how futile, to stay close to your original schedule. When you woke up, you’d roll over into Ethan (if you’d strayed that is, sometimes you woke up wrapped up in his arms) and run your fingers along his cheek. It was always just enough to stir him so you didn’t startle him, but not enough to wake him up fully. Grayson had been nice enough to give the two of you their old room, and you soaked up the privacy while you could.

“Morning baby,” he would always mumble, pulling you in tightly to his chest for a minute and nuzzling into your hair. You’d be content there for a little while, pressing gentle kisses to his skin until he loosened up a bit and you were able to get free. Then, he would lull back to sleep fully, curling up in the covers when you got up. You’d pull on one of his hoodies, a sports bra and some pants, then head downstairs, laptop in hand.

Since you didn’t have to commute, you gave yourself about an hour more of sleep, which meant you actually got up around the same time as Grayson. Most the time, even he wasn’t up as early as you during normal school back in California. But seeing him in the morning now was actually really nice - you and Gray had bonded so quickly when you met them, and he was instantly like a brother to you. You weren’t sure it would have worked out if you weren’t as close as you were.

Wednesday morning, he was headed out on a run, but was eating his breakfast in the kitchen before he left.

“Morning Y/N,” he smiled, passing you a plate with a piece of avocado toast and some cut up apples that had been sitting on the counter.

“Gray you didn’t need to make me breakfast!” You exclaimed, but your heart warmed at his thoughtfulness.

“Early bird gets the worm. Besides, isn’t it almost finals week? I know that’s supposed to be hell, might as well get some good fuel in.” He said it casually, but you wanted to cry - it meant so much that he even knew that it was finals week in the first place.

“Thanks. It really means a lot,” you said, throat a bit tight.

“Don’t mention it,” he smiled, passing you and ruffling your hair as he headed out the door.

You ate the toast, grateful for something on your stomach as you started looking at the assignments you still had due this week. And as you expected, it was a lot. Lots of studying was a given, but you had a 30 page paper due by Friday, and you’d only made it about a third of the way through. You wanted to knock the rest of it out by the end of the day, but it was going to be hard, with lots of research involved.

And so you made another trip up to Ethan’s room, snagging your backpack and smiling at his curled up form and quiet snores. With a sigh you left the room again, curling up on the couch by all the tall windows, trying to at least enjoy the view if you had to be stuck by your computer all day.

Then the real work began. Website after website, journals, textbooks, citations; over and over and over again as you began to chip away at the paper. The world kept moving around you, mostly in the background. Grayson got back from his run, getting a glass of water from the kitchen. Lisa waved her good morning, leaving you to your work and not wanting to interrupt.

Your attention shifted around 10am, when Ethan made his way out of bed and into the kitchen, wiping the sleep from his eyes. He looked so soft in the morning, and you knew exactly what was coming before it even happened. You moved your laptop backwards, waiting.

Sure enough, he shuffled his way over to the couch, curling up on the cushions and laying his head on your lap, mumbling a bit as he got comfortable. You leaned down to kiss his head, running your fingers across his scalp and feeling him hum at the sensation. He was still tired - he always got up earlier if you weren’t still in bed with him - so it was no surprise that he dozed off again beside you. You simply reached over him, typing away on your computer as best you could.

If you had it your way, you’d spend the whole day doing nothing with Ethan. You’d be content to lounge out with him, doing nothing. Since the boys had switched from their vigorous schedule, they’d both become so much more relaxed, and it was so nice to enjoy the free time you had.

But you didn’t get your way. And the paper wasn’t going as easily as you thought it would.

So you wrote. And wrote. And wrote. It was like pulling teeth trying to piece it all together, and it was taking forever. The frustration mounted, and Ethan could tell you were stressed so he let you be, knowing that when you were doing school stuff it was better to just leave you to your devices.

But come 6pm, he couldn’t take the look on your face anymore.

“Baby. Babe. Y/N.” It took three times to get your attention, but you peeled your eyes away from the screen, looking up at him. He looked sad, but you’d known him long enough to realize that he was worried.

You slid your laptop over to the arm of the couch, signaling that you wanted him to join you for a minute. You hadn’t even noticed he had a cup of tea in his hand, which he sat down on the table for you before he sat down next to you.

“You alright? You’ve been working all day.” His voice was soft, and his skin was cold. You realized suddenly that he smelled like a mixture of pine and saw dust. He’d been outside with Gray.

“I’m okay. Just stressed out. This paper isn’t as easy as I thought it would be, but I’ve made it this far and I’m gonna finish it today if it kills me,” you explained, rubbing at your eyes. They were sore from staring at your screen for so long.

“Which translates to ‘I love you but I’m not taking a break no matter what you say’, huh?” Ethan offered you a soft smile. You leaned into his shoulder, nuzzling up for a moment and breathing him in.

“Once I’m done I’m all yours. Promise,” you whispered.

“That’s not what I’m worried about love. I just don’t want you in here all stressed out. I hate it,” he explained.

“I’ll be okay,” you reassured him.

“I know, and I know you’ll kill it, like you always do. Doesn’t mean I like seeing you upset. What’s this one about anyways?” He gestured to your screen.

“Spinal cord injuries. It’s a case study about a 16 year old, focused on paraplegia, and patient education about autonomic dysreflexia.”

“Well, as usual, I’m fucking useless,” he mumbled. Usually when he said something about your intelligence in regards to his, he was joking. But there was something else behind this one that made your heart tighten a bit.

You were about to ask him what was wrong, but Grayson came back in from outside - the workshop, no doubt - and made his way to the kitchen.

“Y/N, you up for two Grayson meals in one day? I’m making veggie burgers,” he offered, already pulling out pans.

“Yeah that would be great actually,” you smiled at him.

“Alright, 3 burgers coming up,” he replied, not having to ask Ethan if he wanted one.

“You got this. I’m gonna work on the video for a while, okay?” Ethan kissed your temple before getting up and leaving you to it.

With the quiet rustle of Grayson cooking in the background, and the warm tea waking you up a bit, you got to work at a much faster pace than you had before. Even so, you didn’t beat Grayson and he stopped by with a plate as you typed away.

“More brain fuel for the genius of the family,” he teased, sitting it down next to you.

“Thanks Gray, love you!” You chuckled, immediately starting to eat, not realizing how hungry you were.

It was good, as most things that Grayson made were, and it gave you the final boost that you needed.

By 7:30, you had submitted the paper and felt like a huge weight had lifted off your shoulders. You hopped off the couch, scooping up all of your things and heading back to Ethan’s room.

As usual, he was on his computer with his headphones on, editing away. You sat everything down, coming up behind him and putting a hand on his shoulder, a non-startling way to let him know you were there.

He kissed the back of your hand before taking it and gently pulling, spinning the chair around with the momentum and pulling you down so you settled in his lap facing him. Like this, you were taller than him, and he reached both hands up to cup your face, one moving to take your hair out of the bun that it was in, strands falling around the both of you as he kissed you.

His scruff tickled you as your lips moved together, making up for the lost time of the day. His hands moved down to your waist, large and warm as he squeezed, his fingers moving under your hoodie until he found your skin. No matter how many times he did this, it always took his breath a bit, and he pulled back for a second to look at you.

“You finished your paper I assume?” He smiled, freeing a hand to tuck some hair back from your eyes. You rested your cheek in his tattooed palm, gazing at him.

“Yep.”

“Feel better?”

“Mostly.”

“Mostly?” He countered, confused.

“What were you upset about earlier?” You asked.

“Nothing.”

It was a knee jerk reaction, and he knew that you weren’t going to take that as an answer. You simply waited, settling on his lap and tucking your forehead up against the side of his neck, tracing over his collarbone tattoo while you waited for him to find the words. Sometimes, he found it easier if he wasn’t looking right at you to say what he felt.

“You’re out of my league,” were the words he finally found, and it took all your power not to scoff.

“Why do you feel that way?”

“You’re so much smarter than me. You’re about to finish college, and I barely have a high school diploma to my name. You just wrote a paper, god knows how long, and I didn’t even know what you were talking about. I wouldn’t even understand it, much less be able to help you with it like I should. I just feel stupid, all the time.”

There were a million different things you wanted to say, but you’d learned something while dating Ethan. For him, he thought anything you said was out of obligation. He felt like you were ‘just saying it to make him feel better’, not because you meant it.

So instead, you’d learned you needed to show him.

You got off his lap, ignoring the panic on his face as you sat back down, now facing the same way as him, the computer screen lighting up your faces.

“What were you doing before I came in here?” You asked, keeping your tone neutral.

“Editing, you know that,” he said, even more confused.

“No, what exactly were you doing?”

“Importing footage, splicing, adding transitions, text overlays. The usual,” he explained.

“Do you realize that I have absolutely no idea how to do any of that?” You said, turning to look at him.

“You could learn, I could teach you easily.” His eyebrows furrowed.

“Just like I could teach you about spinal cord injuries.”

You let that sit for a minute, knowing he wasn’t going to have an argument against you.

“You are smart Ethan. You put your energy and your knowledge into your work, and I put mine into school, which I’ll eventually put into work as well. And besides, if anyone is out of someone’s league, you’re definitely out of mine,” you smiled.

“Well, maybe you aren’t so smart if you believe that, even for a second.”

There was light in his eyes again, and you knew the storm had passed.

“Now then, when does that video have to go up?”

“Whenever.”

“Then I think we’ve both spent enough time staring at a screen today. Cuddles?”

His answer was given by wrapping a strong arm around your waist as he stood you both up. You knew the drill; he was about to pick you up, pull the covers back and put you down in bed, but he paused.

“Too many clothes,” he mumbled, a mischievous grin on his face. He quickly pulled his shirt off over his head - a fresh one, you hadn’t even noticed that he’d changed from what he’d worn all day. He tossed it on the bed before turning to you, fingers toying at the hem of the hoodie you had on.

He quickly pulled it over your head, and then he groaned.

“What?!” You giggled, looking down at yourself.

“Regular bra’s I can handle, but those things are a death trap. I always feel like I’m choking you,” he gestured to your sports bra. You laughed a bit, pulling it over your head yourself and tossing it to the side. Ethan reached past you to snag his shirt, pulling it over your head. Once your face cleared the collar he kissed you softly, smiling as you tilted up to meet him.

His fingers tucked into your sweatpants, guiding them off your hips until they fell down in a puddle at your feet. You stepped out of them quickly.

“Much better,” he smiled, hands going to your hips as you jumped up onto him. Your legs wrapped around his hips and his hands moved around to your ass, holding you up. You kissed him again, running your fingers through his short hair.

“Cuddles?” You poised again.

“I could stay here all day,” he grinned, kissing you again.

“Suit yourself,” you smiled. It wasn’t hard for you to just hang there.

“Alright fine, I’m cold. Dismount.”

You smiled at the code word, climbing down off of him and crawling into bed, opening your arms.

Ethan was right behind you, crawling under the covers and wrapping you up in his arms.

“I can’t wait for your semester to be over so we can do this all day long,” he mumbled, breath warm on his skin.

“Hmmm, maybe I’ll make you teach me how to edit so I can be double smart,” you grinned.

“Oh shut up.” You could hear the eye roll in his voice, but he just pulled you closer, so tight you could barely breathe.

“I love you, lil genius,” Ethan said into your hair, loosening up a bit and settling into a comfortable position.

“Love you more, big genius.”

#did i write this to avoid my paper about this very topic?#why yes #yes I did #oops #lynds writes #ethan imagine #ethan dolan #grayson dolan #dolan twins #dolan imagines #dolan twin imagine #ethan dolan imagine #ahhh why am I scared to post this #rip me #ethan imagines

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paenling · 4 years ago

Text

Psychosomatic

On Ao3.

Danny huffed against his forearm, chin pressed to the scratched-up surface of his desk. Lancer continued to ramble in his periphery—and he tried to pay attention, he really did, but the words floated in one ear and out the other, meaningless noise. He thumbed along the corner of his textbook, quietly flicking the pages with his left hand while his right took down sparse notes.

Sam and Tucker had both placed above him into a slightly more advanced section, so they could help if he asked, but it was still a pain to be without ready-made notes to borrow. It kind of really sucked.

“Turn to section five," said Mr. Lancer. “Page two-hundred sixty-one."

Lowering his pen, Danny moved to do as he was told, but found himself interrupted by a sudden slit of pain across the pad of his thumb. It was small, but a fresh paper cut stung on the most sensitive part of his dominant hand. He sighed. Just his luck, wasn’t it?

Lancer cast a wary eye towards Danny's noisy hiss of discomfort. He pressed his thumb against his lips, sucking briefly on the cut, before shaking his hand out with a sheepish grin. After a moment's examination, the teacher dipped his head and resumed whatever he was writing on the whiteboard. Danny swallowed.

Ectoplasm had a very distinct taste and texture. It was thick and syrupy and congealed easily into something like soft gelatin. Even as a liquid it was freezing to humans, mildly corrosive and sick-sour like rot. For Danny the taste was like sucking on a penny soaked in embalming honey. Dense and filling and refreshing and light. Coppery and bitter but giving way to stagnant sweetness, staticky like pop rocks but also luxuriously smooth and filling citrus-sharp ambrosia—

It made him feel like an odious, vulgar, wicked dead thing to have thoughts like that. But ghosts weren’t monsters and he really wasn’t a ghost. It was fine. He was fine.

Some shadowy echo of that alien bliss passed over his tongue when he swallowed, thrillingly cool as it slid down his throat. Faint, masked by heavy rust, diminished, but fresh. It must have been a mistake, but he knew it. His mouth grew immediately slick with desire, teeth seeming to throb with his pulse.

He glanced surreptitiously around and pressed a palm to his chest. His core hummed, frigid and dormant opposite his sluggish heart, but also weightless and prickling with muzzy excitement. Uneasily, he tamped it back down, shrugging to shake the eagerness from his back. It must have been nothing. Danny slowly, carefully picked up his pencil to resume jotting down notes. He just needed to last through class—

Ectoplasm, or something like it, dripped sluggishly down over the lead, fragrant and heady. Just a drop coaxed free of the seam, but his wet mouth flooded. Drool slipped past his lips to crawl down from the corner of his mouth, and he hastily tugged at the front of his shirt to wipe his face. His heart leapt up to his throat as he turned his hand over to examine his injury: virescent sludge oozed from the papercut on Danny’s thumb. It was black. He almost choked, but glanced up to find shaggy dark hair hung over his brows. He was human, but this wasn’t his blood. This had to be a mistake.

It didn’t glow like raw ectoplasm, but it wasn’t red either. It was too thick. He had no way to explain the oily dark green-grey stuff leaking from his skin. Danny closed his fist around it with a grimace. The not-blood beaded beneath the pressure of his fingers, but did not escape. He wiped it on the waistband of his jeans instead, where his baggy shirt would hide the stain. Shaking, Danny raised his uninjured hand.

“Yes, Daniel?" The teacher's sharp grey eyes passed him over once, then again, and his sleepy brow furrowed with just the slightest hint of worry. How many other eyes were on him? Everyone was staring. “You look pale. Are you feeling unwell?"

Danny wanted to answer, but his teeth were too big and his tongue felt thick and clumsy. His syrinx squeaked. This was a mistake. It was wrong. He was still drooling, but he couldn’t swallow. He must have been doing a worse job controlling his breathing than he'd thought, because Mr. Lancer was at his side in an instant. All the hair on his arms stood on end; his neck prickled, lips itching, ears burning.

When had he started to tremble? It was so loud in the classroom—a score and change of syncopated human heartbeats like drums pounding booming crashing constantly in the air. Pencils scratched and feet tapped and keychains clattered. It was loud like war. His core screamed beneath his ribs, drowning out his sluggish heart. Was he even breathing at all?

Mr. Lancer moved to help him up. “Do you need an escort to the nurse?"

He shook his head vigorously, fisting his hands in his shirt. “Bathr’m,” he managed to slur. He rose to his full height and wobbled that way. His skin was too tight. Vertigo pressed down on him, and he bent over with arms wrapped tightly around his middle. He was going to burst out of himself. Danny’s mouth was dripping; he hoped it could be passed off as symptomatic of the nausea. “G’nna throw’p.”

Danny started towards the door before Lancer even finished nodding. Distantly, he registered the teacher giving instructions to the rest of his class: do odd numbered problems on page two-eighty-seven, you can collaborate, finish the rest as homework—

The empty hallway stretched on forever. Wasn’t the bathroom only a few doors down? Danny swayed, vision swimming in watercolor smears. The cut on his hand was shallow and it hardly even bled at all. It didn’t even hurt. It was a paper cut. There was no reason for him to feel this way—this sickness. Suffering. A craving for something he couldn’t quite grasp. He’d swallowed a full ecto-filtration cell on Wednesday, so he couldn’t be Hungry. Besides, he’d never reacted to his own blood before at all, let alone so soon after feeding his ghost half.

This was a mistake. Was he really this paranoid? This weak?

What was wrong with him? He wasn’t Hungry, he was Full. Just the thought of Eating made him feel sick with guilt; his guts twisted at the sheer ugly selfishness of it. He could go without for weeks more, if he didn’t waste his energy—there was no reason to want to take so badly, to be so gluttonous, and yet here he was, drooling buckets in public at the mere suggestion of ghost-blood like some kind of starving animal. He was ugly and it was evil, bristling through his insides, sticking him full of shame.

His core was heavy in his chest, leaking cold into his bones like reverse-heartburn. The bathroom tile felt tacky and hot under his knees. When had he gotten there? He lunged over the bowl and coughed up a wet slurry of ectoplasmic slime. Ropes of mucous slobber swung from his parted jaws as he dry-heaved into the toilet—he had nothing to throw up but bile, briny and sour. Hot tears stung at his eyes and Danny choked on a wretched sob.

The bathroom door clicked shut. “Daniel?” Mr. Lancer’s nervous heart was very close behind him. “Do you need me to call your parents?”

Danny growled. His syrinx popped in his throat, issuing a low whine of ghostly static that he fought to swallow and suppress. “No,” he croaked, breathing hard enough to ruffle the water in the basin. He choked on his tongue. “No, no, no—J’zz—?”

“Jasmine?” Lancer ventured. His voice shook, panic spoken of in the rabbit’s pace of his heart. It filled the space where Danny’s own chest throbbed so quiet and sluggish, sticky, faltering—if he focused he could pretend it was his own. “Do you want me to get your sister?”

Danny nodded through his swimming vision, still slavering even as he retreated from the basin. It wasn’t going to stop. He wanted to ask for it to be over, but the English language was starting to become blurry. A ragged noise escaped him, broken and pathetic. Clear globs of slime fell from his mouth and hit the tile with faint wet smacks. He hoped Lancer couldn’t see that.

Could he see? What color were Danny’s eyes? How long were his teeth? Did he know?

Mr. Lancer’s warm hand burned through his shirt, a hot human print stamped between his shoulder blades—but then it was gone. “Strange Weather!” he swore. “You’re shaking—I’ll be right back,” he assured, and then his rapid, panicked steps clattered out of the bathroom.

Danny leaned back from the toilet, pressing his head against the graffitied side of the stall. He reached clumsily up to swipe lines of bilious drool from his chin, but succeeded only in smearing green-tinted slime onto his nose. Sour film thickened his mouth, and pressure throbbed steadily behind his eyes. He wanted to shed his skin and fly away, but his body betrayed any such plans. Jittery and sick, it was all he could do to fold his heavy limbs into a ball and shake as the walls collapsed around him.

Time dilated. He trembled on the bathroom floor for what felt like a long time. It could have been minutes, or just as easily hours. It made no difference to him.

He closed his eyes, but then Jazz was there. Her velvet flats scuffed quietly on the tile and her gentle hands flew to smooth down his sweaty bangs. “What happened?” She asked. The warm living body pressed against him made Danny feel sick, not Hungry, and that was a mercy.

“Can’t wanna eat,” he moaned, voice splintered and small. “Hate it!”

“Oh, Danny. He’s having a panic attack, Mr. Lancer.” A delicate grip wrapped around his arm and hauled him shakily to his feet, trembling with fear or effort or both. Jazz stroked his hair, pressing her knuckles against his sweaty forehead. “Running warm, too.” She patted his cheek to get his attention, and he allowed his head to loll towards her. “When’d you last—um, take your medicine?”

Danny swooned, dribbling all over the front of his shirt. “Wez’day.”

“That’s not right. You should be fine until next week,” said Jazz, and her face was a vague peach-colored smear in his periphery, but Danny could sense her frowning.

“M’sure,” he insisted through a hitching breath. Was he crying? When had he started?

She turned to Mr. Lancer. “You were there when this happened, right? Did you notice anything at all that could have triggered it?”

“No—or,” Lancer stammered. “He raised his hand and I thought—well, I thought he was making excuses again, but…”

“S’kay,” said Danny. “I geddit.” He did that a lot, didn’t he? And he could hardly remember the last time he was actually sick. An undead microbiome was bad for regular pathogens, probably. He heaved.

“Shouldn’t we be getting the nurse?” Lancer hovered behind them, wringing his hands over his belly.

“Won’t do much good at this point. Help me clean him up a little, please.”

Mr. Lancer’s heartbeat was very, very loud—enough to make Danny whine and cringe, pawing miserably at his ears. Somewhere in the walls, pipes rattled, and the vent above the door seemed to wheeze. Jazz’s faint perfume was nauseating. Everything was loud.

“Jasmine—is this something that happens often? Why was the school never notified?”

Danny could feel the older man’s wild heartbeat pounding through the hands on his shoulders, pounding booming crashing into his very bones. Some ugly instinct made him—part of him, anyway—want to give chase to such a beautiful prey-blood pulse, but the fleeting desire crashed against his wrenching sickness in a shower of inner sparks. His legs felt like rubber, and he coughed harsh and wet into one clumsy hand to mask his growl. Mr. Lancer patted him gently on the back and Danny hissed over the sink, choking and drivelling into the drain.

“It’s…” The tap turned on, washing away the slime, and suddenly there was a wet paper towel on his brow. “Do you remember his accident last year?”

“With your parents’ portal?”

“Yeah.” Jazz moved behind him, and there was another napkin pressed to his mouth, gently dabbing at his messy, trembling lips. “It had side effects,” she said, voice small and brittle. “There’s no cure, but it’s never gotten this bad since… well. Probably since around the actual Accident.”

“Your parents can’t do anything at all?” Lancer sounded dismayed.

“No,” Danny spat into the sink. “Can’t.”

He cringed as Jazz dumped a handful of water over his face, but it helped to clear his vision somewhat, and he grunted his thanks. It took some guidance, but Danny craned his neck to lap bitter spray straight from the faucet. Lukewarm and mixed as it was with slippery ectoplasmic bile, he had to force the first revolting mouthful down by sheer force of will alone, but after that Danny found himself drinking greedily.

“Slow down,” Jazz chastised, but she made no move to stop him. “You’ll make yourself sick again.”

Reluctantly, Danny did as he was told. His hair got soaked and he nearly brained himself on the faucet in the process, but he managed to withdraw, panting hard. From there, he slumped upright against the wall and lowered his head, letting excess water roll down his nose to pool in the grout between his sneakers.

“You don’t need more, do you?” She wasn’t talking about the water. “Mr. Lancer, can we have a minute?”

Hesitation. Fear? No, only concern. Talking sounds, heard through molasses. Low urgency, reticent agreement. The bathroom door creaked and clicked shut like a thunder-crash, but the heartbeat lingered outside. Jazz said something else. She repeated her question.

He tried to—pay attention—shake his head. He really did, but the—words—the motion fell beyond his reach, meaningless twitching. Danny slavered anew. Did he need more? Did he need it? He didn’t want it, but he was desperate. His stomach was Full but it wanted more, didn’t it? It really did, didn’t it? His fingers curled of their own accord against the cheap shiny surface of the tiles—did the off-white linoleum crack under his nails? Were they too sharp right now? Jazz’s hands were on his wrists. He growled low in his chest.

She was saying his name, but she was little. She was small. Danny was—what was he? Shaking. Drooling. Rumbling. He had to be Hungry. He screwed his eyes shut, shivering, and ground his sharp teeth together. The pipes groaned in the walls. Somebody said something, but it just floated in one ear and out the other, meaningless noise.

Jazz reached out and slapped him. Hard. His head whipped to the side with the force of it, and he almost fell—would have fallen, had she not caught him.

Danny swatted at her out of reflex, but quickly faltered, sagging instead into her imploring arms. “Fuck,” he gasped. How long had he been holding his breath? She held him just a little too tight to be purely supportive, and he tried not to feel too hurt by the knowledge that she didn’t trust him. He wouldn’t, in her position. “Shit, thanks, Jazz.”

“Are you going to flip out if I let go of you?”

He shook his head and the room spun. “Lemme sit.” His stomach felt heavy and cold.

“I didn’t hit you too hard, did I?” There was guilt in her voice as she helped him slide down against the cool surface of the wall. “You were getting… uh.” Her sea-green eyes flicked towards the door, then back again. “The way you do. I didn’t know how else to snap you out of it.”

Danny shrugged. “S’kay,” he mumbled, then realized. “Crud, I’m sorry.” At her questioning look, he elaborated. “I made you run out of class.”

She laughed at him, short and strained. “I’d run out of a Harvard interview for you. You know that.”

Thick ghost-drool, still fresh, came away from his chin in syrupy ropes strung between his fingers. “Ew. I’ll try to refrain from having unplanned… emergencies while you’re shooting your shot.” He took the paper towel she offered him and scrubbed at the remaining mess. There was no way he could even think about Eating right now. “Where’re we at with Lancer, again? Er—where is he, anyway?”

“I asked him to step out when you started getting riled up,” explained Jazz, very patiently. “He thinks it’s a side effect of the portal accident.”

Danny groaned. “Yeah, that works. Why’d I wait a year to puke my guts up, though?”

Jazz rolled her eyes, but her voice was gentle. “You’re more likely to get sick if you’re stressed. We can tell him that you’ve been stressed out and that must have caused the flare-up.”

That made sense, he thought. “Do I get to go home?” Ancients, he was exhausted.

“I’ll drive you.” Danny opened his mouth to protest, but she bulldozed him with practiced ease. “It’s only one period we’re missing, and I wanna make sure you rest.” Her expression hardened, if only minutely, when she added, “And you’re sure you ate on Wednesday? This Wednesday?”

“Yes,” he insisted. “When I emptied the filtrator.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You hate the filtered stuff.”

“It’s piss, Jazz, but I’d take it over the alternative.” He grimaced and ran his tongue over his teeth. “Going feral and biting Skulker in half during a fight would be kinda shitty for my PR.”

“Don’t dodge the question,” scolded Jazz. “You know it doesn’t work on me. I just mean, did you have enough?”

“The whole cell,” promised Danny, with any luck sharply enough to brook no argument—maybe a little too sharply, if her skeptical frown was any indication. “Chugged it, and my activity’s normal. I don’t need more. My—I don’t know. These impulses don’t change that I’m Full.” He turned his eyes to the floor, cowing beneath her scrutiny. “Can we just go? Please? I wanna go home. I could sleep for a week and I miss my fucking blanket nest.”

Jazz nodded, but her expression was pinched, mouth set thin and unhappy. “It’s bad for you to repress this stuff,” she warned even as she pulled him to his feet. “Do it long enough and you’ll get… confused.”

“Not now,” he growled. Danny’s legs wobbled beneath him, knees knocking together, and a flush of anxious heat crawled up his neck. He hoped Mr. Lancer would be charitable in letting them go and asking few questions.

And he was, more or less. Mr. Lancer said he’d tell the attendance people that they were excused, and he also said something to Danny about hoping he’d feel better. It was probably a nice, tender moment of concern, but Danny wasn’t feeling it.

Nausea churned in his guts, and it took an embarrassing amount of support to stagger out of the bathroom and into the hall. His belly was full and soothingly cold as though he had never been sick or starving at all. It made him feel—what? Like a doll, maybe. As though all his inside parts had been scooped out and he was just feeling afterimages. Jazz would probably have a field day if he told her about that, so he didn’t.

This wasn’t all in his head. It wasn’t. It couldn’t have been fake, imaginary, made up. His feelings were real. They were real because ghosts weren’t monsters and he wasn’t a ghost. He was human and alive.

Wasn’t he?

#danny phantom #ghost hunger #angst #fanfiction #body horror #milo writes

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embry-tea · 4 years ago

Text

Word Generator with Byakuya Togami, Nagito Komaeda, Gundham Tanaka, Kokichi Ouma, Beta Junko Enoshima, and Beta Ibuki Mioda!!!

Cursing!!!

вуαкυуα Тσgαмι 💵

"Piano"

~+^+~

Byakuya was a very intelligent man. He had to be, if he wasn't, he'd disappoint everyone. He knew how to do many things that would never be useful for him, such as sewing or how to make ceramic dishes. He also was well versed in planning instruments. Violin, bass, harp - he knew how to play each one. While he wasn't a big fan of piano, he still knew how to play it. Maybe it would come in handy one day....

"Are you alright? You seem troubles," Togami questioned his partner as they walked into the library. It wasn't very often they looked visible sad, so naturally Byakuya was concerned.

"I need to practice this song for my next performance, which isn't a problem in itself, I already know the lyrics, pace - I know how to sing the song. Issue is, to perfect the song, I'd have to sing while the main instrument plays. But the only person I know that plays piano is Kaede Akamatsu, and she broke her arm," they ranted while slightly pacing back and forth. Byakuya thought carefully about what they said. He knew how to play piano, but he didn't enjoy playing the instrument. However, his lover someone had the ability to make normal "commoner" activities fun. He made a decision.

"I know how to play the piano, I could help you." The words fell out of his mouth before he could stop them. Their eyes lit up and they marveled at him. "Really? Wow, you surprise me everyday!" they exclaimed, before pulling Togami into a hug. "Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!!!"

"Anything for you, love."

~+Є^И^∂+~

Иαgιтσ Кσмαє∂α 🍀 (They're seniors in college in the story.)

"Memory"

~+^+~

Nagito had the habit to suddenly remember things at the most random points in time. Example, a few months back, he suddenly remembered a time his mother bought him a really ugly stuffed dog. Despite it's ugliness, Nagito loved it. It was a gift from his mother and she knew it was ugly. She knew Nagito would like because it was an ugly toy. Nagito could never control when he suddenly had random memories of the past, but maybe his luck would make it come right on time....

Nagito was very nervous. Today had gone well so far, his luck hadn't interfered yet but that doesn't it won't interfere at all. Today was a special day. It was his and his lover's anniversary; 4 years strong. Nagito had a very special surprise planned today: he was gonna propose. Right now, as the fireworks the loved

rs were watching were going off. Nagito sucked in a breath before starting off his miniature speech.

"Hope? I've been meaning to tell you something," Nagito started as they looked at him, quirking an eyebrow to signify they were listening. He continued, "We've been together for over four years now and, I don't know about you but things have been going pretty great in my mind, I have never been happier in my life," he paused. He had to do this. They turned their entire body to face him.

"I wondering if you would do me the honors," he spoke softly. But then his luck hit and he went silent.

"Ko? Are you okay?" they asked Komaeda carefully as he buried his face into his hands.

"It's gone." He didn't look up at you. "What's gone?" they asked, worried for their boyfriend.

"The ring! I planned this all week! Everything was going great, but the ring is gone!" he raved about his predicament. He had this entire planned out, but he never thought he would drop the ring! They attempted to comfort Nagito bug it didn't seem to work. An idea popped into their head. They also had something planned.

"Hey, love.You remember when we went to Hope's Peak and one day, I arrived to school without my school lunch card?" they asked him. Nagito looked up at them in confusion, but nodded anyway. "Yeah, I remember. You had to skip breakfast at home because you were late, and almost cried when you realized you didn't have it. I let you use mine that day because I wasn't planning on eating anyway."

They reached into your pocket, smiling. Covering Nagito's eyes with they're other arm, they pulled the small box put of their pocket before putting it into Komaeda's hand.

Komaeda stared in shock, they were planning the same thing.....

"Consider that my payment. Now come on. Let's go look for the other ring."

~+Є^И^∂+~

Gυи∂нαм Тαиαкα 🐹 (Place holder name will be Persephone. Pronouns are still GN.)

~+^+~

"Employment"

Persephone needed a job. And fast. They and their mother got into a fight - a very bad fight. She withdrew all her money from their college funds without warning, and no matter what Persephone did, she refused to put the money back. To add insult to injury, they got fired from their previous job without reason.

So here Persephone was now, walking home after a failed interview. 'We'll call you,' such bullshit. They were scowling at the ground, upset with the interviewer for being such an idiot. Persephone did everything right, they were sure of it. On the way back to their apartment, they passed by a vet clinic before reversing to look at the place. A "Help Wanted" sign was on the door for an assistant. They had basic knowledge of animals and animal healthcare, they knew how to be an assistant, how to make appointments, how to properly handle animals. This could work. To make it even better, they recognized the name as a place a classmate worked at. Gundham Tananka was it? Persephone entered the building.

"Hello? Anyone in here?" they asked out loud as they walked around the large front desk area. A few minutes of sitting in there, waiting for someone to appear, they eventually gave up and was about to gloomily walk out when a elder women walked in.

"Oh, hello, dearie. I came to get my dog checked up on. She's been acting funny recently," the woman spoke, holding a very adorable teacup dog.

"Um, is it an emergency? I could go get someone in here immediately," Persephone spoke, pointing to where the back was.

"No, not necessarily. She still seems very healthy and she's eating and doing number two just fine," the woman explained, Persephone looked at the calendar on the desk.

"Okay, well judging by the schedule, it seems that it'd be best to come back tomorrow and see if you could get in sometime on Wednesday or Friday. However, if it's easier for you, you could call us!" Persephone feigned working here just for a moment. The woman asked for the number and looking at the wall behind the women, they were able to read it out to her.

As the woman left, a deep voice came from behind Persephone.

"Are you looking for a job here?"

~+Є^И^∂+~

Кσкι¢нι Συмα 🤥 (Place holder name is Athena. Pronouns are they/them.)

"Advice"

~+^+~

What would someone do in this situation? Kokichi sat there, awkwardly rubbing Athena's back as they sobbed and raved about the most recent break-up they've had. From what Kokichi was able to clearly understand, they're ex was cheating on them with two other people. It really effected them. So much so, in fact, that before Ouma arrived, they cut/dyed their hair and self-pierced they're ears. What does Kokichi do?

Advice. He has to come up with the best damn advice he could think of.

"THEY HAD THE FUCKING NERVE TO CALL ME THE WHORE. BITCH, I WILL FUCKING SET YOUR CAR ON FIRE," Athena shouted over their own sobbing, shoveling ice cream into their mouth. Perfect.

"I suck at giving advice, but I guess I could manage just this once," Ouma started, before continuing, "You should tell the other people since, from what I gathered, they don't know. Yet. You should also get in contact with his mother. Most moms I've met would be so mad at they're som in this situation."

Athena sighed, finally calming down their relentless sobbing. They fell back against the bed looking sadly at the ice cream between their legs. An idea arrived in their head.

"Ouma," his head snapped towards their face and not the ice cream begging him to eat it. "Could you help me with a... "prank"?"

"Sure! Although I never thought you would turn over to the dark side," Ouma teased in attempt to lighten the mood.

"It's not actually a prank, unless you want it be just a prank," Athena clarified. "Well then tell me what it is and then I'll decide," Ouma responded.

"Let's go on a date."

~+Є^И^∂+~

Jยภƙ๏ Єภ๏ร♄ί๓ค (๒єtค) 💄(Place holder name is Eros. Pronouns are GN.)

"Recipe"

~+^+~

'Do you have any allergies?' was the most random question Eros have ever received at 3 in the morning. They woke up to use the restroom but was overwhelmed with confusion by the text. It wasn't exactly abnormal for their girlfriend to be up late at night but 3 AM? Really? Of course, they sent an answer and asked her what she needed it for but the only response they received was, 'I love you a lot, night <3' Eros couldn't sleep when they got back to bed, worried with whatever it was that Junko was planning. In the midst of their thinking, they found themself falling back into slumber.

"Ah, ah, ah, ah!!! Wakeee upppp!!!" a familiar female shouted at the sleeping Eros. They lightly put a hand to the female arm, slightly pushing her away as they awoken.

"Junko...? What are you doing here? Isn't it really early?" they grumbled sitting up completely as their girlfriend handed them a coffee.

"Mm, for you sure. But it's around normal time for me," she responded, as she got up and walked over to Eros's desk in the corner. "What are you even doing here?" they questioned, ignoring the slight mocking from Junko.

"Well, as the great and gorgeous girlfriend I am, I decided to make you something," she answered, picking up a tray Eros didn't even notice and caring it over towards them. She sat the tray on their lap, careful not to make a mess. Junko removed the lid (is that what it's called?) from the plate revealing probably some of the most delicious food Eros has ever laid their eyes on.

"...I don't-I don't know what to say.... What's the catch?" they asked suspiciously. This was very uncommon behavior from their girlfriend. Junko rolled her eyes as she made her way to the other side of the bed, sitting next to them.

"There is no catch, I promise. You don't have to say anything, just eat," she said rather softly. They listened and ate began eating.

"Wow,this is really good. What's in it?"

"It's a secret family recipe. You'll know soon enough though." She winks.

~+Є^И^∂+~

Ί๒ยƙί ๓ί๏๔ค (๒єtค) 🎸 (Place holder name is Dionysus. Pronouns are GN. Place holder talent Ultimate Chemist.)

"Mall"

~+^+~

Going shopping with Ibuki was always a treat. She was very hyper and got really distracted a lot. Still, anytime Dionysus got to spend with her was precious. With their differences in jobs, they didn't get to see each other in person very often. Ibuki always traveling with Leon, making a name out of herself. Dionysus was always working on different mixtures and could rarely ever take a break, keeping them in the lab most of the time.

Ibuki gave a slight hop before turning to her lovely partner. "Hey, hey! Let's split up and go shopping! We have the entire week together so let's both try to have time to ourselves for a minute!" Ibuki proposed. Dionysus gave a nod in agreement. They came up with a time to meet back up here, and with that,Ibuki basically skipped away.

Dionysus just kinda wandered around before coming across a jewelry store. After sitting their for a moment thinking if they would go in, they finally made a choice and came up with a plan. They walked inside and looked around at the jewelry, but mostly just the engagement rings. Ibuki's birthstone was citrine and Dionysus knew Ibuki hated being the same as others. Therefore, it made sense she'd prefer something unique.

They picked out a ring for Ibuki and paid with their private banking account - can't have Ibuki getting curious and checking the shared account. Once they had left the store, the remaining time was spent wandering around the mall. Going into random stores, not really buying anything though.

They both met back up at the spot. As expected, Ibuki was very curious about what was in the unnamed bag.

"Pleaaasssseeeee! Please, please, pleaasssseeeeee!!!" Ibuki begged to know what was inside the mysterious bag as Dionysus just chuckled at her desperation.

"Sorry, can't tell you yet," they replied, not taking their eyes off the road. Ibuki pouted.

"Then when will you tell meee!?"

"Soon. Very soon."

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literatehiss · 4 years ago

Text

Trust Fall - Blood & Family

cw: Physical Violence & Injury The Lukas’s are upset with Peter over the failure of his ritual, Simon and Elias are displeased with their reaction. Read on AO3 here That fucking Archivist.

Peter coughed, wincing at the pain in his ribs and the blood that bubbled up between his lips.

Damn Eye bastards could never leave well enough alone could they? His ritual could have worked, it should have worked. All it took was one bitter old woman to ruin it.

It had cost so much money.

It was by no means enough to really disrupt the families finances, but it was enough for them to notice, to be irritated. If he bothered to do the maths it would have only really been a few years worth of his allowance. It didn’t matter. He had wasted all that money and they were angry.

He was always a disappointment, they had hoped he would be a good choice for the head of the family when he was young, the powers of their patron had come so naturally to him, but he just wasn’t quite good enough. A few scattered friendships, his relationship with James or Elias as he was now calling himself, a too cheery disposition. It all weighed on him as proof that he was useless, just like his uncle had said, over and over again as the men he had hired took their time making sure he was ‘properly regretful’ for what had happened.

Peter was lucky really. They didn’t really care. He had received his punishment and everyone would be back to ignoring him as per usual by the end of the week. If he lasted that long. Well, ok, now he knew he was being morbid, he had survived worse after all.

He was aware that he was leaving smears of blood on the walls of the apartment hallway as he stumbled and dragged himself to the flat he sometimes shared with Elias. His on-again off-again husband wouldn’t be at home, it was the middle of the work day after all and Peter had dragged the fog of the Lonely around himself like a thick blanket, enough to keep himself from Elias’s ever present gaze. His fingers were numb with cold and blood loss as he fumbled with his keys.

The apartment was cold, sterile. It wasn’t due to any real aesthetic reason, they were both simply not at home enough to both making any personal touches. A spark of hot pain lanced up his side and he fell into the wall, his teeth gritting as he dragged himself pitifully to the large black sofa that sat in the living room.

He had never been so glad Elias had convinced him not to go with the white sofa, they would never have got the blood stains out of it.

He slumped onto the leather with a huff as the impact winded him. Peter closed his eyes to block out the sunlight streaming in through the huge windows that took up the entirety of the eastern wall of the apartment. Exhaustion hit him quickly after that and he drifted off to sleep, arm still clutched around his chest protectively, unaware of the being stood at the window.

Half-way across London, Elias Bouchard received a phone call.

“Why is Peter lying half dead in your apartment Elias?” He couldn’t be sure whether it was the words or the fact that Simon Fairchild sounded so serious, that made his blood chill.

“What?!”

“Oh so it wasn’t you. Thank goodness, I was thinking of having to do something quite unfortunate.” The phone clicked off abruptly.

“Wait. What?”

Simon really wished he had bothered to get a key for Peter’s new flat, he had always had one for all his other places, just made it easier, and these weren’t the sort of windows you could just keep cracked open ‘just in case’. But Elias ‘liked his privacy’ which was the funniest joke the other man had ever made as far as Simon was concerned. Multiple lifetimes with varying interests had lead him to have at least a passing knowledge of how to break open locks but it still took him far to long to get the door open. He could barely see Peter through the fog the other man had summoned around himself, but he could see the blood pooling on the couch and dripping slowly onto the floor. The bright red a shock against the monochrome of the apartment.

Simon waded through the mist, placing a nervous pair of fingers to Peter's pulse. Alive, if weak. His presence probably wasn't helping matters, the Forsaken could heal Peter far faster than any vague attempt on his part to give him medical attention could ever provide. He couldn't just leave him though. Couldn’t just abandon the young man he had seen grow from a scared little child to a depressed and irritable teenager to a proud and confident adult that had enough power to be able to attempt his own ritual, even if it had been disrupted and failed so spectacularly.

Simon had always been so very proud of him.

He levered Peter up to slip his coat off him, throwing it in the sink with water and salt, might as well try and stop the blood staining the thing, god knows how fond Peter was of that coat. Blood had clotted and dried into his shirt and jumper and Simon ended up rummaging through the practically unused kitchen for scissors to cut them off him. Peter winced and shifted as he tried to gently pull the fabric away from his wounds.

Wiping away the blood proved to be a trial all of its own, immediately flowing again each time he managed to wash it away. A palm to his lad’s forehead proved him to be burning up, by which he was starting to reach the same warmth as someone who hadn’t accepted the Forsaken into their heart, which was a startling difference in temperature. He kept the floor to ceiling windows open and made a stiff breeze flow into the room. Far too cold for the average person but it should keep Peter at just the right level of corpse-like cold. He felt the skin under his fingers suddenly shift as Peter’s ribs snapped back into place. A disconcerting sensation but one that Simon was thankful for, knowing it meant that Peter was healing. The fog was starting to fade, the most life-threatening of the injuries having fixed themselves.

He knew the Lukas’s would be upset with Peter but this was a bit much surely? He had never wished so fervently that he had tried to persuade Peter over to the beautiful Vast when he was younger, before it became too late. He couldn’t imagine hurting any of his own protege’s, not like this, not even if they had truly disappointed him. He was just about to consider dragging Peter into a cold bath when the front door of the apartment violently slammed open, crashing against the wall with an almighty bang. A panting and sweating Elias stood in the doorway, suit jacket hung over his arm, eyes wide in alarm.

“What happened?”

Elias was panicking. He really wasn’t expecting to get a call from Simon on a Wednesday afternoon accusing him of attacking Peter. Apart from the mild hilarity of the thought of him being able to take down a man double his size and weight, he was also alarmed that he hadn’t noticed anything. He rushed out of his office, flying down the steps towards the lobby of the Institute. A body slammed into his own, the form of his Archivist standing in front of him, faux concern and sharp interest glittering in her eyes as she stopped him.

“Elias you seem to be in quite the hurry. Is there a problem?”

He pushed forward and grabbed her shirt

“Gertrude if I find this was you I will kill you myself. I didn’t do anything about you destroying his ritual but this is just unnecessary.” She frowned and he immediately was shown that she wasn’t the cause of Peter’s injuries. He pushed her to the side, her own surprise the only reason he was capable of doing such a thing. Elias stormed past, ignoring the calls of Gertrude and Rosie behind him.

London was a miserable place to travel through if you were trying to get anywhere in a hurry. He had a car but the thought of using it to get home in any sort of reasonable time at this hour was laughable in this traffic so he pushed his way to the nearest tube station, something he normally only did when his car broke down or he was particularly hungry. There was nothing like being packed in with so many people for sucking up all their trauma.

Right now all the people were getting on his very last nerve.

His jacket got caught on the door of the tube as he ran out and rather than stop he just pulled and pulled until the fabric ripped. Slinging it over his arm, he ran towards his rarely used flat, finding the door already unlocked he slammed it open.

Fog curled around his feet, emanating from the figuring lying on the couch and staining it with his blood. Simon was sat next to him, a handful of fabric pressed against a wound on Peter’s side.

“How is he? What happened?”

“I have no idea to be honest Elias. I thought it might be Gertrude but we both know he wouldn’t be alive if it was her”

“No it wasn’t her. I think it was the Lukas’s, probably Nathaniel organised it.”

“Oh dear. Yes I thought as much.” Simon said with an exasperated sigh that said a lot for how long he had been allied with the Lukas’s.

Elias reached for the Eye to tell him how Peter was doing but it just pushed back against him, angry of him using his powers to help someone rather than just watching, observing.

It took two days for Peter to wake up. the Forsaken protesting against their intrusive presence. Elias took time off work for the first time in a decade to watch over him. When his cold blue eyes eventually pried themselves open, it was to see Simon sat on the floor next to him, playing with something on his phone while he could hear Elias complaining down a phone to some poor employee.

“S’mon?” he mumbled, the fog of the Lonely already trying to whisk him away, misty tendrils wrapping around him.

“I’m here lad, don’t worry.”

“Hurts”

“I bet. Nathaniel? Conrad?” A shrug.

“Th’ watched. All of ‘em. Hired people.”

“Didn’t even have the balls to it themselves I see.” This was spat angrily from over his shoulder by Elias. A familiar ringed hand came over the back of the sofa and stroked fingers through his hair. He closed his eyes and rested in the company of his two favourite people. Not that he would ever tell Elias that, the man’s ego didn’t need the boost, he would get simply unbearable. He listened to their hushed talking before slipping back to sleep.

The Lukas’s never knew that anyone found out what they did to Peter. They never linked the sinking of so many of their ships or the dropping of so many of their investments to that day. When a cousin that was brought before Court suddenly found a rush of evidence against him, well he should have been more careful. It wasn’t as if their longest allies would turn on them like that. They weren’t the type to keep in contact so if the hired men they had used went missing? Well that was none of their business. What happened to those men? Well Elias and Simon would never say, but the only one who was ever found was curled up crying at the top of Everest with his eyes clawed out. Peter stood at the stern of the Tundra, smiling as he watched one of the Fairchild’s ships pass his own as he pressed a kiss to his newest wedding ring.

#Peter Lukas #Simon Fairchild #Elias Bouchard #LonelyEyes #NaNo 2020

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worryinglyinnocent · 5 years ago

Text

Fic: In Another Life

Summary: After Emma arrives in town, Mr Gold remembers just who his cleaning lady, Mrs Chevalier, was in the Enchanted Forest, leading him into a dangerous fight for their happy ending.

Written for the @a-monthly-rumbelling prompt: Belle is in town during the curse.

Rated: M

CW: blood, graphic injury, domestic abuse.

Note: I’ve had this idea sitting half-written on my PC for over seven years. Since it fits this prompt nicely, I decided to dust it off, so please excuse any weirdness – it germinated back during season 1.

In Another Life

It sufficed to say that prior to Emma Swan’s arrival in the town, Mr Gold had not really given all that much thought to the woman who cleaned his house.

Isabelle Chevalier was reputed as the best cleaner in Storybrooke – the fact that she was the only one never seemed to register – and Gold trusted her to keep his home spotless and not to break any of the valuable knick-knacks that he had on display there.

They said hello and goodbye if their paths crossed of a morning or evening, and the envelope he left on the kitchen table containing her wages was always picked up, but that was the extent of their interactions. Everyone knew that Mrs Chevalier was a meek, mild woman who wouldn’t say boo to a goose and who lived firmly under her husband’s thumb.

It was sad, they all thought, but there was nothing to be done about it. It had always been that way for as long as anyone could remember. High school sweethearts who turned out not to be so sweet in the end. Such a common occurrence, so sadly unavoidable.

Until Emma Swan came to town, and time started moving in a linear forwards direction again, and Mr Gold remembered who he really was.

More importantly, he remembered who Issy Chevalier really was too.

Belle. He had thought he had lost her for good. He had imagined her body – broken and crumpled at the foot of a tall tower – so many times that sometimes he had trouble reminding himself that he had not actually seen such a sight.

But here she was, alive and well and married to a vulgar thug who cared more about his hunting trips than about the remarkable, beautiful woman that the curse had given him the good fortune to be married to in this land.

He wanted to kill Regina, twice over. First for the deception and then for putting Belle in Gaston’s clutches when Rumpelstiltskin knew how little she cared for him, and everyone in the town knew and turned a blind eye to Issy Chevalier’s hopeless situation.

He couldn’t kill Regina, of course, no matter how much hatred was boiling and crystallising in his veins. He couldn’t risk her knowing that his memories had returned. For now, he was going to have to bide his time. Still, just because he couldn’t get down to vicious revenge on Regina yet, it didn’t mean that he couldn’t do something for Belle, to try and make her life under the curse a bit more bearable.

What would be best, of course, would be if he could wake her up too somehow. True love’s kiss wouldn’t work. She barely knew him in this life and just as Rumpelstiltskin’s reputation had preceded him in the Enchanted Forest, so Gold’s reputation preceded him in Storybrooke.

He sighed. Perhaps waking her wouldn’t be the best option after all. She’d need to keep her true memories hidden just as he would, and it would only cause more heartache for the both of them if she remembered her feelings for him but couldn’t act on them, having to go home to another man every night. No, it would be kinder to keep her under the curse for now.

He could not help Belle, but perhaps he could help Issy, and be a friend to her where no one else would.

Rumpelstiltskin put his plan into action the very next day. It was Issy’s usual day for cleaning his home, and as much as he was anxious to get to the shop and retake his inventory now that he would remember the true nature of all the items therein, he waited until Issy arrived.

“Good morning, Mrs Chevalier. Would you like some tea before you start?”

Issy looked at him as if he’d grown a second head.

“No, I, erm, I really should be getting on.” She hurried past him into the kitchen, snapping on her rubber gloves and starting to clean with twice her usual vigour (which was already significantly greater than the somewhat distracted performance she had put in whilst dusting his collection back in the Dark Castle). It made Rumpelstiltskin sad to see her so meek and cowed when he had only ever known her as stubborn and brave.

He watched her from the doorway for a moment.

“Are you sure I can’t get you some kind of refreshment? I’m putting the kettle on for myself, it won’t be any trouble.”

“No, no, it’s all right.” Issy was pointedly avoiding meeting his eyes, and Rumpelstiltskin had to wonder.

“I’m not going to dock your wages for having a tea break, Issy.”

She paused, and finally she looked at him properly.

“You’ve never called me Issy before.”

“I apologise. Mrs Chevalier.”

“No, no. I don’t mind. I prefer it. Sometimes it’s nice to be my own person.”

Rumpelstiltskin smiled. It was good to see that there was some of the old Belle buried inside there after all.

“So, about that cup of tea.”

Issy shook her head. “No, I don’t think that would be a good idea. I don’t think that Gerry would like it.”

Of course. Gaston the jealous husband, controlling his wife’s life with an iron fist. A fresh wave of hatred towards Regina coursed through him, with a little left over for Gaston.

“Well, I won’t tell him if you won’t.”

Issy gave the ghost of a smile. “All right then.”

Rumpelstiltskin set about making a pot of tea whilst Issy continued to clean, and they sat down at the table together to drink.

“I’m beginning to wonder what’s got into you, Mr Gold,” Issy said presently, before blushing and trying to hide her face in her teacup. “Sorry. I’m beginning to wonder what’s got into me, too, asking inappropriate questions.”

The rest of the tea break passed in companionable silence, and Rumpelstiltskin could almost imagine that they were back in the Dark Castle, with Belle needling him to tell her the origins of one of the items in his collection, and Rumpelstiltskin muttering about curiosity killing the cat but ultimately always relenting and regaling her with the tale.

Belle had always been fascinated by his vast array of magical artefacts, and Rumpelstiltskin had to wonder if that was something else that had bled through under the curse.

“You know, Issy, I don’t think that my shop has had a proper clean since… Well, I can’t remember the last time that it saw a duster. If you’ve got some time in your schedule, would you be interested in becoming its caretaker?”

“I…” Issy looked out into the garden; her expression was almost wistful. “I do love looking at all the things in the window. I wouldn’t want to be in the way, though.”

“You wouldn’t be, I assure you. In fact, I’d be glad of the company.”

“Well, in that case I have a free slot on Wednesday afternoons, after I do the Sheriff’s station in the morning. Would that suit you?”

“Perfectly.”

Issy smiled. “I’ll see you then, Mr Gold.”

It became a standing date after that, although neither of them would ever call it a date. Rumpelstiltskin would spend the rest of the week trying to work out the best course of action when it came to the curse and how Emma could most effectively break it, but Wednesday afternoons were his time with Issy, watching as she relaxed within herself, her confidence growing as Belle began to assert her personality again.

It was a month into Emma’s stay when everything came to a head that, whilst not entirely unforeseen on Rumpelstiltskin’s part, was certainly a shock to the town, and a shock to Rumpelstiltskin himself in the manner of escalation.

It had been a normal Wednesday afternoon until Issy had realised the time and shrieked, immediately flying into a completely uncharacteristic panic, throwing all of her cleaning materials back into her box and careening out into the main shop from the back room where they had been enjoying their regular tea and conversation.

“Issy? What’s the matter?”

“If I’m not back home on time then I really don’t know what Gerry might do.”

Rumpelstiltskin didn’t get the chance to respond before the pawnshop door crashed open and Gerard Chevalier strode in.

“There you are. I was getting worried you’d had an accident.” The crushing grip that he took Issy’s wrist in proved that worry was far from his mind. He squeezed until she whimpered in pain, dragging her towards the door.

“Mr Chevalier,” Rumpelstiltskin began, but Gerard cut him off.

“My wife will no longer be working for you, Gold, and if you so much as breathe in her direction, I will kill you.”

He practically threw Issy out of the door in front of him, and Rumpelstiltskin felt the boiling rage cool and solidify. Something had to be done, low profile be damned, but it had to be something that wouldn’t put Issy in danger. Striking out against Gerard would only cause Gerard to strike out against Issy in retaliation. Rumpelstiltskin was going to have to be clever.

He had to wait a week before he could enact his plan: he had no idea of Issy’s schedule, and he never saw her out and about in the town. Still, he knew that Wednesday morning would find her at the Sheriff’s station, and he felt an unfamiliar nervousness as he pushed open the door. The sheriff was out, but Emma was there, her feet up on her desk as she waded through paperwork with Issy hoovering in the background.

“Good to see that our tax dollars are being put to good use here, Deputy Swan.”

Emma rolled her eyes and took her feet off the desk. “What can I do for you, Gold?”

“Actually, I’m here to see Issy. I have a business proposition for her.”

Emma shrugged and waved him through to where Issy was cleaning. She startled when she saw him.

“Mr Gold!” She looked around furtively, as if expecting to see Gerard hiding in a corner somewhere. “You really shouldn’t be here. You heard what Gerry said.”

“I know. I’ll take my chances. I won’t be a minute, I promise. I just thought that we could help each other out.” He held up the key to the library building. “I know how much you love books, and the library’s been shut up for longer than anyone can remember. I think you’d be the perfect person to get it up and running again.”

“Oh, Mr Gold, that’s so kind of you, but I really can’t, I mean…”

“There’s a small caretaker’s apartment that comes with it. If you ever decide you need your own space.” He didn’t say what he knew they were both thinking. If you ever want to leave your husband and you need a safe haven.

“Mr Gold, I…”

“Please, just think about it.”

He left the key on the windowsill, leaving Issy gobsmacked in the middle of the station.

Emma had seen the interplay between Gold and Issy on Wednesday morning. She’d always suspected that there was some kind of attraction between them, ever since she’d come to town and had first started getting a grip on the relationships between everyone, but Graham had always laughed it off when she’d mentioned it to him, joking about Gerry Chevalier not letting anyone near his wife.

Come the next day, it was no longer a joke.

It would have been a perfectly ordinary Thursday if Issy Chevalier hadn’t run into the station, covered in blood.

“Gerard’s going to kill Mr Gold!” she screamed.

Emma and Graham had both jumped up in alarm at the sight of Issy, and now that alarm had turned into calm and yet very intense panic.

“Issy, you’re bleeding.”

“Gerard locked me in the bathroom, I had to break the window to get out and I caught my arm on the glass. It’s nothing, it’s not important, what’s important is that Gerard has a gun and he’s going to kill Mr Gold!”

Graham was already on his way out to the cruiser and Issy went to run after him. Emma stopped her.

“Issy, you need to go to hospital; you’ll need stitches.”

“I’m fine! I have to go! This is all my fault!”

“Issy, I can’t have you putting yourself in more danger! If Gerard is angry and he’s already hurt you,” she looked at Issy’s bruised face and split lip, “then I dread to think what he might do to you if he’s got a gun in his hands.”

Graham had set off in the cruiser, siren blaring, but even that couldn’t mask the gunshot that rang out through the town.

Everything seemed so eerily silent after that, a perfect moment of pure stillness in which time itself seemed to stand still.

Then Issy ran, and Emma groaned, grabbing her gun and the Kevlar vest she’d never seriously thought that she’d need in a town as quiet as Storybrooke. It wasn’t surprising that Graham had rushed off with no back-up, but he needed someone covering him if he was going up against a madman with a rifle. Preferably a full SWAT team, but that wasn’t likely to happen. She got in the bug, flooring it until she caught up to Issy. Considering how much pain she had to be in, she was sprinting at a hell of a lick.

“Get in!”

Issy needed no further invitation and a minute later, they were parked up outside the pink house.

“No, no, no!” Issy flung herself out of the car and raced up the steps towards the front door before Emma could stop her. Thankfully, Graham already had Gerard disarmed and on the ground.

“Help Gold!” he yelled to her. “I’ve got this, the ambulance is on its way.”

Gold had been shot in the side; from the horrible wet wheezing of his breath, Emma guessed that the bullet was in his lung. Issy was putting pressure on the wound, tears streaming down her face as her blood mixed with his on her hands.

“No, no, please stay with me. Please, you’re the only person who’s ever cared about me. Please don’t go. Please. I love you.”

Gold wasn’t responding, his face pale and clammy and his eyes closed. He whispered something, but Emma couldn’t make it out. It sounded like bell.

Issy sobbed, leaning in to press her lips against his, and Emma had to catch herself as a sudden gust of wind almost blew her off her feet.

Then the ambulance arrived, and everything was hustle and urgency until it was just Emma and Issy on the steps, crouching in a pool of blood.

“Issy, we need to get you to the hospital too.”

“Belle.” Issy seemed to be in a daze, letting Emma get her to her feet and guide her down the steps towards the bug. “My name is Belle.”

Emma didn’t enjoy hospital waiting rooms at the best of times, but this one was particularly bad. She didn’t want to leave Issy alone, and she’d used the time to take a statement about the day’s events from her, but now all they could do was wait. Issy’s wounds had been stitched up and she’d been discharged, and now she was staring into space, hugging her knees. Once they had arrived at the hospital, she’d snapped out of whatever trance she’d been in and had answered all Emma’s questions perfectly lucidly, but Emma couldn’t help thinking that there was something else going on.

My name is Belle.

She thought about Henry’s book, about the fairy tales. Disney’s Belle. La Belle et La Bête. She shook her head. Now wasn’t the time for that kind of speculation. Not when Gold – much as she might not like him personally – was undergoing emergency surgery, and Issy was sitting there waiting to hear if the man she loved was going to be ok.

Time ticked by. Graham called to say that Gerard had pleaded guilty to attempted murder at the charge, and he would be transferred to County the next day. Emma considered everyone else’s attempts to leave the town and wondered how successful that transfer would be. Still, that was a problem for tomorrow. She had other things to think about now.

Finally, a nurse came through to them.

“Mrs Chevalier? Mr Gold is out of surgery now. He’s pulled through well and the surgeon is hopeful that with time, he’ll make a good recovery.”

Issy let out a visible breath of relief. “Can I see him?”

“I’m sorry, it’s family only.”

“He doesn’t have any family,” Issy snapped. Her gaze was fierce and steady, and it surprised Emma. She’d never known Issy to act so assertive before. “The only person in the entire town who gives a crap about whether he lives or not is me.”

The nurse wavered for a moment before acquiescing, and Emma watched Issy leave after her.

There was definitely something going on, and she was certain it had to do with that unnatural gust of wind…

No one in Storybrooke minded when their buildings went uncleaned for the next few days. Although no one in town really liked Gold, most people agreed that shooting him was a bit extreme, and most people wanted Issy to be happy. If that was with Gold, then so be it.

Issy was certainly at her happiest when she was in the hospital at Gold’s bedside. Outside she was quiet and guarded, keeping herself to herself. Emma knew that she still hadn’t got to the bottom of everything, but for now, she’d let it lie. She glanced at the two of them through the door into Gold’s hospital room. She’d never seen two people so obviously besotted with each other and each so relieved to see the other in one piece.

Presently, Issy looked over and saw her through the glass. Emma waved guiltily and let herself in.

“Hi. Sorry to disturb. Issy, I need to talk to you about Gerard’s trial.”

“All right. I guess we’d best get this over with. I’ll see you tomorrow…” The final word was too quiet for Emma to hear, but she thought it was ‘Rumpel’.

Issy kissed Gold’s forehead and he smiled.

“Till tomorrow, Belle.”

Emma decided not to ask. If Mr Gold turned out to be the beast from Beauty and the Beast in Henry’s storybook, then she was going to have to seriously rethink her worldview.

#rumbelle fic #A Monthly Rumbelling #rumbelle #Belle French #Rumpelstiltskin #cursed Storybrooke #season 1 AU #domestic abuse cw #blood cw #graphic injury cw

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readbeneaththelines · 5 years ago

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Giving Him Control Pt. 17

A/N: The contract between a Dom and a Sub can be vital to prevent any misunderstandings or complications in the relationship. It can be negotiable, and can include whatever is agreed upon between both parties.

Characters: Ravi x Reader

Warnings: Lots and Lots of angst, major character injury, misscarriage, just saddness galore (I’m sorry, but if you know me, you know this is sy style)

Word Count: 3470

You spent the next week relaxing and enjoying time with your friends and your family. You parents were concerned of course about you being pregnant and unmarried, but you told them that everything was going to work out for the best. You hid the heartache that surfaced when you thought about that not being true, that maybe during this time he wouldn’t want to stay with you in the end. Ravi took the time to think about how this would change not only his life but yours as well. You were both still fairly young, a lifetime of things yet to happen. Would bringing a child into the world keep you and him locked down? Would he end up regretting being with you and the baby? His head told him one thing, but his heart told him that none of it mattered. He was in love with you, and he knew he could come to love this child in the same way. By the second week, he was going stir crazy, wanting to call you and tell you that it was time for you to come home to him.

By Wednesday night he hadn’t received a text or call from you. He promised not to worry since you told him you were going to be traveling to see family the first half of the week. He was worried about you, worried that you were taking care of yourself and the baby. By Thursday morning he had had enough. He cancelled all his meetings and packed an overnight bag. He was going to get you and bring you back where you belonged. Opening the front door, he was met with a layer of freshly fallen snow that covered the driveway in a blanket of white. Sighing heavily, he trudged his way to the jeep, Turning the heat up and putting his bags in the back seat. Ten minutes later he was on his way. Having procured your friend’s address, he set the GPS and headed out. Every few minutes he would check his phone for any messages, disappointed when you still hadn’t contacted him.

Turning off the main highway, he pulled onto a small back road, the GPS telling him he was about thirty minutes away. The chirping of his phone drew his attention away from the road, his eyes glancing at the screen to see your name in bold pop up. Swiping to look at the message, he peered at the road quickly. He turned his attention back to the phone, smiling when he read your message.

I’m ready to come home

If you’re ready for me

Love and miss you

Putting the phone in the passenger seat, he looked up a second too late. He saw a car a few feet ahead of him in the opposite lane, hit a patch of black ice. In slow motion, time passed before him. The car came careening head on into his lane, and he was unable to react in time. The last thing he heard was his own voice calling out your name.

You held your phone in your hand, anxiously awaiting his answer. As time passed, you became more and more nervous at his lack of response. You father entered the dining room, his face creased in lines of worry.

“Y/N, what kind of car does your boyfriend drive?” he sat down beside you.

“Umm, he has a Bentley, a Jag, and a Jeep, why do you ask?” You turned to face your father head on, crazy thoughts immediately filling your head.

“What color is the Jeep?” You stared at him, your mind reeling to find the answer to his question.

“It-It’s a royal blue one. Dad, why are you asking me these questions? Dad, what’s happened?” your panic rose to terrifying heights as his face fell.

“I just got a call about an accident fifteen minutes away, a blue Jeep was hit head on by another car. It was heading this way. Y/N, I think it may be Ravi.” suddenly your stomach dropped, nausea consuming you.

“No. It’s not him, he would tell me if he was coming to get me. He would of called me, dad. He would let me know!” Tears were streaming down your face at the idea of Ravi being hurt because of you.

“Where was the accident?” You stood up, grabbing your keys as you headed for the front door.

“Y/N, you can’t drive in the weather, there’s black ice. Let me take you. They said they were still working the accident. I was on my way to help when I heard about the car.” Your dad knew that if you had your mind set on something, there was no changing it. If you wanted to be there, then you would find a way to be there. You hopped in your dad’s four-wheel drive SUV, making your way to the scene of the accident. You made it to the scene in twenty minutes, the wreckage sending your heart into overdrive. There were a total of three vehicles, one a royal blue Jeep and the other two sedans. Your eyes focused in on the Jeep. The first responders were using the Jaws of Life to peel off the driver side door, a limp body hunched over the steering wheel lifeless and unmoving.

You wanted to tell whoever was screaming to stop, that was until you realized the siren pitched scream was coming from your own lungs.

“No! No! No! Ravi! God please no! Don’t let it be him! Ravi!” Your lungs burned as you ran to the scene before you. They had just pulled the door off when you came up beside it. His arm was at his side, swaying from the movement of the jeep as they worked quickly to get him freed. Blood was trickling down his face, falling in a pool on his lap. The engine was practically sitting in his lap, his legs caught underneath. You watched in horror as they laid the seat back, cradling his head to keep it from moving. You couldn’t tell if his chest was moving, but when they started CPR, you knew he wasn’t.

“How long has he been like this? When did he stop breathing? When!” you were yelling at the rescue workers. One of them came up to you, putting their hands on your shoulders.

“He just stopped breathing. He went into shock, now please step back, they need the space to get him free.” the young woman took your hand, walking you back a few feet. Numbed from what you were seeing, you let her lead you away before your will kicked in. Wrenching your arm from her grasp, you ran to the passenger side of his vehicle.

“You son of a bitch! You cannot leave me like this! You can’t leave me! Dammit Ravi!” Two strong arms engulfed you, lifting you off the ground and carrying you away. You father held you close as you cried and fought his hold on you.

“We’ve got a pulse. Hurry up and get him out, we can’t lose him again.” Your head snapped up at the voice. You turned in your dad’s arms gripping his hand as you both watched them working to get his legs freed from under the engine. It took what seemed like an eternity to get him out, but you exhaled the air in your lungs as you watched them place his limp body on a stretcher. You were let go and your feet carried you to his side. You told them who you were and the EMT let you ride in the ambulance with him. You sat back, your body shaking from both fear and cold as they continued to stabilize him until they got to the hospital. You ran beside him until they wouldn’t let you go any further. You stood, frozen in place as you watched the doors close in front of you. You couldn’t move, you didn’t want to move. You were afraid that if you turned your back, he would be gone. In the distance you heard your friend calling your name, your mother’s voice mixed in the haze.

“Y/N, you need to come sit down.” Haeri whispered in you ear. You turned to look at her, but your eyes were vacant, empty. You felt gentle hands guiding you to a chair, helping you sit down, then wrapping you in a warm embrace.

“He’ll be fine, Y/N. He’s going to be fine.” your mother cooed into your ear. You wanted to believe her, but what you saw had you believing otherwise. The only thing you could see was his lifeless body hanging in the balance, slumped over the steering wheel. Minutes passed into hours, everyone that was gathered with you trying to get you to eat and drink. You quietly refused, not wanting to leave the waiting room in case they came out to talk to you. Noon passed into evening before someone came out and called your name. You looked up through wet lashes to see a young man standing with blood on his scrubs from top to bottom. You knew instantly that he was coming to tell you that he was gone. The man you loved was gone from you and your baby’s life in a split second of time.

“Ms. Y/N?” His eyes scanned the room, settling on you as you rose from your seat.

“That’s me.” you barely got out as you walked to him, every step felt like you were treading through quicksand and you were sinking.

“He’s in surgery right now. We aren’t sure of the extent of his injuries, but I can tell you he is walking a fine line right now. The next twenty-four hours are the most critical. Once he is out of surgery he will be going to the ICU. We will send someone to get you when we are finished." You thanked the man and went back to your seat. You relayed the message to everyone, relief washing over you that he was still with you.

Morning light was just breaking when a young nurse came to tell you that he was out of surgery and was on his way to his room. Your friends and parents made their way up to the ICU waiting room with you. You were brought a blanket, and you stretched your aching limbs out on the couch. Your head was resting on Haeri’s lap while you mother had your feet on her lap. Just as your eyes were closing, you heard a deep voice calling your name. When you rose up to a sitting position, the man made his way over to you.

“Hello, Ms. Y/N? I’m Doctor Lee, I will be taking over the care of Mr. Kim. I just wanted to update you on his condition and answer any questions you might have. Mr. Kim came in with several broken bones, a skull fracture that has caused some swelling of the brain, a punctured lung, and an abrasion to his liver. We have repaired as many bones as we possibly could right now, repaired his liver and lung wounds, and we placed a shunt to relieve the pressure in his skull. I'm going to be completely honest with you, the next twenty-four hours are going to be touch and go. If he survives, we will re-evaluate his condition. Do you have any questions?” he looked at you with sad eyes. The only thing you felt was your soul leaving your body.

“When can I see him?”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to see him, he is unrecognizable in his current state.” The doctor said in a flat tone.

“I don’t care. I want to see him. I need to see him. We need to see him.” You hand covered your stomach and the doctor looked down. His expression softened at the knowledge that you were pregnant with Ravi’s child and he nodded.

“The next visiting hours are in ten minutes, you can go see him then. But please do not stay very long. He is in a medically induced coma to assist with the brain swelling. He can still hear you, but we need to keep him as calm as possible.” You nodded back at him, promising to stay for just a moment.

Time passed, the seconds ticking by too slow for your liking. At last the announcement came for visiting time and you were on your feet in a flash of movement. You held your breath as you came to his room, preparing yourself for what you might see, but you could never prepare yourself for what awaited you. The doctor was right, he was unrecognizable. His head was wrapped in a bandage with a long tube sticking out to the side. He had metal contraptions on both legs, holding his bones in place. There were tubes poking out from his sides and all kinds of wires and tubing attached to his chest and arms. He looked almost robotic, no sign of life present as he laid still as a statue in the bed. You reached for his hand which was cold and unmoving. You wrapped your fingers around his rubbing small circles into the cool flesh with your thumb.

“You idiot. Why didn’t you wait for me? All you had to do was wait. Look at you now. You can’t leave me, Ravi. We need you. I don’t even care what you decided, I was willing to make it work. So you can’t pull out on us now, you have to be here for me. I can’t do this on my own, I can’t do this without you.” Your head fell onto the covers, your tears soaking through the lightweight blanket that covered him.

“I hate you Kim Wonshik! I hate you for trying to leave me alone like this. Don’t you dare, don’t you dare leave me to bring this child into the world without its father, I will never forgive you if you do.” All you got in response was the steady beeping on the monitors, the whirl of the ventilator that was keeping him breathing, and the solitary tick of the clock on the wall. Regaining your composure, you rose up, leaned over the bed rail and kissed his bandaged head.

“I love you, and I’ll see you in a bit.” You walked out, running into your mother’s arms as she held you while you cried. By the next afternoon, your parents and Haeri took turns staying with you at the hospital. Each one took their turn on bringing you food and making sure you eat enough to stay healthy. While you were in his room for the evening visit, the doctor came in to check on his status. He checked his reflexes, inspected the external fixators, and checked the head injury.

“His vitals are stable, and there has been no extra swelling. That is a good sign, Ms. Y/N. We will keep him under for a few days just to be sure, but hopefully by the beginning of next week we can wean him off and see how he does.” You grabbed his hand making him stop in his tracks.

“Doctor Lee, what are his chances of coming back as himself? Or even with minimal permanent brain injury?” you gripped his fingers tightly, ready for the worst case scenerio.

“It really is up to him at this point. It depends on how much of a fighter he is. He has something worth fighting for, so hopefully he will find his way back. He smiled at you, even though it was a wary smile, and left you alone with Ravi. Turning back to his bed, you took his hand in yours.

“You hear that? You have something worth fighting for waiting for you to come back to us. I miss you so much, Ravi. please come back to us. We need you.” You did your little ritual of kissing his head and caressing his cheek before you left.

You slept when you could, ate when you were made to, and only left long enough to take a shower and come back. The waiting room had become your home as you waited for the day that they would wean Ravi from his coma. All you wanted to do was see his beautiful eyes again, see him smile at you the way he used to, And to hear him say your name again. The reality was though, that none or only part of that might happen. He may not remember you, he may not want you around him. But you had to take the risk, you had to see if you would be able to salvage anything you had with him. He was worth it, every bit of it.

Monday came not soon enough, and you were waiting for Dr. Lee to arrive. You had convinced the ICU nurse to let you stay until he came. You were laying in the lounge chair, your head on the covers and Ravi’s hand in yours when he arrived.

“Morning Ms. Y/N, how are we doing today?”

“A bit nervous, honestly. I am curious to see how things go today. I’m ready to have him back with the living, if you know what I mean.” you gave a weak laugh, thankful that he did so too.

“Well, I’m going to slowly start decreasing the medications. If he tolerates it okay, then we will continue. It may take all day, or we may have to go back a step or two. It all depends on how he does. The last X-rays and scans show him healing up very good internally. His brain has reduced in size to near normal, so let’s take a deep breath and see what happens, okay?”

You thanked him, them sat back down. A few minutes later, the nurse came in, gave you a smile and nod, then punched in the new doses of his IV medicines.

“It may take a while, why don't you go grab some lunch? Will let you know if anything changes before you get back.”

You hated the thought of leaving him, but she was right. You reach into your bag, taking the now worn picture of your baby and placing it in his hand.

“Something to remind you of what’s waiting for you.” with a kiss and a touch you were heading out the door. Calling your parents, they convinced you to come home and rest, promising to take you back later that day. The sun was bright in your eyes as you stepped outside for the first time in a few days. The cold air nipped at your cheeks and you pulled Ravi’s tattered jacket around your body. His scent still lingered on the fabric and it fills your nostrils. Arriving at your parents’ house, you showered and changed clothes, pulling his sweater from the bag the hospital had given you. You relished the warmth it gave you, making you feel safe and secure as it covered you. You ate a bowl of homemade soup and drank some tea as you told them what was going on today.

“I feel guilty leaving him there. I want to be there when he wakes up, just in case.” you told them, worry tugging at you.

“Rest for a bit, if he wakes up they’ll call you.” Your dad held your hand, offering the only comfort he knew to give you. Hours passed as you slept on your bed, images of him in the wreckage filling your dreams. You woke with a start, a sharp pain stabbing in your lower gut. You screamed for your mother, who came running into your room. You were doubled over, your arms wrapped around your waist as you rocked back and forth. Your dad gathered you up, placing you in the passenger seat of the car as she rushed you to the same hospital Ravi was in. Lying on an exam table, an ultrasound tech was swiping the wand over your belly, the pains coming and going in waves. A woman doctor came into the room, asking your mother questions as you were examined. Two hours later you were getting the news you didn’t want to hear.

“Ms/ Y/N, I’m sorry.” You sat on the table, mind and body numb to the news you had received. You were losing your baby, and there was nothing you could do to stop it. Denial set in as you argued with the doctor.

“It’s not possible. My baby was fine. I- I don’t-” You mother wrapped you in a hug, rocking you like she used to when you were a little girl.

@aspaceformyself @trapped-inside-my-head @beautifulseoulliar @maxinaptak @seoulsunshineandstories @xjamlessparkx @kpop-addictedloser @astronomyturtle @trashkazuya @micky1518 @rosiemilas @karri570 @kwonnansi @kpop-addictedloser

#kim wonshik #vixx ravi #ravi x reader #ravi angst #ravi smut

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inmyownlittlecorner5 · 5 years ago

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Moonlight Chapter 25: Osâmbritul

A fanfic Novel by la-topolina Rated for Mature Audiences Warnings: Language, Violence, Sexual Content Chapter 25/26

Moonlight Masterpost+

<< Chapter Twenty-Four+

Chapter Twenty-six+ >>

Draco Malfoy sat rigidly in the chair across from Severus’s desk, silently glaring at the top of the professor’s head. Severus kept the boy waiting on purpose while he completed his notes from Magick Moste Evile, both to give himself time to control his unwieldy temper, and in the hopes that Draco might be made uncomfortable enough by the pregnant silence to betray something. Draco’s pointed face was paler than usual, punctuated by dark smudges under his eyes. Though he draped himself across the chair in an imitation of his incarcerated father, Severus recognized the all-too-familiar signs of the insomnia that was undoubtedly plaguing his protégée. In spite of his promise to Narcissa that he would do all in his power to protect and aid her son in his impossible mission, he had, since the beginning of term, accomplished nothing on that front. The few forays he had made at gaining Draco’s confidence had been sullenly rebuffed; and even his attempts at investigation had brought nothing to light.

Notes completed, Severus slowly closed the book and slid the brown package that had caused today’s disaster across the top of his desk. With deliberate care he unwrapped it before Draco’s eyes, observing the boy for any minute twitch. He was certain that Draco was responsible for this unforgivably sloppy assassination attempt, but he felt a twinge of pride at the way the boy maintained his impassively angry facade, even when the gleaming opal necklace lay completely exposed before him.

“I believe you know what this is, Draco,” Severus said, searching Draco’s face while the boy scrupulously avoided his eyes.

“An early Christmas present, sir?” Draco retorted.

“Detention. Wednesday night. I will not take cheek from you.”

Draco shrugged. “It’s a cursed necklace from Borgin and Burkes and it almost killed that Gryffindor cow, Katie Bell. Everybody in school knows that by now. What’s it got to do with me?”

“You know very well what it has to do with you. If this is your brilliant plan to assassinate one of the greatest wizards in the world, I have truly failed you as a teacher.”

Draco flushed at the rebuke and glared at his mentor. “Sometimes I think Aunt Bella might be right about you, sir. How can you be on the Dark Lord’s side and still call Dumbledore great?”

“I realize you are far too young to grasp this concept, but only fools underestimate their enemies. Unfortunately, at the rate you are going, I doubt you will will live long enough to gain that wisdom.”

“I had nothing to do with it!” Draco insisted. “I wasn’t even in Hogsmeade today, ask Professor McGonagall. And as for the necklace, why don’t you talk to Cassie Borgin about it? It came from her uncle’s shop. She’s more likely to have planted it than me.”

Severus’s eyes narrowed. “Are you accusing a member of your own house?”

Draco retreated and tried to cover his misstep with more anger. “No. I’m only saying that it could have been anybody.”

“Go back to the common room and stay there for the rest of the night. If I hear of you leaving, you will spend enough time in detention to make any other tasks impossible.”

“Yes, sir,” Draco spat, pushing himself noisily out of the chair.

“And send Miss Borgin here when you see her.”

Draco slammed the office door in answer and Severus pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers. While Draco was firmly on the path to becoming an angry young man, he was still young enough to be a scared boy as well. It was a dangerous combination, and Severus was beginning to doubt that he would uncover Draco’s plans before the boy managed to kill someone—or himself.

The last grain of black sand in the top of the hourglass on his desk trickled down onto the gleaming heap below, and Severus irritably tore his mind away from the innumerable problems plaguing it at the moment. The antidote he was brewing for Miss Bell hissed and foamed on his private workbench. It was the perfect slate blue color when he went to check its progress, and he began adding bits of unicorn horn, stirring laboriously after each addition to ensure complete emulsification. He did not actually expect this potion to revive her; but he believed it would not hurt her either. Avoiding the tedious trouble of transporting her to St. Mungo’s and dealing with her potentially irrational parents was well worth the attempt.

He had just finished adding the unicorn horn when Miss Borgin’s cautious knock announced her.

“Enter,” he said, returning to his desk and flipping the hourglass.

The door opened quietly to admit Cassandra Borgin, a plain slip of a girl with mousey, but neatly plaited, hair and a smattering of freckles across her upturned nose.

“Draco said you wanted to see me sir?” she said meekly, taking the chair that Draco had vacated without any other indication of nerves. The amount of time she’d spent in detention during her fifth year as a result of her daring to be the lone Slytherin to join Dumbledore’s Army had done much to cure her fear of her Head of House. And the gumption she had displayed by her willingness to learn Defense Against the Dark Arts by any means—even those illicitly provided by Harry Potter—had caused Severus to reexamine her overlooked potential.

“Miss Borgin, am I correct in assuming that you, like the rest of the school, are privy to the details of Miss Bell’s injury?”

“Yes sir. Everyone’s saying that she was cursed by a necklace from Uncle Orestes’s shop.” Her eyes flitted over the opals on his desk and she added, “That necklace, in fact.”

“Do you know anything about this?”

“Sir, the last time I was in this office you warned me not to be caught making trouble again. My memory is not so short that I would be taking chances. Besides, what do I have against Katie Bell? I don’t even like Quidditch.”

“But you were in Hogsmeade today, were you not?”

“Yes, sir. I was with Morgana Mulciber and Freya Flint the entire time.”

“Did you see anything?”

“No, sir. We went to Honeydukes and Madam Puddifoot’s today. We missed the whole thing.”

He steepled his fingers and studied her in silence, and she returned his gaze with a calm, open one. Only the constant clasping and unclasping of her hands betrayed her discomfort, but it was enough to prompt him to continue the interrogation.

“I should think that this unfortunate event will put your uncle under some inconvenient scrutiny.”

“He’s dealt with such things before. Luckily the shop can’t be held responsible for damage done by items after they are sold.”

“How fortunate.” Her busy hands were still—that must not have been her worry. Time to try another direction. “But your uncle is a canny man of business.”

“Yes, sir. He is.”

“From all reports, you are keeping pace with your classwork. Do you still make time for your music, or has that become a casualty of the demands of N.E.W.T preparation?”

Her hands started clasping and unclasping again—good. “I…I still play, sir,”

“And when you play, you must be so enraptured by the music that you are oblivious to whatever conversations may be occurring in the Common Room at the same time.”

“I…I don’t know, sir.”

“Because if you were to happen to overhear anything that I might find interesting I would be most disappointed if you failed to share it.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, sir.”

“See that you do. I should hate to see our House pulled down by its own members.”

She was bursting to ask him something—he could see it in her eyes—but he did not attempt to dip into her mind to discover what it was. He would be shocked if she were not at least nominally versed in the arts of Legilimency and Occlumency. Better to have her think she could trust him, and come to him with the information he desired of her own volition.

“I understand, sir.”

“I expect that you do. You may go.”

“Thank you, sir.”

He gave his attention to his book, and he kept his smirk to himself when she paused at the door and turned back to him.

“Sir?”

“Yes, Miss Borgin?”

“I’m not sure if this would at all interest you, but Draco Malfoy has been acting, well, strange since term started.”

“How so?”

“It’s hard to explain…he hasn’t been studying like he used to. I mean, he always used to act like he didn’t have to try to get good marks and like he owned Hogwarts, but he also was always the last one to pack up his books and leave the Common Room at night. I’ve barely seen him open a book this term. At least, not one for class.”

“Miss Borgin, this is exactly the sort of interesting information I wished to hear.”

She nodded once and said firmly, “If I hear anymore, I’ll be sure to pass it on, sir. And I won’t get caught.”

“I would expect no less from you, Miss Borgin. Good night.”

“Good night, sir.”

Cassandra shut the door softly behind her and Severus sat back in his chair, rubbing his aching temples. The worm of conscience turned in the back of his mind, calling into question whether it was justifiable to set a student to spy on her own housemates, but he pushed it away. There were simply too many lives at stake to neglect any possible advantage. He glanced at the hourglass; another twenty minutes before the antidote would be ready. With a sigh of resignation, he pulled his cigarette case out of his pocket, finding the message from Miranda that he had been dreading all day.

WISH ME LUCK the mosaic spelled out. Luck indeed. He wished she’d been free to come back with him after the disaster in the caves, or better, that she had never gone to Romania in the first place.

YOU DO NOT REQUIRE LUCK YOU REQUIRE SKILL WHICH YOU HAVE he sent.

The tiny pieces of cut stone rearranged themselves immediately with a reply; she must have been waiting for him.

I WISH YOU WERE HERE THE FEASTING AND DANCING EARLIER WERE TO DIE FOR AND THERE IS GOING TO BE A PROCESSION TO SEE CATALINA AND ME OFF TO THE LAND OF THE IELE

His stomach twisted uncomfortably and he wondered if he would ever become accustomed to Miranda’s penchant for plunging headlong into danger.

IF I HAD MY WISH YOU WOULD BE HERE RATHER THAN ON A RECKLESSLY DANGEROUS MISSION IN ROMANIA

He could almost hear her roll her eyes in her reply.

BECAUSE THE UK IS SO SAFE AT THE MOMENT DONT FRET I WILL BE BACK THERE WITHIN THE WEEK

SEE THAT YOU ARE OR I WILL COME LOOKING FOR YOU

GOOD

He slid the case back into his pocket and watched the final minutes of sand pouring down through the hourglass. The memory of their parting embrace crashed over him so strongly that he swore he could feel her warm arms wrapped around his neck. And what if that were the last embrace allotted to them?

With an Herculean effort, he pushed this useless sentiment to the back of his mind, to keep his tattered conscience company. He bottled Miss Bell’s potion with a steady hand, and headed to the hospital wing with a heavy heart.

Merlin, he was ready for this whole bloody business to be over.

*****

The midnight procession twisted along the dirt road, stretching through the forest all the way back to the church in the Merry Cemetery from which they had set forth some time ago. Miranda and Catalina were near the front, just behind the icon bearers and the priest, and just before Ileana Lupul, Nicolae Dragnea, and Charlie Weasley. It seemed as though the entire population of magical folk had descended on Săpânța to see the resolution of the long trial. Miranda and Charlie in their dress cloaks were plain in comparison to the sea of colorful embroidery and dyed wool around them. The choir chanted hymns and prayers as they made their way through the chilly autumn night, and Miranda marveled once again at the casual way that the Statute of Secrecy was ignored. The non-magical people of Săpânța had turned out in support of their magical brethren, and Miranda was sure that their good will would do as much as anything else to bring the captive children home safely.

The moon had almost reached her zenith when the clerics and laymen ahead of the champions fanned out around a dusty fork in the road. The trees surrounding them were already naked, and their leafless branches reached out like gnarled fingers towards the little humans below. Doamnă Lupul led Miranda and Catalina forward, and the rest of the procession began to crowd in untidy clusters, whispering and attempting vainly to see the main event.

Miranda and Catalina knelt before the priest, who blessed them both in a voice that rumbled from the depths of the earth. Whether it was from the cold, or the magic, or the excitement; or all of this combined, Miranda shivered deliciously. She had been waiting for this moment since the beginning of the year, and all of her work was about to come to fruition. But no—she was about to step into another world altogether. She had been waiting for this moment for her entire life.

“{The time has come.}” Doamnă Lupul said as the women rose to their feet. “{Remember, you must gather the children and return to us by noon, or you will all be trapped in the Iele’s realm.}”

A ray of moonlight pierced through the trees, so bright and thick Miranda was sure that, if she touched it, she could break a piece of it off to hold in her hands. It shot down into the road, throwing bits of dirt into the air as it plunged into the dry earth. Doamnă Lupul stepped forward, shaking back her wolfskin cloak and rolling up the sleeves of her finely woven blouse. With a manic gleam in her eye, she thrust her hands into the moonbeam, and sucked in her breath through gritted teeth. Her booted feet dug into the ground as she forced her hands apart, tearing open a human-sized gash in the air itself. Task completed, she stepped back with her hands extended, and a thick, black liquid oozed off them, dripping onto the ground with an unappealing plop. Nicolae hurried forward, bearing a bowl of water that the Cezara might cleanse her hands of the primordial glop. The moon continued its celestial arc, and a jagged, pulsating rip remained behind for the adventuresses to pass through.

“{God be with you,}” panted Doamn�� Lupul, winded from her effort.

Miranda and Catalina exchanged a glance, gathered their offerings for the Iele, and entered the ragged door together.

*****

The world on the other side of the crossroads was flooded by an unnerving, monotonous steel-blue light that emanated from nowhere that Miranda could ascertain. The usual division of land and sky was likewise absent. The ground upon which they stood blurred into the distance, but no comforting curve denoted the horizon. A tangled mass of brambles covered the covered the ground before them, save for a narrow path that twisted through the uninviting mess to a white castle gleaming in the distance. The air was hot and sticky, and within minutes both Miranda and Catalina had stripped off their cloaks and rolled up their sleeves.

“{That must be the place, yes?}” Miranda said, eyeing the elusive structure that wavered in the heat.

“{It must be,}” Catalina agreed, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand and studying the empty sky above them. “{There are no stars. How will we know the time?}”

“{We’ll just have to go as fast as we can.}”

This was easier said than done. The heat hampered their progress, and they were soon gasping for air even at a walking pace. Miranda’s clothing stuck to her sweaty body, chafing her skin and fraying her temper. As they approached, the castle seemed to recede into the distance rather than become any closer. Miranda wondered if the whole thing were a mirage and they had missed some important point. What if there were some trick or riddle that they needed to understand in order to gain entrance to the Iele’s home? What if it were like in a fairy story where the unappealing bramble actually held the treasure they sought? Would they wonder forever here in this purgatory and never reach either the castle or their home?

All at once, the castle was upon them. Miranda had the wild thought that she and Catalina had been walking in place and the castle had moved instead. Up close, the building was iridescent rather than white. Its walls were formed from dragonfly wings, woven tightly together, and they, like the doorway between the worlds, pulsed like a giant, disembodied organ. As the women approached, the middle of the thing peeled open with a wet, slurping sound, and Miranda was suddenly very thankful that her Papa had insisted she learn to overcome her squeamishness at an early age. Somehow she doubted that the Iele would look favorably on guests that vomited at the sight of their storied home.

The churning in Miranda’s stomach only lasted long enough for she and Catalina to enter the forbidding place. Inside the castle was a lush forest, as cool and green as any earthy paradise. A rainbow of birds played among the branches, and a low, enchanting music washed over the enclosure. The base of each tree was guarded by a burly, jackal-headed man. They stood at silent attention, watching the intruders with dull, disinterested eyes.

“{What do we do now?}” Miranda whispered.

“{We wait. They will come to us,}” Catalina replied.

These words had barely left Catalina’s lips when out of the forest floated a marvel of a woman; so painfully beautiful that it hurt to look at her. Like the Sânziene, her dark hair and her simple white garment flowed out around her as though she were drifting in water. Her feet hovered above the forest floor, and she smiled graciously at the human women with pointed teeth. Miranda’s neck prickled in warning, and she was sure that this creature was far more dangerous than her brawny guards.

When the Iele did not speak, Miranda and Catalina knelt as one, spreading their offerings before the fairy woman; the gilded cage with the sorrowful birds of paradise, the bouquet of flowers from the Sânziene’s mountaintop, and the bottle of water from the river beneath the One Wood Church. The Iele waved her hand indifferently over the treasure, vanishing them with a lack of ceremony that made Miranda bristle. With barely a gesture inviting them to follow, the Iele turned and floated back into the forest, leaving the women to scramble clumsily after her.

The forest was so thick that they had to go single file through it; hurrying after the Iele until Miranda lost all sense of direction. The further they went, the more Miranda’s neck pricked her, and her hands started sweating despite the cool. At last the forest path opened into a wide clearing beneath an undulating dome of dragonfly wings. A little pond sat in the center of the deserted place, ringed with laceflowers and lilies of the valley. The Iele led them up to the edge of the rippling water, and vanished without ever saying a word.

“{I don’t understand,}” Miranda said, frustration creeping into her voice.

“{Look,}” Catalina said grimly, pointing to the pond where twenty silver fish darted beneath the surface of the water. “{The fish are the children.}”

Miranda blew out her breath. “{I take it this is what the Changeover Potion is for?}”

“{No. We will give them that at the doorway between the worlds.}”

“{But how do we change them back into children? I think their parents might object to having them come home in this condition.}”

“{You brought your net, yes?}” Catalina was already pulling her own unicorn hair net from a pocket.

“{I did.}”

“{We will each catch half of them, and pull them out together. Vasile said that should break part of the spell.}”

“{Should break it?}” Miranda circled to the opposite side of the pond, and retrieved her own net from a hook on her belt.

“{Just fish,}” Catalina ordered tersely. “{We’re wasting time.}”

Miranda crouched down amid the beautiful, deadly flowers decorating the shore of the pond and cast her net.

She did not like this. She did not like it at all.

*****

Severus was in a foul temper when he landed at St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries early Sunday morning. Minerva had bestowed him with the unenviable task of escorting the still unconscious Katie Bell thither for further treatment. As they spun into the triage station by way of the portkey from the Hogwarts hospital wing, a tall woman in Healer’s robes and a black headscarf was in place to catch Miss Bell and lay her on a waiting bed. By the time Severus’s head had stopped spinning, the Healer was briskly examining her new patient.

“Peace be upon you, Professor Severus,” she said as she gently probed and prodded.

“That is unlikely to happen anytime soon, Healer A’isha,” he replied in a voice scratchy from lack of sleep.

As usual, she was unfazed by his lack of civility. “Has there been any change in her condition?”

“No. Not since she was brought to the hospital wing yesterday.”

“What have you…”

“Katie!”

A shrill cry interrupted the Healer, and Severus turned to see a bull of a woman barreling into the room with a spindly man on her heels. Severus barely had time to brace himself before Mrs Bell accosted him, baying for blood and explanations.

“Let me see her!” Mrs Bell tried unsuccessfully to push past Severus. “How did this happen? What are you going to do about it? Who is responsible?”

“Mrs Bell,” Severus said, breaking her name into several unappealing syllables in order to gain her attention. “We have no further information than was owled to you this morning. It would be best for you and Mr Bell to wait in the lobby until you are called.”

“Like hell we will,” Mrs Bell growled.

“Breathe, Greta,” Mr Bell said, laying a hand on his wife’s shoulder. “Let the people do their jobs.”

Mrs Bell shook off her husband’s hand “That’s my baby! And why are you here instead of Professor McGonagall?”

Merlin preserve him from irrational parents. “Professor McGonagall’s duties as deputy headmistress prevent her from leaving school grounds during Headmaster Dumbledore’s absence,” Severus explained tersely.

“Dumbledore’s not even there? With You Know Who gadding about? No wonder students are getting cursed! Do you even care what happens to them? These are our children that we trusted you to protect!”

“I assure you, madam, we are doing everything within our power to protect them.”

“Well it’s not working, is it?”

“Considering your daughter’s devotion to Quidditch, I would think that you are no stranger to her being injured. Fortunately, Miss Bell is possessed of a remarkably thick skull.”

Mrs Bell went white with rage. “You’re head of Slytherin house, aren’t you? I’d bet my broomstick that one of your students knows all about this.”

How dare she? Severus opened his mouth to give the avenging harpy the set down of her life, but Healer A’isha intervened, leaving Katie’s side to slip between the warring pair.

“Good morning, I am Healer A’isha Shafiq. You are Miss Bell’s mother, am I correct?” she said in a stern, but pleasant tone.

“Yes, I am, Healer Shafiq.” Mrs Bell drew herself up to her full height, but her lower lip was quivering dangerously. Severus assumed that fear of sending Mrs Bell into further hysterics was the only thing that kept Healer A’isha from launching into one of her passionate explanations regarding proper forms of address. Or perhaps she had finally mellowed enough to accept British niceties without protest.

“Then you must be eager for answers, as are we all. I requested Professor Snape accompany your daughter himself. He is an expert in curses…”

“I’m sure he is,” Mrs Bell spat.

“Greta!” Mr Bell cajoled.

“…and I wish to speak to him about what he has attempted thus far,” Healer A’isha continued as though the others had not spoken. “Perhaps you would both be so good as to wait in the lobby or the cafeteria while I make my preliminary examination and settle your daughter in a room. Then I will be able to give you more information than I can at the present time.”

Mrs Bell wavered, tears glistening in her eyes. Mr Bell took her by the arm and she allowed him to start to lead her away, but then she yanked her arm out of his grasp again and turned on the potions master.

“You brought her here by portkey, didn’t you?” she demanded.

“Yes, Mrs Bell. We have a portkey in the hospital wing at Hogwarts that comes directly to triage,” Severus said impatiently.

“Traveling by portkey is dangerous for an injured person!” she all but shrieked. “You probably hurt her even worse!”

“Mrs Bell,” Healer A’isha said sharply, “while you are correct that traveling by portkey is unadvised in the case of broken bones or certain internal injuries, it is perfectly harmless in your daughter’s case. She has not been physically injured. Indeed, it is much better that the professor brought her in this way, rather than lose precious time taking her all the way outside the wards at Hogwarts to Apparate her here. Surely you agree that time is of the essence.”

“I…” Mrs Bell’s voice trailed off and tears started rolling over her cheeks.

“It’s not a Quidditch injury, Greta,” Mr Bell said soothingly. “Why don’t we go upstairs and get a cup of tea.”

“I don’t want any tea,” Mrs Bell protested.

“I know, but they’re terribly slow in the cafeteria, and by the time we’ve had a cuppa, the Healer will be able to tell us something about Katie.”

Mrs Bell eyed Healer A’isha suspiciously.

“I will take good care of your daughter, Mrs Bell. I promise.” Healer A’isha said calmly.

Mrs Bell’s face crumbled as she gave way to tears, and she allowed her husband to lead her off in search of tea—or perhaps something more bracing. Healer A’isha turned back to her patient and resumed her examination as though nothing had happened.

“Merlin, Healer A’isha, how do you stand it?” Severus muttered when the Bells were out of sight.

“It happens all the time, Professor Severus. What good does it do to let fly my temper when I am strong enough to curb it?” she replied. “Now tell me everything you can about this child and the curse.”

*****

“Come on, little guy, you’re the last one,” Miranda coaxed. Her net was full save for one shy straggler who kept darting away from his captured brethren. Catalina was sitting on her heels, waiting impatiently on the other shore, and all of Miranda’s limbs were so stiff that she doubted she would be able to stand up, even when she managed to catch the stray fish.

“{Are you finished yet?}” Catalina demanded, her voice tired and sharp.

Miranda ignored her. “Come on….Gotcha!” With a flick of her wrist, the net scooped up the final changeling. “{I am now. Ready?}”

Catalina shook herself and nodded. “{And…pull!}”

The exhausted pair heaved their nets out of the water together. At first, Miranda’s net lay on the shore, a shining, dripping mass of flopping silver fish. Her mind started racing in panic, but in the space of a blink she was granted a minor miracle. Before her eyes, the net pulled itself into a long rope, and each fish morphed into a solemn faced child, ranging from grammar school age to near adulthood. One by one, the children took hold of the rope and stared at her with bland, impassive faces.

When they did not bolt, she picked up the end of the rope and said, “{This way, little ones.}”

They followed her passively around the pond to Catalina and her matching brood. As Miranda reached her rival’s side, she could see that the younger witch’s face was wet with tears.

“{Gabi!}” Catalina breathed, her eyes riveted on the lanky boy at the head of Miranda’s group. He did not give any indication that he recognized his sister, he merely stared straight ahead, lost in a dream-like trance.

“{We’d better get going,}” Miranda said quietly. “{It’s a long way back.}”

*****

By the time they reached the path through the brambles, Miranda had reached the giddy stage of exhaustion. She had no idea how long they had been in this inhospitable place, but she had slept little before she and Catalina had departed on this final quest. She was fairly confident that they were within their time limit, and she wondered if Catalina would insist on a farcical duel when they returned to the crossroads. God willing, they could call the thing a draw. Perhaps, if Vasile backed them, they would stand a chance of settling matters like reasonable adults.

The trek from the castle to the door between the worlds seemed even hotter and longer than before. Miranda was openly panting by the time they reached the ugly rip, but the children tromped along as placidly as Madeline and her schoolmates strolling through the streets of Paris.

“{The potion,}” Catalina wheezed when they came to a halt at last.

“{I think you should do the honors,}” Miranda said with a tired smile.

She pulled a dark bottle and a metal cup from her bag, and handed them both to her comrade. Catalina’s eyes were shining as she poured the first measure of amber liquid from the bottle. She offered the cup to her brother, but he did not seem to notice the libation. With a grunt of frustration, she held the cup to his lips, helping him drink as though he were a small child. The first drops of the potion dribbled over his chin, but then he trembled, grasped the cup, and drank deep.

“{Catina?}” he asked, blinking his soft brown eyes at his sister.

She pulled him into a fierce embrace, nearly dropping the bottle. “{We’re going home.}”

Miranda’s throat was tight as she watched Catalina go down the lines, offering the potion to each enchanted child. One by one they blinked awake and, while they did not all recognize their liberator, one reassuring nod from Gabi was all that was needed to keep them in their docile lines. A haze of goodwill rushed through Miranda’s body, turning her bones to jelly. She let herself sink to the ground to rest and savor the moment.

A howl that would have put the Hound of Baskervilles to shame shattered the peace of the little band. The children who had already received the potion huddled around Gabi, wide-eyed with terror. Miranda shot to her feet, whirling to face the source of the harrowing cry. A pack of the jackel-headed guards was advancing on them, axes drawn.

“{Hold this,}” she said, handing her rope to Gabi and drawing her pistol.

“{What is it?}” Catalina asked as she distributed the potion to the final child. “{My God…}” She drew her wand, but Miranda waved her off.

“{No. You get the children out of here. I’ll hold them off.}”

“{But you’ll be trapped here!}”

“{No I won’t. I’ll take care of these mongrels and be right behind you. I have excellent timing.}”

“{No you don’t!}”

“{It has to be done. Goodbye Catalina.}” Miranda fumbled in a pocket, searching for her vials of Strengthening Solution.

“{But if I go back alone, Doamnă Lupul will back Voldemort!}” Catalina’s bluster ended with a broken crack.

“{I don’t give a shit about that right now. Just get those children home,}” Miranda replied firmly.

She tossed down one more vial than was prudent and started towards their pursuers at as quick a pace as the heat would allow. The potions and the adrenaline blended into a heady cocktail of berserker rage, and she leveled her pistol at the fiends. They fanned out into ranks as they cleared the bramble patch, and the instant the creatures were in range, Miranda started putting bullets between their eyes. Until the ammunition ran out, she brought them down in rapid succession. Apparently the things possessed no more brains than clay pigeons, for the ones behind trod over their fallen brothers with no concern for themselves.

“At least they’re stupid,” she muttered to herself as she spent her last bullet. She whipped out her wand, planted her feet, and started hexing for her life. “Sectumsempra!”

The curses ripped through the lines, and the jackel-men yelped as their flesh exploded. But, though not one of them made a move to protect himself, the unending stream started to gain on her. She backed away slowly, loathe to give up any ground. As sweat stung her eyes, she risked a glance over her shoulder, hoping that Catalina and the others would be gone, and that she might make a break for freedom.

They were gone. As was the jagged door. All that remained was an endless swath of steel-blue wasteland, an infinite army of drones, and her.

She flew at her enemies like a demon. No sense in making the inevitable easy.

*****

Catalina and Gabi emerged from the pathway between the worlds to a crisp, October day under a cloudless sky. Most of the procession was either still intact, or had reformed, waiting in worried, lethargic groups. As the first child came through, they roused themselves from their torpor into a flurry of chaotic motion, engulfing the bewildered foundlings and pulling them away to be petted and marveled at. Catalina was in an agony of anxiety as she watched the door between the worlds pulse, but the mass of humanity had caught her as well. Before she could start screaming, her father’s hand plucked her out of the crush, pulling her into the shelter of a poplar tree where Doamnă Lupul sat, calmly surveying the reunions, and Charlie paced in nervous agitation.

“{My, Catina! You’ve done it!”} Nicolae exalted. His arm was around Gabi’s shoulders, and his son smiled faintly from father to sister, as though he were still half asleep.

“{Where’s Miranda?}” Charlie demanded.

Catalina grabbed Charlie’s arm. “{She stayed behind. We were attacked and she stayed behind so that we could escape. We have to go back for her!}”

She dragged Charlie through the crowd, barely registering her father’s shout of protest. Her hand was inside the gateway as the sun reached the pinnacle of the sky. A blinding ray of light shot down into the earth, singeing her fingers. With a sharp cry, she jerked her hand away, cradling it to her chest. Tears blurred her vision, but she could tell, even before the sunbeam had dissipated, that it was too late. The door was gone.

“{No!}” Catalina’s strangled cry was lost in the riot of joyful conversation around her.

Vasile appeared, moving through the well-wishers and taking Catalina’s throbbing hand in his. He chanted a healing incantation as he rubbed his fingers lightly over her skin.

“{I take it our American friend is lost?}” he said when he finished his work.

Catalina nodded numbly. “{The Iele sent their guard after us and she fought them. We have to go back for her.}”

“{I’m sorry, Catalina, but that is impossible. It will be another year before we could even hope to reach her.}”

In the midst of the joy around her, Catalina felt like she had a millstone around her neck. Her limbs were like lead and she hardly noticed that Charlie now had her by the arm and was leading her to sit on an unoccupied tree stump. The midday sun beat down on her, a silent, accusing witness to her failure. The events in the other world played through her mind in a sick pantomime. She struggled for another answer, but was at a loss to think what else she might have done. If Miranda had not challenged the căpcăuns, they all would have been recaptured or killed.

Merciful God. What was Professor Snape going to say?

“{Catalina, well done,}” Doamnă Lupul said, dragging the young witch out of her mire of regrets.

“{Thank you,}” Catalina replied automatically. “{But Miranda should be here too.}”

“{Yes. We are sorry to have lost her.}” The Cezara’s voice was low and brittle. “{She will be not forgotten.}”

“{It is truly a blow for your cause, Domnul Weasley.}” Nicolae’s tone was just shy of mocking. As he stood before his daughter, with his son at his side, he looked like a conqueror awaiting his laurel wreath.

“{Am I the victor, then?}” Catalina asked, a spark of inspiration igniting in her darkened thoughts.

“{Who else has brought the children home?}” Doamnă Lupul replied.

Catalina licked her dry lips and lifted her eyes to the Cezara’s. “{Miranda and I have been working together since the day on the mountain. If she had not sacrificed herself today, we would not have escaped. Her cause is now mine. We will back the Order.}”

“Hear, hear,” Charlie said, clapping Catalina on the back.

“{How dare you!}” Nicolae growled, taking a step towards the weary champion.

“{Nicú,}” Doamnă Lupul warned. “{Your son is tired. Take him home.}”

The defeated boyar rounded on the Cezara, but he did not dare to argue.

“{You planned this, didn’t you?}” he spat.

“{Domnul Weasley, be so good as to take this letter to Albus and assure him of our support.}” She placed a roll of parchment into Charlie’s waiting hand, and turned to Nicolae with a wolfish smile. "{Nicú, I am very well pleased with your daughter. And I think that Vera would have been pleased, also.}”

The mention of his late wife’s name knocked the wind out of Nicolae, and he sagged like an empty sail. Gabi, suddenly more alert than Catalina had yet seen him, began looking around eagerly, searching for his mother’s face.

“{Father,}” Gabi ventured, when he could not find the one he sought, “{where is mother?}”

Nicolae avoided his son’s question and ordered brokenly, “{Come, Catalina. We’re going home.}”

“{No, father,}” Catalina objected quietly.

“{Catina?}” Gabi’s frightened voice finally roused Catalina. She dragged herself up from her seat, and went to embrace her brother.

“{Don’t worry Gabi, I’ll be back soon, I promise.}”

“{And where do you think you are going?}” Nicolae demanded.

Catalina looked at her father, her heart weighted down with the sorrowful knowledge of all that he had lost, and all that he might never understand.

“{I am going with Domnul Weasley, if he will allow it. There is someone who should hear the news of Miranda’s death from the lips of one who witnessed it.}”

Nicolae made a gesture of helpless frustration. “{Do as you like.}”

“{And I wish to join the Order.}”

Charlie grasped her hand warmly, and she could see Vasile behind him, hiding a smile.

“{Doamnă Dragnea, we would be honored to have you,} Charlie said earnestly. “{Would tomorrow be too soon to leave for Scotland?}”

Nicolae did not wait for any further humiliations. Gabi looked at his sister with a mixture of sadness and confusion, but hurried after their father, eyes still watching hopefully for the mother he would not find. Soon the pair of them were out of sight, concealed by the crowd and the forest beyond.

“{Are we too late for the afternoon portkey?}” Catalina asked. She did not want to witness her her father breaking the news of their mother’s death to Gabi. Not when she had her own horrible tale to tell.

“{If you hurry, I think you will just make it,}” Doamnă Lupul said gently.

“{Then there is no sense in waiting for tomorrow.}”

“{Agreed,}” Charlie said.

As they set off towards the Merry Cemetery, Catalina’s heart beat with a new vigor, strong and bittersweet. She was different now, and she knew, when she returned home, things would be different there as well. Perhaps, in time, her father would change too, and she could hope it would be for the better. But she was at peace with her choice, regardless of whether or not he decided to approve of it.

Soon the village was in sight, and the cross crowning the top of the church spire hovered over it, like a steadfast guardian. Catalina breathed a silent prayer for her fallen friend; begging that Miranda’s end was swift and painless; begging that her sins were forgiven; begging that she was finally at peace.

*****

If anyone dared to hand him one more wretched form to fill out, Severus was going to consign the whole of St. Mungo’s to the flames. Between consulting with Healer A’isha, placating Miss Bell’s hysterical parents, and fulfilling the demands of the hospital’s bureaucracy, the day was more than half spent. The weather was still abysmal, and he appeared outside the wards of Hogwarts in a cold, driving rain that did its damnedest to soak him before he could say Impervius. As he strode towards the castle, he postponed checking his cigarette case for news of his questing lover. She hadn’t bothered to send a message any of the other thousand times he’d looked already that day; why would there be anything now?

As he approached the gates, he saw a stocky wizard and two witches huddling outside them, waiting for admittance. His heart jumped into his throat when he recognized Charlie Weasley’s unattractive red hair and Catalina Dragnea’s dark bob. Breaking into a run, he reached the trio just as Minerva arrived, tapping the chains to allow them entrance. The second witch turned as she heard his footsteps, and he froze in his tracks at Nymphadora Tonks’s frown.

Charlie was saying something to him, but his blood was pounding in his ears so loudly that he could not hear what it was, nor what he said in reply. The Metamorphmagus and the Weasley followed Minerva towards the castle, and Severus became vaguely aware that Catalina had remained behind, watching him with a mixture of sadness and pity that turned his stomach.

“{There is no sense standing in the rain, Doamnă Dragnea,}” he said flatly.

He set off for the dungeons like a man condemned, astonished that he was able to walk so easily considering he could not feel his limbs. Catalina matched his pace and mercifully held her tongue. His fingers pricked uncomfortably as he unlocked the door to his quarters, sensation returning in the form of pain. Catalina sat down stiffly on the edge of the sofa at his curt invitation. Like an automaton, he procured tea from the shelf above his desk, lost in the memory of the first time had led Miranda here. He had barely been able to keep his countenance then, his heart had been beating so erratically, electrified by her presence. Perhaps, if he shut his eyes very tightly, when he opened them and turned around, she would be sitting there on his sofa instead of the Romanian witch.

Merlin, Severus, pull yourself together. You’re not a schoolboy, and this is hardly a surprising ending for the whole misadventure.

Catalina took the tea he offered her, but didn’t drink it. He sat down in the chair opposite her, and stubbornly forced himself to take a bracing sip, even though it was scalding and his throat was twisted into a knot.

“{Miranda is dead,}” he said after the liquid had burned a path down to his bilious stomach.

Catalina shuddered, and for a moment he was terrified that she would start to cry—not so much because he feared her tears—but because he feared, if he saw them, he would no longer be able to contain his own. But the witch rallied and controlled herself, save for the tremor in her voice when she spoke.

“{Yes. I’m so sorry.}”

He nodded, once again astonished at his capacity for absorbing pain without dying. “{How?}”

“{The Iele’s guard attacked us at the door between the worlds. She fought them while the children and I escaped, but the door closed before I could go back to save her.}” Her tale was tired, like story worn out with telling.

Thoughts ground together in his mind and he struggled to make sense of them as they passed. “{You did…you did not actually see her die?}”

“{No,}” she said slowly. “{When I led the children out she was still alive and fighting,}”

“{Then…she may still be alive.}”

“{I’m sorry, professor, but I think that is impossible. I left her hours ago at the mercy of an army of beasts. And even if she were somehow still alive, we cannot reach her. The door is closed.}”

“{This is Miranda we are talking about. She has more lives than a cat. And if you are unwilling to search for answers, I am not.}”

Severus sprang up from the chair, knocking the teacup and saucer to the floor where it shattered on the stones. He trod over the pieces, heedless of the way they crunched under his feet, and attacked his bookshelves with a violent passion. One after another he tore the books from their places, pouring over the pages before casting them aside, unable to comprehend the slightest notion in his whirlpool of grief. The empty shelves mocked him, and he slashed his wand at them, causing an explosion of splintered wood. By the time the shards settled, his humiliation was complete, and he sat on the back of the sofa, weeping tears that were all the more bitter for having been restrained.

The room was filled with a mortifying silence, punctuated at intervals by his ragged breathing. As he gradually regained some measure of control, he wondered how difficult it would be to Obliviate Doamnă Dragnea without her noticing.

“{She was very brave,}” Catalina said when he had stopped his disgraceful sniveling.

“{She was very foolish,}” he countered petulantly.

Catalina did not dignify that with an answer, and he started flicking his wand at the mess of shelving and books. As the chaos slowly succumbed to order, he made a mental list of items requiring his attention in a vain attempt to prevent the overwhelming flood of memories from drowning him again. He had promised Healer A’isha that he would lend her his copy of Luma’at al-nuraniyya that had been glossed by wizard of Tamerlane’s court. He would have to take it to her himself; it was not the sort of thing he wanted to trust to an owl. There was a stack of essays on Boggarts by the dunderheaded third years that required marking. Miranda had smiled when he’d asked her what her Boggart was, and kissed him until he knew she was not going to answer. If he were to venture a guess now, he would say that it was small, enclosed spaces. He would ask her the next time he saw her.

Except that he wouldn’t. Because he would never see her again.

The books marching through the air to the repaired shelving clattered to the floor a second time. He stormed away from them, grabbing his still-wet cloak and flinging it around his shoulders. Catalina rose from the sofa, fetching her cloak as well.

He had to get rid of her. He had to be alone. He had to be anywhere but here.

As though she had read his thoughts, Catalina offered, “{Domnul Weasley asked me to meet him in Professor McGonagall’s office when we were finished. Perhaps there is someone who could show me the way.}”

“{I will take you,}” he said inhospitably, wrenching the door open and flinging himself into the hallway.

A snitch-sized ball of bright blue light darted towards him, and he recoiled from it to prevent a collision.

“What in Hades are you?” he growled, drawing his wand to threaten the devious thing.

“{Stop!}” Catalina ordered, and she had the gall to grab his hand to push his wand away. “{It’s a Spiridus.}”

“{A what?}” he demanded, for some reason resisting the urge to swat the overgrown, flashing mosquito.

“{A Spiridus. They help people who help them.}”

The witch was staring at the thing as though her mind were addled by it.

“{I can’t imagine what it’s doing here then,}” he sneered.

“{Be quiet, professor,}” she snapped.

“So you may commune with the spirit world? I suppose I better had,” he muttered. But he did fall silent, stacking up a score of insults in his brain, ready to launch them at the slightest provocation. The Romanian nodded to the creature, and it darted away, vanishing through a wall at the end of the passage. She watched it to the last, then turned to Severus, her face fixed with such an idiotic expression of hope that his own halfwitted heart lifted in response.

“{Miranda has a home here, yes?}” Catalina asked quickly.

“{Yes.}”

“{Then lead the way. That is where we will find her.}”

He knew it was futile, but he plunged into the downpour with Catalina at his heels. With every step towards the edge of the wards, his heart beat the refrain:

Merlin let her be there; let her be alive; let her be safe.

*****

End Notes:

Many, many thanks to Mr. Zingarella for Beta-ing this chapter. Any remaining mistakes are mine :)

Osâmbritul is a Romanian festival held during September and October that centers around the preparation of sheep for the winter.

You can read the tale of how Cassandra Borgin came to join the D.A. in my story, Rota Fortunæ.

Cezara= Caesar. This is the title of the leader of the witches and wizards of Romania.

Căpcăuns are dog-headed monsters that capture women and children.

Luma’at al-nuraniyya (Bright Lights) is a twelfth century text by the Sufi mathematician Ahmad ibn Ali al-Buni.

*****

Moonlight Masterpost+

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Chapter Twenty-Six+ >>

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inevitably-johnlocked · 6 years ago

Note

Am so in the mood for some fics where John helps Sherlock through detox/cravings/danger nights, anytime throughout the series. Bonus points for Sherlock being scared John will be mad at him or turn away, but John being supportive and understanding!!

anonymous asked: Do you know of any Sherlock fics that include self harm? Thanks

Hi Guys!!

Since these are… SORT OF related, I’m putting them together! I don’t have many re: self-harm, so I thought I would add all the drug use, poisoning and the like fics together as well. They’re for both John and Sherlock, so I hope that’s alright! Hope these suffice!!

SELF-HARM