#sign up for four more procedures asides from the one she came here for ^_^'' i'm going to kill you.

[mishkakagehishka]

"We're old moms, we can't wait to stop breastfeeding so we can get [very excited, shrill even] botooooox!!!"

We are never making it out of the patriarchy.

[adventuringblind]

Drive With You Forever

Chapter fifteen: Figuring it Out

Max Verstappen x Charles Leclerc x Lando Norris x Reader x Oscar Piastri

Chapter summary: The reader has a dream, books are burned, the reader gets sick again, but the doctors are nice this time!

Warnings: Every form of abuse is depicted in this story. Sickness, vomiting, fever, nightmares, panic attacks, graphic description of SA, child SA, Rape, unconsenual medical procedures, mild implied SH,

Notes: This is so long. I couldn't find a good stopping point, so I just kept going...

Previous <-

Masterlist

Why is everything so blurry?

The lights are swimming and she can't seem to find her footing. They world beauty her seeming to sway.

She blinks away the feeling, looking to find her center and figure out what’s going on.

“…test number six hundred and thirty four…” says a muffled voice from somewhere in front of her. A familiar voice at that. She hauls herself of the ground as her vision begins to clear up.

She’s still in the basement. Where did everyone else go? She scans the room in search of any sign that their comfort is near.

Her panic increases as she can’t see them. Her chest becomes heavy at the thought of being trapped here once again.

Then she sees his face. For a moment she locks eyes with him, but he passes right by here without a thought.

He keeps circling her wooden box of a bed. She must be in someone’s memory. She would says it’s her own but she doesn’t remember this. Or she does and she just locked in away.

She knew she was unconscious or incoherent enough that she could never quite tell what was happening aside from the feelings. Normally, pain. Sometimes, there were differences in textures. Occasionally, hands.

He’s working in her unconscious body. He sticks her body with all sorts of things she cannot name.

She doesn’t want to be here for this. She doesn’t want to see herself go through this. Feel those things again.

She runs runs up the stairs only to find herself back in the basement room.

There are so many people here. All of them dressed in odd looking costumes. It almost looks like a Halloween party but if the theme was pilgrims.

She sees her unconscious body again. This time layer out in the middle of the floor, bare for everyone to see.

Why are they taking turns touching her in such a way? Was the feeling of hands never just her fathers?

She feels sick. She thought the first time her body had gone through such a thing was the Max. It was different then. He was gentle and kind and he constantly asked if she was okay.

Again she makes an attempt at an escape. Again she find herself in the same room in a memory that’s not her own. Her father has been here in every single one. She assumes that it’s his memory, his connection to her amplified by her wooden coffin.

She’s sitting in the box, playing with strands of light that dance out of her fingertips. She looks at herself and there is no recognition. Her eyes are hazy and the motions feel robotic.

She’d always hated waking from these trances he’d put her in. No memory of what she’d done.

“It’s not enough! Why can’t I amplify your power?” He growls. He’s lankier in this memory then he was when he came to the paddock. His face less wrinkly and no grey hairs in sight. She must have been about ten if she remembered his appearance correctly.

Another man comes down the stares but her past self makes no movement.

“If she can’t bear a child we’ll be finished.” The figure is cloaked in darkness. His voice echoes through the room.

“I’m aware.” Her father spits.

“We need their power if we want to continue living.”

Living? She wondered at times how her father seemed to have knowledge beyond his years. The stories he’d shared about how her mother kept him young she thought was nothing more then a myth.

They are exploiting her. They need her. They need her body and power to continue to keep their supposed immortality.

How is that even possible.

“I’ve managed to make the constraints less.”

“Show me.”

She assumes that whoever this dark shadowy figure is, is in charge.

She watches as a rotten apple it placed in front of her unresponsive body. She still makes no move. Not even a sound.

“Fix it.”

Her past self obeys the command and lets the light dance around the the apple. It begins curling itself around the shape. She can feel the warmth through her own skin.

It’s beautiful in a way. How the light moves and repairs.

This time the memory fades away. The room shifting into something unfamiliar. She’d never see this place before.

It’s a wooden building. It feel hollow and smells of mildew. The men from before are once again dressed up, but they all look different.

They are doing what they did to her. Their terrible ritual. The women’s body in the center is unconscious, but she looks far different from her mother.

Aside from the hair. She’d seen picture of her mother. Their hair practically identical and now this woman’s is as well.

They take her apart as well. It's strange how they drink the crimson leaking from her. Her father was a human as far as she was aware. So why were these people acting like vampires?

Something, a woman’s voice, warm and kind, tells her to watch these men. Each one that takes instantly becomes younger. Any hints of wrinkles gone. Their hair becomes full and vibrant.

Then the scene vanishes.

Everything is dark and she doesn’t want to be alone in it.

The voice calls her further in, and she wastes no time sprinting towards it. The abyss seems to never end.

The voice gets louder as a ghostly figure comes into view. It’s familiar and it’s kind.

It’s her mother.

She halts in front of it. Just an arms length away.

“I can feel that you’re frightened. There is no need to fear me.”

“But you died.” Her voice is shaky and confused. She feels so small in comparison to the figure.

“It’s a connection we all share.”

“What are we?”

“Witches I suppose. Maybe a deity of some kind.” She shrugs. “You’ve been so strong to face this alone.” The ghost reaches to touch, and she finds herself leaning into it. It’s not cold but comforting.

“How were you making them younger?”

“It’s something inside us. Some drink out blood, others use sex, and when strong enough, it can even come from just a touch with someone you have a strong connection with.” She explains.

“What about my other powers then? Could you do that too?”

“That, unfortunately, was your fathers doing. The healing comes from your bloodline, the rest is something I don’t understand.” She sighs with a hint if exasperation. “I’m sorry, that I haven’t been there. You’ve managed to suppress more then I would’ve imagined.”

“I’m sorry I killed you.” Her eyes find her feet. The shame of why she is this way creeping back in.

The ghost leans down to her. “That was not your fault. That could’ve never been your fault and there wasn’t anything you could do to stop it. We’re not immune to death.”

She feels herself being dragged away and into the void. “No!” She screams. “Don’t leave me!”

The ghost reaches out to her one last time and kisses her forehead. She feels an energy she’s never had before flowing through her veins. It’s not scary though, it’s welcoming. “I’ve always been here and I’m not going anywhere.”

She can’t even register the tears as she falls into the void. The once welcoming feeling now morphing into the ones she felt earlier.

Hands. Needles. Whispers. Breaths. Knives. Teeth.

An endless fall into the fear she knows so well.

~

Lando is still awake despite everyone’s best attempts to get him to sleep. He’d been awake for almost twenty four hours. His eyes are heavy and he wants to succumb to sleep so badly, but he can’t. His mind refuses to stop thinking about every possibility.

This is why he’s able to react to the ear-piercing scream so quickly. While everyone else is stumbling around, he’s taking the stairs by two. Hanna told them to stay out of the room and let her rest meaning they were stuck in the downstairs room.

Of course Seb is at the door before him.

Seb opens in and Lando is bounding over to the distressed female. Her hands are clawing at her own skin to the point she’s drawing blood. Her eyes are screwed shut and her legs are trying to move her away from something even though she’s not getting far. Eventually she hits the headboard.

“Y/N, it’s me, open your eyes please love your safe now.” He whispers. It comes out shaky because he’s distressed but he knows he needs to keep himself as calm as possible.

Seb stands at the side of one of the beds. She’s feeling for an exit and will fall off if she keeps it up. He lets Lando soothe her. His whispers helping the screams to die out.

The other three appear in the door as well. Only for a few seconds though before they’ve dispersed to grab things.

Finally Lando coax’s her into opening her eyes. She’s still rubbing at her skin, clawing lines into it, but she sees him. “There you are.” He smiles at her. Her breathing is still massively uneven, but she lets him get a little closer. “Can I come over to you?”

She just stares at him. Then she just breaks into sobs. Her body freezing in its place as she attempts to curl even further into herself.

Whether she wants it or not, Lando is crawling own to her. Pulling her body into his chest and protectively wrapping him arms around her. She did this for him too. It’s where he learned it actually. She told him that ‘sometimes when we want to make ourselves small, it’s nice to have someone much to protect us’ so they all did it for each other.

She had no mercy on her skin and he’s thankful when Max comes in with bandages.

She starts trying to flail her body and fight them as they get them on her. Lando is constantly reassuring her through the whole ordeal.

Charles is the one to suggest music. Another noise for her to focus on while they try and get her cleaned up. He throws on his recorded piano songs that she’d taken pride in watching him create.

She does relax at the sound. Reduced to just choked sobs now.

Seb had to go check on his own children. They’d woken to the sound and had worried. He’d gone to reassure them with Hanna that everything is going to be alright with their sister.

She tires herself out in Lando’s arms. No tears left to cry despite her body attempting. “I remember." She croaks.

All of them freeze. They don’t push her to continue but they attempt to get comfortable. She uncurls herself but still clings to Lando like her life depends on it.

Oscar is drowsy from having his sleep interrupted and Lando can clearly see it on his face. His head goes into Charles’ lap and the Monegasque looks down at him endearingly.

Max is across from her but holding hands with the Monegasque like he’d been doing since Charles started trying to close himself off.

“Take whatever time you need, chéri.”

She has yet to look at any of them completely. Her face still mostly hidden in Lando’s shirt. “I’m sorry.”

They all look at her confused. Then at each other for some sign that one of them know why she would apologize. Then back to her with no answers.

“Why are you apologizing?” Lando whispers into her hair.

Her nails attempt to find her skin again but Max catches her in the act. He now sets himself beside her and lets the girl play with his fingers. Charles slips off a couple of his rings for him. She’d been fascinated with them and messed with them to keep her hands busy.

Her hands did it without Max even having to guide her. Though the rings don’t fit anywhere but his pinky.

“Do you remember Max, when you took me when is was just us two. Still no idea Charles would be joining us in a month and completely clueless?”

“Yes, it was a miracle I lasted as long as I did. How could I ever forget that.” He smiles at her.

She inhales shakily. “You weren’t the first.” She confesses. All four of them now understand what she’s meaning. They’d seen the videos. Why someone would ever record that was beyond them. They planned to burn the laptop if and when she said the could.

She looks directly at him now. “I feel gross.” The empty tear ducts only leave her with small drops of liquid. “I feel violated and like I’ve lied to all of you.”

“You have done nothing wrong here. You are a victim.” Max stops her before she can get any farther. “What they did to you was wrong and unforgivable.”

“We found videos and images on his laptop, amour. We saw.”

Lando can feel her starting to hyperventilate again as she struggles to get out of his hold. “We skipped anything that had you in it. It made us all sick and we couldn’t do that to your privacy. We did listen to your fathers monologues though.”

She instantly calmed down again. Her hands once again finding the rings on Max’s fingers.

“There so much more. Everything that I am. Everything I can do.” She hold her hands up for them to see and the mesmerizing glowing lights appear once more. “I’d forgotten about this. It’s beautiful. And it’s completely mine.”

“What do you mean by completely yours?” Oscar asks with a yawn. He’s exhausted but still trying to remain present for her.

“I saw memories of those who came before me. I’m some sort of magical being I think and it’s been passed down for generations. The healing and gift of immortality is mine. That’s from my bloodline. Everything else is the work of my father in order to expand on that trait and bring my mother back.” She explains. Even though the story is tragic, she seems at piece with knowing. Like she able to understand herself better now.

“Immortality?”

“My bloody and body heal. It has the ability to give back someone’s youth. That’s why they need me back, they’re aging now.” Once again, the feeling of hands crawls around her skin. She shivers lightly and tries to keep herself grounded.

“I couldn’t control it before now. My father had to go through extensive procedures before I could be of use to them. It’s like I turned it off. But I have it now if I want it. Or if I’m unconscious, I suppose.”

“We want to burn the laptop and some of the journals if you’ll allow us.” Proposes the Brit. He’s not sure that she’ll. Say yes, it maybe the comfort of the idea will help her to stay calm.

“Can we do it now?”

~

Seb and Hanna meet them outside at the fire pit. The kids once again tucked away into bed.

The fire is already raging. Books and computer in hand.

“They tried to burn us. Maybe this completes the circle in a way.”

They all take turns tossing things in and watching it go up in flames.

As her family locks hands with each other, she knows everything will be okay.

It most certainly doesn’t feel like it right now and she has more fighting to do.

But they’ll be next to her, fighting with her, every step of the way.

~

The very idea that a cult is after them sends Max's thoughts into overdrive. He wanted to go downstairs and discuss with everybody, but a certain Australian is clinging to him like he'll die if he doesn't.

Him and Oscar sleep the most out of the five. This is what he's become used to since he started staying with them. Mornings where the Aussie are curled up into him have become something he looks forward to.

Currently, however, he knows he'll have to wake him up if they are going to be productive today.

Max makes an attempt at escape but ends up just pulling Oscar with him. He mumbles and shifts a bit before opening his own eyes.

"Morning sleepy head."

"It's too early." Disgruntled groans follow the statement.

Max lets out a breathy laugh. "I know, you can go back to sleep if you want."

"But you're leaving."

"Would you rather me carry you?"

Max didn't know what he was expecting, but walking down the stairs with a sleepy Australian on his back wasn't it.

The fact that the sight brought a smile to the faces of all his lovers made the effort worth it. They join the other three at the table. Oscar looks like he might fall asleep on the table.

“How are you feeling?” He asks toward the female. She’s playing with her food and sitting with her knees tucked into her chest.

“She hasn’t kept food down yet.” Sighs Charles who’s sitting next to her. She scrunches up her nose when he says it.

Max nods his head. The ever looming sickness strikes again. “I think we should move.”

“Again?!” Lando rolls his eyes. Max already knows how much the Brit hates moving. They’ve moves so much the last few years that he’s come to despise it.

“Well, kind of.” Max leans back in his chair and the other four eye him expectantly. “I think we should closer to Seb and Hanna but also keep the Monaco apartment. That way we’ll always have somewhere to come back too.”

“Logical idea.” Oscar says to the table. "We could do that during summer break since it's coming up soon."

"For now, we need to decide if we should stay here or go back to Monaco."

The female looks at her food and then back at them. "I love it here, but I think Hanna and Seb wouldn't appreciate us doing things in their house."

"What does that have to do with this?" Asks Lando. Innocent. Pure actual innocence.

"Because someone can only go so long."

~

Charles eyes to female cautiously. She'd yet to keep anything down. Reduced to dry heaving every few minutes.

"You don't have to sit on the bathroom floor with me."

"Mm true. But I want to." He runs his fingers along her spine. It’s the only comforting feeling she has to cling to at the moment. Even as she’s back to heaving up nothing, he’s still comforting her.

When it passes, Charles leans her back against his chest. “Do you think it’s your powers?”

“Honestly? No.” Charles hums. He doesn’t push her to continue. He just continues to give her a feeling to ground herself with; his fingers now finding hers as she goes to play with his rings. “It’s the memories. Knowing what actually happened to me. It doesn’t feel real but I can’t escape the feeling of hands that I didn’t want on me.”

She heaves again. Harder this time then previously. Like somehow speaking it made it real and more intense. She leans back into him. “It’s not fair, Charlie. Especially to you four. How are we supposed to live like this?” Her voice is so broken. It’s a sound that will haunt him.

“Will figure it out, Mon amour. But first I think we need to get sustenance in your body.”

“What’s the point?” She groans. “It’s just going to come back up. I would eat anything if it meant I could keep it down.”

“I think I might have an idea.” Charles smiles down at her and kisses the top of her head.

~

Ice cream is his idea. The boys went out to get it and were diligent in avoiding people. The thought of their trainers finding out keeping them from just walking around like normal people.

Charles had dragged Max with him while the other two stayed behind to look after the female.

"I feel like we're on a secret mission."

"And yet you're drawing attention to yourself by ducking around the corners."

"Andrea will have my head if he finds out about this."

It took them an hour to get back. and things had gotten worse when they did.

Lando greets them at the door. They are thankful the Seb and Hanna took the kids out for the day. having the house to themselves makes this a bit easier.

"Oscar is attempting to force water down her throat. It's getting worse." There is a certain anxiety in the Brits voice that Charles can't ignore.

"What do you mean worse?" Max beats him to the question.

Lando runs a hand through his curls. "She's spiked a fever, and she passes while you two were done." He bounces on the balls of his heels. "Also, she keeps muttering in her sleep and it's starting to freak me out."

The three make their way up to the female. Charles grimaces at the sight. She's panting and drenched in sweat.

Lando is right. He can see her mouth moving frantically. Her eyes flicker back and forth behind shut lids.

"She fell asleep again. I got some water in her before she did." Oscar looks at her nervously. It's the same look he has whenever she's not doing well. Now they know better than to force him away from her. Last time they tried he didn't speak to them for a day.

"I hate to say it, but we're gonna need to find a way to get fluids in her consistently." Max sighs heavily. They all know it's necessary but taking her back to the doctors comes with so many risks.

"What about a private doctor?"

"Even then it would be risky."

Max ponders. They need to think of something or risk her dying of dehydration. "We'll try the emergency room and hope they are so busy they won't pay close attention to her bloodwork. like the did the first time."

~

Lando didn't think pulling Oscar away from her would be so damn difficult. He's been running the opposite direction of anything medical related since he got out of the hospital.

"Osc, it's just a few minutes to they can get her set up in a room." He tries to reason with the younger. "How about we go get some air and we can talk about this."

The Aussie finally gives in, letting his arm go slack. Lando almost falls over at the sudden lack of resistance.

He jumps on the opportunity to guide him out of the building. He keeps their fingers interlocked. Lando couldn't care less if the vultures pounce on them. He desperately needs to get them away from the anxiety inducing building until they can see her.

Charles or Max would probably be batter at calming him then Lando. But Max was the one who went back with her since he knows her medical history like the back of his hand and has the excuses they planned to use if anyone got suspicious. Charles is on the phone with Seb talking about what's going on.

That leaves Lando. The most anxious out of all of them.

"Wanna talk about what's going on in your head?" They continue walking, hopefully the air will do them both good even if it's a parking lot.

"It's hard to explain." Oscar admits. "It was terrible being drugged out of consciousness. And I thought I was dreaming, but she came to check on me. She bargained for my safety." Lando can feel Oscar's hands starting to relax a bit. He's not fighting so hard anymore. "Then, when we started to try and make our way out, she saved me again. She was exhausted and I had to carry her at one point but it was so cold and damp and dark. I just never want to leave her like that again."

Lando thinks back to when he stumbled across them. How Oscar kicked and screamed at them, the females body in his protective grip. Somehow, they'd kept each other alive, and now Oscar feels the effects of the trauma that has bonded them together.

Lando stops them next to a relatively secluded part of the lot. He spins around and places his hands on either side of Oscar's face. "I promise you that we're never going to let that happen again. We're going to figure this out. What they did to you both is not something I'll say I understand, but I hear you. You and her are safe, and we're going to do our best to keep it that way."

~

Seb stands in the doorway with Max and Charles. His daughter now, thankfully, awake with a broken fever. The unfortunate part is that there are about four doctors standing around her asking her questions.

They'd been very specific with the Max. Mainly because the Dutch refused to let them near her when they said there were irregularities in her DNA.

They won't do anything without consent.

Yet the boys are still standing guard. Max's eyes haven't left her body, and Charles is trying to keep him from slamming the door open and kicking all of them out of the room.

The doctors step away from and exit the room. Seb grabs Max's arm in an attempt to keep him stationary.

The interaction certainly doesn’t look like much. Yet Seb can see the way she tries to curl herself farther away from them. They don’t advance, just continue talking. He can’t help but admire the respect they have for the traumatized girl.

Three of the doctors nod at them and walk away. The fourth closes the door behind him and steps in front of sebastian.

"We're going to discharge her. We think it was a psychological response to something, but otherwise, she should be okay to leave."

Seb thanks the man. His chest is relieved of the weight sitting on it since he'd gotten the call.

~

They didn't go back to Monaco. Instead, they flew directly to Hungary. It was her request since she wasn't sure she could stomach multiple trips. It was only a few days earlier than they needed to be there.

Max had gotten his own hotel room this time. The place is massive and luxurious. It's not like it's shocking or that she's not used to it by now. Her mind just recalls a time when her and Max were in a barely standard sized room eating comfort food while avoiding Brad.

"I don't know you, but I am exhausted." Lando let's out a large yawn to further prove his point.

Max drops his bags and turns to face the group. "That's a shame. Guess you won't get to join us then." A playful smirk tugs on his lips. She's not exactly sure what the plans are, but with the cheeky glint in the Dutchmans eye she knows they are in for a long night.

~

Next ->

Tags: @styles-sunflower @purplephantomwolf @boiohboii @reblog-princess-blog @jayda12 @faithm120601 @eugene-emt-roe @lpab @yaaadii @80sloverry @spongebeck3101 @eviethetheatrefreak @chanshintien @vellicora @hollie911 @pretty-little-bunny382728 @be-your-coffee-pot @copper-boom

[r1999-transcript]

A Nightmare At Green Lake 03 - Empty Pillbox

Bonfire Camping Area

Sonetto: This … this must be the camp.

Horropedia: Huh … Hah … I sniff conspiracy in the air. What will happen here? Murder? Sacrifice? Spy attack? Or evocation? Let me see, let me see, let me see … What do we have here?

Sonetto: These things have been left here catching dust, and I see no footprints or any signs of activity. Seems like it has been deserted for a long time. Iron buckets, felling axes, picnic mats. Considering we are in a campsite, it is only normal to expect these tools to be here. Hmm. What is this?

Sonetto crouches down, carefully checking at a half-revealed, muddy piece of metal.

Horropedia: Anything? Have you found anything, Sonetto?

Sonetto: Something is buried in the ground. Right here.

She breaks a twig from the bush. Without hesitation, she pushes the mud clods aside with the twig.

Horropedia: A box, made of iron or aluminium. It looks like … like a candy box. Judging from the rust, it has been buried here for four or five years. A kid’s candy box? No, adults can love candies too … Looking at it from a different angle. Is its owner still alive? What happened to the person here? Why was this box buried with a battered magazine?

Vertin: From the traces of activity here, it’s probably been left by its indiscreet owner. Wait. Is this the “Green Lake Campsite”? We just met a mad man who called himself an oracle. He drove people away from the land of demons. Open it. If this is from a brutal crime, there might be some evidence inside.

Horropedia: We are all ears, Ms. Vertin.

The metal box opens up. There’s nothing in it, except for the metal that made up the box.

Tooth Fairy: This is not a candy box, it is a pillbox. Correction, it is an empty pillbox.

Vertin: You’re back, Ms. Tooth Fairy. What did you find when you explored the campsite?

Tooth Fairy: Roughly the same as here. Near the woods there’s a place for firewood cutting. More traces left by critters can be found near the woods than here. I also found the teeth and claw marks of giant critters as well as some excretion.

Sonetto: That is to say, one gigantic critter inhabits here, if not more?

Tooth Fairy: Yes, that’s why I came back here. Watch out for the critters. We may have stepped in their territory.

The bushes rustle. Just like the crucibles always give off a whiff of smoke when a witch casts the spell …

Sonetto: ?!

This is also the right moment for a spooky figure to rise from the bushes.

Critter: *roar*

…

Joint Foundation of SF

Z: Yea, I understand. I’ll tell them to be careful. Yes … thank you for your advice. Bye. Angie, come in. This is the file that the Timekeeper submitted, it’s about the “Storm”. Please hand it to the research department.

Female Investigator: Affirmative. I will bring it to them.

Z: Next month, your squad will be dispatched to North America to join Zeno for a joint mission. The tactical unit under the Timekeeper will be replaced by the third squad. Please complete the handover procedure before you leave. By the way, your application for the outing permission has been permitted. The document will be posted to your dorm mailbox by 7 pm tomorrow.

Female Investigator: I’m very grateful for your help, Madam Z!

Z: You’re welcome. Get some good rest. Don’t forget to remind your team members that actions outside the areas mentioned in the application will not be allowed. They need to return back to the Headquarters by the specific time and check in once they’re back.

Female Investigator: I will, Madam Z. I will look after them.

Z: Off you go… Oh hey, Angie. I heard that the Tooth Fairy has returned to the Foundation. Please tell her to come by my office when she’s available.

Female Investigator: Ms Tooth Fairy? I suppose she has gone by now. On my way here, I saw Joshua and Vertin were with her. They seemed to be… Planning to travel.

Z: Joshua? To travel? … No. Nope, I haven’t received his outing application.

Female Investigator: Which … which means…

Z: *sigh* …He did have some past records of violation, such as, being late, absent from duty, and taking action without permission. His past records means that his outing application will not be permitted. He must be well aware of it. That’s why he wasn’t even bothered to apply for one.

Female Investigator: My… No wonder he always said: “Let’s start off immediately and come back furtively so nobody will know.”

Z: Don’t be nervous. Our priority now is to get them back and minimise the possible consequences. Angie, do you know where they are going?

Female Investigator: He men… mentioned … I’m trying to recall… It’s … Green Lake. They were heading to Green Lake Campsite!

Z: Green Lake? …You mean … the Green Lake Campsite established by Zeno?

Female Investigator: Yes, Madam Z.

Z: It’s even worse now. I’m sorry Angie. Please inform the 7th and the 5th squad to stand by. We’ll head out at any time.

Female Investigator: Yes! I’ll fetch them now!

Z: … Hello, is it the liaison department of Zeno Armaments Academy? I am Z, please put me through Lieutenant Vanya…

[whumpinggrounds]

Panic - SOW

another @summer-of-whump prompt! had an idea and then didn’t get around to it until ELEVEN but managed to scribble something down so here goes. more angst for isabella :)

tagging @shapeshiftersandfire and @killtheprotagonist

CW: lady whump, pet whump, aftermath of conditioning, mentions of noncon touch, intimate whumper, migraines, panic attacks, amnesia

Days pass and Isabella wanders the apartment, examining every piece of Miss Mara’s clothing, staring at the photos on the wall until her eyes stream with tears. The memories come slowly, sporadically, and sometimes, not at all. Some mornings, Isabella wakes with the distinct feeling that she remembered something the night before that melted away in the morning light. Some days, Miss Mara gets irritated, and the boxgirl’s new resolve crumbles under the pressure to be good quiet obedient loving GOOD.

Hardly a week has passed and already, Isabella has made all the progress she thinks she can make. Shaking with adrenaline, she hesitates in front of the desk in the corner of Miss Mara’s apartment.

Isabella knows every inch of the apartment aside from Miss Mara’s desk drawers. Isabella has seen, soaped, and scrubbed every centimeter of wall, floor, and counter. She’s dusted the ceiling. She’s folded clothes and organized spices and sat and watched the empty walls until she thought she’d go cross-eyed. No matter how bored she’d gotten, Isabella had never dreamed of opening the desk drawers. During the first week of owning her, Miss Mara had declared the drawers off-limits.

Now, Isabella stands before them, not breathing.

This is the first rule she’s actually broken. The-the…what Miss Mara called a crush on Jamie – that hadn’t been a rule, just Box Babe programming that was supposed to be unshakable. This would be something else. This would be a direct violation of the owner that bought and paid and takes care of her. Miss Mara ordered Isabella to do one thing, and now Isabella plans to do something else. The idea of it terrifies her, makes her throat thick and her palms sweaty.

Deep down inside, where Isabella keeps her confusion and her questions and her anger, the idea of it makes her a little bit excited, too.

The first hour, Isabella just stands in front of the desk. She sits down, waits nervously for a moment in her owner’s chair, and then stands back up. Isabella isn’t allowed on the furniture without permission, not anymore. Miss Mara prefers her on her knees, looking up adoringly, or else perched on Miss Mara’s lap, where Miss Mara’s hands can move over any part of her pet’s body. Miss Mara would absolutely not want Isabella in her chair, hand trembling on the handle to her drawer. After almost three hours of practice, that’s where Isabella finds herself.

By the time she eases the top drawer open, Isabella’s head thrums with every beat of her heart. Her palms are slick with sweat, and she breathes fast and shallow, like her lungs have shrunk to a quarter of their former size. She’s been hyperventilating so long that her head feels empty and airy, her skin cold. When her arm draws back, bringing the drawer with it, Isabella can almost pretend it’s someone else’s fingers, attached to someone else’s hand.

After all this buildup, the contents of the drawer are underwhelming. Pens and pencils neatly aligned, a few sticky note pads lining the bottom. There’s a checkbook tucked in the corner, a roll of tape that hasn’t been opened yet. The clear order of the drawer soothes Isabella for a moment, relaxes her even as she has to slide the drawer shut again, quickly, quickly, so her absent owner can’t catch her.

The next drawer has paper in it, blank paper of three kinds. One has a grid of blue lines, and another is lined just one way, and the last sort is entirely blank. Looking at the empty pages, Isabella’s fingers twitch. An unspecified longing rises in her. If she put a pencil to paper, what could she do? Could she write? Could she draw? Back in training, Handler Collins broke her fingers for signing something forbidden, signing her old name. The bones creak, sometimes, the hand aches when Isabella works with water that’s too cold, or spends too long on her knees, scrubbing the floor.

Without realizing it, Isabella has taken her right hand in her left, is rubbing her thumb over the back of her hand as if she can heal the damaged bones that Handler Collins broke. If she pretends the problem is her hand, she doesn’t have to admit that the thing that would really keep her from writing is her broken fucking brain.

Slamming the drawer shut harder than she means to, Isabella rips the last one open with all the leftover adrenaline in her, heart slamming hard in her chest. There’s a headache singing in her head, nerves prickling in her fingers, and when the last drawer is packed full of files, the thought of all those pages full of writing makes Isabella want to give in entirely.

Instead, she reaches down tentatively, runs her fingers over the cascade of brown tabs. They didn’t break her of reading, not really. She’s grown so used to the migraines that the pain sparking behind her eyes hardly registers as she scans over the labels on the files.

There, right after Interviews – Handlers, is a tab that makes Isabella swallow hard. It’s her name, written in Miss Mara’s confident hand. Arm trembling so bad she’s afraid she’ll drop the thing altogether, Isabella reaches down and withdraws her file.

It’s thin. Almost empty. There are five documents inside – Isabella counts them before she tries to read a word. The first is a transfer of ownership. Though the words stretch on for one page, two pages, three pages, four, the purpose of the packet is outlined in the very first paragraph that Isabella scans.

It’s a document of sale. It transfers responsibility of Isabella from WRU to Ms. Mara Langford, MS. On the final page, Isabella traces her fingers over Miss Mara’s big, loopy signature, and feels her meager breakfast flip, deep in her stomach.

The next three documents are six pages each. They detail Isabella’s checkups – the questions asked and the answers given. They’re the same questions, over and over, and always, the same answers. In the very back of her mind, Isabella feels a flash of something like fleeting pride. There’s a sentence printed at the bottom of each transcript, a judgment meted out in emotionless capital letters.

MEMORY STATUS: SATISFACTORY

If the handlers knew what Isabella was doing now, she thinks, faintly hysterical, they wouldn’t think her status was satisfactory, no, no, not at all.

If Isabella had stopped there, her life might have turned out very, very differently. If the tidal wave of guilt had dragged her under, she might’ve gone on living as she did for a very long time. As it was, she came close, so incredibly close, to carefully replacing the papers, sliding the folder back in the drawer, and leaving her discontent for another day.

Before she can do that, though, Isabella catches a glimpse of the lone document left on the table. Her eyes catch at the title, the first paragraph, the last paragraph, the signature beneath. Each new realization hits her separately and hits her hard.

It’s an informal document, drafted by someone only relatively familiar with the law. It’s an agreement – a retraining agreement.

Isabella’s glad she’s sitting down, because if she wasn’t, she thinks she’d lose her legs.

On this paper, it says that Handler Collins has permission to retrain Isabella, and that he has permission to use whatever method he sees fit. In the last paragraph, right before the signatures, it says that this procedure may be repeated, whenever the owner deems necessary.

Beneath that, Miss Mara’s signature repeats, big and loopy and dark.

For what feels like an age, Isabella sits there, wanting to vomit, wanting to sob, wanting to cry. Miss Mara had petted her and soothed her and cooed over her, made sad faces over Handler Collins’ cruelty. The whole time, she’d been…she’d been admiring his work. She’d been thinking that if Isabella ever needed another tune up, it would be Handler Collins who would take care of that for them.

With excessive care, Isabella lines the papers up neatly. She places them inside the folder, lining up the edges. The folder slides back into the desk drawer, between Interviews – Handlers and the start of the J files. The drawer she shuts neatly. She stands from the desk, steps back, and slides the chair into place. Everything is aligned, in order, neatly in place. Satisfied with her precision, Isabella retreats numbly away from the desk, away from the drawers and the documents and the dark truths within.

There’s nowhere in the apartment that’s truly safe. There’s nowhere in the apartment that’s hers. The best Isabella can do is retreat into the closet next to the front door, curl up on the floor in the dark, quiet corner where no one ever comes but her.

Legs tucked up tight against her chest, Isabella wraps her arms around herself and sinks her head down between her knees. Finally, her icy numb calm starts to slip. Her breathing is the first to go – the hyperventilation that tightens her chest until it aches. Chills race over her skin, shaking that rattles her audibly against the back of the closet wall. The sobs are almost silent, but ring loud in Isabella’s ears, too loud, much too loud – she’s going to get hurt for that, hurt for this, hurt for anything, for everything –

Her breath comes shorter. Her eyes blur with tears. The sobs heave unevenly out of her, a collection of ragged, desperate, broken sounds. She wants to dig her nails into her arms, wants a grounding kind of pain, but she can’t do that. She’s not allowed to hurt, to touch, to damage. Her body is not her own.

Instead of perfect, soothing pain, Isabella falls apart in the closet, fist stuffed in her mouth so she won’t cry too loud. Her eyes swell and her throat closes and her chest aches – and then, when it’s all too much, when there’s too little air for her to go on gasping, then, thankfully, finally, the closet goes black, and Isabella passes out.

[cadenreigns]

My Monster(s)

(This was an AU short story I wrote for a reddit 1-day writing contest for the star vs subreddit a long while back and later decided to add a twist ending to. While I went back and edited it a little bit, it was still something I wrote in like 2 hours so don’t expect a masterpiece. And since it’s longer than I remembered so it’s after the break)

“And that should be everything,” Dr. Backintosh said as she ticked off a few notes on her clipboard. “We’ll call you to set up a follow-up appointment once the results come in, but based on what we’ve gathered so far, I don’t foresee anything keeping us from moving on to the next phase.”

Meteora shifted in her hospital gown before feeling Mariposa squeeze her hand. The two exchanged a hopeful look before she returned her attention to the doctor. “So, you don’t think there will be any problem because of…what I am?”

The doctor looked up and gave a reassuring smile. “Ms. Butterfly, while your body may be more unique than others, you still have all the same organs and working parts we’re used to dealing with. I won’t say it’s impossible something won’t come up, but I wouldn’t bet on it.”

Meteora let out a sigh she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding. “Good.”

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“I guess all that’s left is to figure out a donor,” Mariposa mused aloud as they exited the doctor’s office and made their way to her car. Meteora immediately knew that she already had an idea, otherwise she wouldn’t have brought it up. It was, after all, the part of this situation that made her the most uncomfortable. More about it probably should have made her uncomfortable, like the very basic fact that 19 was a bit young to be doing what she was. But unlike Mari, quintessential college student that she was, who had every opportunity still ahead of her, Meteora only had one major decision of her own to make. And she had decided to make it before her weird half-breed biology could mess something up about it. Everything else, like where she could live and what job she’d have, had already been decided by the government or negotiated by her parents. And while being the monster representative would be a cushy job, she wasn’t sure that’s what she would have chosen for herself.

“I’m not going to like what you’re going to say next, am I,” Meteora said, knowing the answer.

Mari put on her most innocent smile, the smile that had convinced Meteora to do so many things over the years. So many things that often ended with them in trouble. “Well, there is one obvious way that would let me be a real aunt.”

Meteora stopped in place. “Please don’t tell me you’re insinuating what I think you are.”

Mari continued to smile. “And wouldn’t you know it, today’s the day I’m supposed to go check in on him. But my evening class starts soon, hmmm.” She cupped her chin in her hand and started to tap her upper lip, something she often did when presenting an idea as just thought up instead of meticulously planned. “Maybe you could go check on him for me, see how he’s doing, have a chat about life, the universe, and medical procedures. You know, stuff like that.”

Meteora’s tail had started to swing tersely back and forth at some point, and she made no attempt to stop it. “You know I don’t like him, Mari.”

“But you’ve got no real reason not to. Besides, he’s basically just me as a guy.”

“Does it even matter to you that I don’t want to go?”

“Your future matters more.”

Meteora crossed her arms and huffed. “Fine, I’ll do it. But you should know that sometimes I really hate you.”

“Which,” she began as her smile spread mischievously, “is of course why you end up doing everything I put in your head.”

It took Meteora almost an hour to make her way to his ramshackle home at the edge of Echo Creek. Not because it was any significant distance away, if that was the case then he probably would have been outside the area her and her father’s kind were allowed to travel in, but because he had picked the most out-of-the-way spot imaginable to live. The roads that led there were little more than curvy dirt paths that were hell on her moped, each looking ready to collapse into one of the many riverbanks or ditches that lined the way, and took the most roundabout routes to get anywhere. Of course, this spot was chosen when “he” had been “them,” but he had stayed after everything…stayed for years, so she wasn’t going to give him any slack about it.

And then the trees parted and she was in the clearing, where the mountains were far enough away to be majestic instead of looming overhead. It was truly a beautiful sight…until you looked down and saw the home sitting in the center of the clearing, right at the end of the dirt road that had brought her there. Everyone called it his “house” to be polite, but it was little more than a gussied-up trailer as far as Meteora was concerned. The chicken coops off to one end while a messy garden and old minivan took up space on the other didn’t exactly improve the image it gave off. If you didn’t know he owned all the land around them you’d think it was a squatter’s camp.

The closer she got the more Meteora didn’t want to deal with this. And that feeling only grew stronger when she propped the moped on its kickstand and took her helmet off. She knew she could drive away now and just tell Mari that she had done it, that would satisfy the periodic visits she insisted on, but not the donor angle. That she couldn’t drive away from without getting an earful about later. So, after a long and drawn out sigh, Meteora stepped up to the front door and knocked.

At first there was no reply, so she knocked again. Second time was the charm evidently, as almost immediately she heard a call from inside, “I’m coming.”

A moment passed, with some rustling barely making its way through the door before she heard the lock slide in and the handle started to turn. “You know you don’t have to keep checking in on me, Mari. I can take care of myself…”

Marco Diaz trailed off when the door was fully open and he saw that it wasn’t Mari at his door, but her best friend. This man, who Meteora had known all her life and who was in surprising good shape considering that, by all accounts, he rarely actually left his so-called “house,” was the man who she despised more than anyone else in world. But Mari had made her promise not to let that come across as too obvious.

“Hey jerk-face.” Some promises were hard to keep.

“Meteora,” he replied, his brow raised in confusion.

She stepped past him and inside before he could get the chance collect his thoughts. “Mari’s got class tonight, so she sent me. You’re not doing anything stupid that would worry her, are you?”

Marco closed the door behind her and followed as she made her way down the length of the small home. Based on what Mari had told her about previous visits, she had expected more of a mess as she made her way through the small sitting area and kitchen, but the place was clean and tidy, almost sterile. The only thing even close to messy about it was a dish rag on the kitchen counter. She stopped when she came to the bedroom on the far side of the kitchen, it featured some un-fluffed pillows, not that Meteora ever bothered with that either.

“I don’t think so,” he finally replied. “You want a drink, or something?”

She shrugged. “Got any diet Pitt?”

“I see Mari’s taste for that junk finally wore off on you,” he said as he opened the fridge and reached inside. A second later he emerged with a pink can, though instead of handing it to her when she put out her hand he placed it on the kitchen table and then took a seat. “I’m surprised you bothered to come, even with Mari asking.”

“Yeah well, people don’t pick their families,” Meteora said, picking up the can without taking a seat of her own, then pulling the on the tab. It opened with the expected swoosh of bubbling liquid that was practically reassuring, even if it was generally the sign of something that wasn’t actually good for her. “I like it when she’s happy, she likes it when she knows you’re not dead because you live in the middle of nowhere with a bunch of chickens, so I guess I like knowing that too.”

Marco made what Meteora could only assume was an amused sound with his nose. “Even though you’d probably enjoy figuring out a way to set the chickens on me?”

It was Meteora’s turn to make an amused sound, which she followed by taking a huge gulp of her diet Pitt. “At this point I’m more likely to just not help when the chickens attack than actually sick them on you.”

“Well I appreciate you not hastening my demise yourself,” Marco answered back. “Anyway, I know you don’t like being here, so you can go and let Mari know that I’m in the same state I always am. Nothing to be worried or relieved about.”

“Right…” she said slowly, turning in place to survey the home again instead of looking at him. She couldn’t bring herself to really look at him and ask this question. It was bad enough she had to ask it at all, let alone of him. “Well there was one other thing I…Mari suggested I ask you…”

Meteora paused as her slow look around came back to the bedroom and something caught her eye that she hadn’t noticed before. A picture on the nightstand, one of a young woman taken over twelve years prior. Meteora had been around seven the last time she’d seen Star, and hadn’t really understood when she couldn’t anymore. No one had been able to explain it in a way she’d understood. Some had said she’d gotten sick, like so many had at the time, but everyone had cried, and then yelled. Marco had yelled most of all, and at practically everyone. And then, well then he stopped leaving this supposed “vacation home” they’d shared altogether. In fact, Meteora didn’t think anyone aside from Mariposa had seen him in person more than three of four times in the dozen years that had followed.

Trying to pull her attention back to the task at hand, she saw the home in a new light. The photo of Star was the only color in the whole place. Everything else was white or some shade of grey. And the place wasn’t just sterile, it was practically lifeless. That’s why Mari came here when no one else did, not because she was worried about him living so far out alone, but because she knew he wasn’t really living at all.

“Ask what?”

Meteora almost jumped when Marco prompted her to continue. And looking at him in that moment, with something besides the irrational anger that had plagued her thoughts of him all her life, she couldn’t bring herself to ask what she’d been sent here to. So she asked the question that had been asked of her so many times.

“Why…why do you think I’ve never liked you?”

Marco took a deep breath and looked out the window for a moment, as if considering something very carefully. But then the moment ended and she got her answer.

Meteora pushed her third can of diet Pitt to the side to sit with the others as she ran though everything Marco had told her. It all seemed crazy when he’d said it, even crazier as she thought about each part, but none of it seemed wrong either.

“Because of an old king I was raised by an abusive robot…and then ran a boarding school?”

“From what I understand, yeah.”

“And then I had to live in a car because you, while crossdressing, riled my…students into kicking me out.”

“It wasn’t my idea to cross-dress, but basically.”

“Which led me to remember that I was half monster…which led me to try and take over Mewni…”

“Which led to all the soul draining and eventually the combination of magics that turned you back into a baby,” Marco said nonchalantly before taking a sip from the water bottle he had eventually pulled out for himself. “And you just never liked me after that. I guess some emotions just get too ingrained to fade.”

“But,” Meteora started as she put the pieces together. “If you hadn’t gotten me kicked out, which let me remember what I was, which led to the magic battle…then I wouldn’t have my family, or Mari, or any part of the life I have now.”

He shrugged. “Probably not.”

“So, I’ve been angry at you all my life, because you gave me my life.”

His mouth twisted a bit before replying with, “Well it’s not like I turned you back into a baby myself, but if that’s how you see it then just know that I don’t take it personally. In fact, it’s actually kind of nice having someone not like me for a different reason than the rest.”

Meteora’s chair squeaked across the linoleum floor as she pushed herself up. The empty cans shook as she walked around the table. And Marco just looked confused when she grabbed and pulled him up by the collar. He was still a few inches taller than her, so it was an awkward position once he was up, but no less awkward than when she wrapped both her arms around him in the next instant.

Silence permeated the next few moments. Shocked silence from Marco if she had to guess, while her own was confused. Part of her still felt the urge to knock his block off, but at the same time…well another part was seeing him in a whole new way.

“Thank you,” she finally said before pulling away from him.

“No problem?” he replied.

Now the silence between them was just awkward. Though that wasn’t surprising when Meteora remembered that the only physical contact the two had ever had before that hug had usually entailed her trying to hurt him in some way.

“I gotta get going. I’ll tell Mari you’re doing fine.”

“Sure, thanks,” he said slowly before glancing out the window. “It’s starting to get dark, be careful on the way back.”

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Meteora’s tail twitched back and forth as she sat on the couch flipping through channels. She hadn’t slept well the night before and was going to be alone all day thanks to Mari’s new class schedule. Angie and Raphael usually would have been there to bother her in their good-natured way, but they were out of town. Which left her alone with nothing to do on a day that had a storm approaching and nothing worth watching on tv. So, when the phone rang, she didn’t even care that it was probably a telemarketer, at least it gave her something to do.

“Hello,” she answered.

“Ms. Butterfly, it’s Dr. Backintosh. Is this a good time?”

Meteora sat up straighter, ready to receive the news they’d been waiting for. “Well I’m on my own today, so I guess-”

“Actually,” the doctor interrupted, “it’s probably better we talk about this on our own first.”

In the distance Meteora heard the first boom of thunder.

Meteora knocked on the door, though she could barely hear her knocks over the rain and thunder that plummeted from the sky above. She knocked again a few seconds later, barely any harder though. She didn’t have the energy for it. Finally, after she forced herself to knock a third time, the door opened.

“Meteora?” Marco practically bellowed.

She didn’t reply.

“Come on, get out of the rain,” he said before taking her by the arm and pulling her inside. “Are you ok? Did something happen?”

She thought about it as she watched drops of water roll off her and start to puddle on his floor. Something had happened, though what actually mattered was what wasn’t going to happen. She didn’t say that though, just like she hadn’t said anything since hanging up the phone.

“I’ll get you a towel,” he said after a moment had passed without any reply. “I’ll be right back, okay.”

Meteora remained silent as he ran off towards the bedroom, continuing to watch the droplets join the puddle while listening to Marco frantically open and close drawers. A few seconds, maybe a minute, later he returned and the towel came down over her head. He hadn’t bothered to offer it to her, and wasn’t bothering to let her get around to actually drying herself either.

“I can’t believe you rode here in this weather,” he said while gently dabbing the towel across her face and long lilac hair. “And without even a jacket, you know it’ll be me Mariposa explodes at if you get sick.”

She still didn’t reply, just watched the droplets while he moved on to wiping off her arms.

“Ok, well whatever brought you here, you need to finish drying off first. And since I don’t think I can dry anymore myself without feeling like a creep, I’m going to push you into the bathroom. There’s some spare clothes in there, so will you please finish drying off and change?”

Meteora nodded meekly and let him lead her towards the back.

Sometime later Meteora found herself huddled at one end of his couch wearing an oversized ninja t-shirt and a pair of drawstring shorts that were loose even with the strings drawn all the way. Marco sat at the other end. They had been that way for a while, silent except for right when they’d sat down and he’d said to just ask and he’d do whatever she needed him to. She didn’t have any conscious plan to ask him for anything. She didn’t even have a conscious reason for being there, it had simply been where’d she decided to go. But suddenly, even surprising herself a bit, it started to come out.

“My life was planned out for me since Mewni became part of Earth,” she started. “Except for when I get to have a baby.”

“Ok…”

“So I was going to do it,” she continued. “Invitro and all that, because it’s my choice and it’s what I want.”

“Well I guess that’s ni–”

“But because I’m half-monster they say they can’t.” Her eyes started to well. “That something about the way I am makes it too dangerous. That the only way I could ever be a mother would be…the natural way.” The tears were rolling now. “But I’ve never felt…that way about anyone. So what am I supposed to do? I’m too much of a freak to get what I wanted and I just…I just–”

Marco stood without warning. He made his way towards the kitchen, where Meteora could hear the fridge and some drawers open and then close in succession. He returned with a six-pack of bottles and pile of old-timey VHS tapes.

“Look Meteora,” he said as he put the bottles down on the small coffee table and started shuffling through the tapes, “the last time anything bad happened to me I pushed everyone that cared about me away. And well, that’s probably not going to help you right now. So instead of trying to make you feel better, we’re going to play a little game that used to help me forget about stuff.”

He slipped one of the tapes into the VHS below the tv and hit play. The tv roared to life with an off-color title screen that loudly stated, “Fist of the Fist!”

“This,” Marco said as he sat back down and started divvying up the bottles between them, “is an early Mackie Hand movie, before he even learned English. The rules of the game are simple, take a sip anytime someone acts like they were hit but obviously weren’t, anytime the dubbing is obviously off, and anytime someone shouts an attack name.”

Meteora looked at the bottle he handed her, and then at him. “And this is supposed to help me?”

“It’s supposed to make you feel less bad,” he replied. “Actual help can start tomorrow.”

The title screen faded and a man sitting at a bar came into focus. Another man approached him and put a hand on the first’s shoulder. Their eyes met and an American voice yelled, “Time to die, Mackie Hand!” while the man’s actual mouth calmly said something completely different.

Meteora almost laughed, then joined Marco in taking her first sip.

[jammatown919]

Through the Years

Content: Five's decision to leave Hinobi and its unexpected consequences, told through Miko.

Miko was seventeen when she received her first real injury on the job. It was nothing insane, just a mild concussion, but it seemed to leave an impression on Five. If Miko hadn't known him as well as she did, she wasn't sure she'd have noticed that he became subtly more careful and less confident when she returned to work. Still, it was a minor change, nothing that interrupted the daily flow of their lives. In the year that followed, the same process would repeat several times. One of them would be injured in some way or another, sometimes resulting in a short paid leave from work, and while Miko would bounce back with no worries, Five grew steadily more cautious.

Miko was nineteen when she recognized Five's unrest for the first time. He became far less enthusiastic about work, cared less for XP, began to talk back to Phil on occasion. It took months for him to openly express this to her, but she could tell he wasn't happy. One afternoon, when they were alone together in his living room, sharing a bowl of popcorn while a movie played in a background, he finally opened up to her.

"This job is going to get us killed," His voice was soft, but serious. Miko almost didn't hear him.

"No it's not," She replied immediately, sounding much more dismissive than she'd intended. "We've got each other. Neither of us is going to let the other die."

"Miko, look at us," Five sighed. "I mean really look at us. We couldn't stop each other from getting hurt before. One day, the hit one of us takes is going to be just a little too hard. We'll fall a little too far. Then one, or both, of us is going to be gone. Is this really what we want?"

Miko didn't know what to say. Their bodies, riddled with various scars, told stories of pain and fear, not the lighthearted adventures they'd both dreamed of. There was nothing Miko could say to counter Five that the scars couldn't disprove. Silence filled the room after that; neither of them spoke until the movie had ended, at which point the conversation was long over.

Miko was twenty when Five officially quit. They'd talked at length about it the night before; about how Five would have to be mind wiped, how he wouldn't remember some of their most important experiences together. But it was okay, he would still remember her, and that mattered more than anything. She was with him in the moments before the mind wipe, but Phil sent her out for the actual procedure. Begrudged, Miko waited outside the backroom for what felt like eternity, wondering how much of her best friend would be left when it was over.

"Thanks for everything, Phil." The door opened very suddenly, snapping Miko out of her worry for a moment. Five looked at her and smiled. "Guess I'll see you around."

"Okay," Miko didn't like the way he sounded. 'Guess I'll see you around' felt way too much like 'I'll probably never talk to you again'. "I'll call you later."

"Uh, alright?" The look he gave her sent a spike of anxiety through her body. It wasn't odd for her promise to call him. He shouldn't be looking at her like it was a weird thing to say. Trying to control her breathing, Miko ducked into the backroom to see Phil.

"How much does he remember?" She demanded immediately. Phil regarded her with moderate surprise.

"Miko, you know we have to erase everything related to the job." He seemed to be trying to put it gently, but Miko couldn't be talked down. If Five didn't remember what they were to each other, there would be hell to pay. "Most of his interactions with you were related in some way to being a Glitch Tech. I'm sorry, but he probably just remembers you as a coworker."

After that, there were tears, swears, and a half-hearted attempt to punch Phil in the face. The moment she could get a coherent sentence out, Miko quit on the spot. Phil sat her down, tried desperately to make her reconsider, but she couldn't stay. Five had been right on that lazy afternoon, this wasn't what she wanted. Phil tried three times to mind wipe her, as per company policy, but her immunity held strong. In the end, she was coaxed into signing a non-disclosure agreement and sent on her way with a hug and a couple of tissues. It was the last time she ever set foot in a Hinobi store.

Two weeks later, Miko invited Five to meet up at the arcade. It took an hour to convince him that she wasn't asking him out, but they eventually did get their meetup. Five seemed to be having a decent time, talking about his favorite games and reminiscing about hours spent here in childhood. For Miko, it was absolute torture. This wasn't her Five. He talked to her like they barely knew each other, told her about interests she'd known for years, asked her the names of family members he'd met several times. Nearly four years of being attached at the hip, friends through it all, were completely gone. She didn't try to contact him again.

Miko was twenty one when she moved out of her parents' house and left most of her Hinobi consoles and games behind. She hadn't touched them in ages; they were painful reminders of everything she'd lost. Only a few favorites went with her to the new apartment, while the rest were given to Lexi, who promised to treat them well. Lexi had been a great support since losing Five, as the only person who knew the truth, and therefore the only person Miko could talk to. Miko had never loved her sister more than she did on those late nights spent awake and crying.

She worked in food service now, which was about the farthest she could get from her old occupation while still making the time to attend college. An engineering degree had caught her fancy, and so she worked hard to build a future for herself. It seemed silly, how she'd once thought she'd spend the rest of her life as a Glitch Tech. The real world had finally caught up.

Miko was twenty four when she next saw Five. She was with Lexi, walking up to a food truck to get lunch on their way back from the gym. The man at the window almost passed for a stranger; it had been so long, and he looked so strange with his hairnet and his new tiny beard.

"Hey, I know you, don't I?" Five asked pleasantly. Tears immediately sprang into Miko's eyes.

"Y-you used to," They held each other's gazes for a long moment before Miko broke eye contact. "You order something, Lexi. I'm not hungry."

She hurried off toward a wooden bench to wait for her sister, wiping desperately at her eyes. How could she have forgotten about the food truck? A part of her had probably remembered, but assumed that Five wouldn't still be working here. But of course he was. It was just like him to stay and help his grandparents.

"You're Miko, right?" And it was just like him to try to comfort anyone who seemed upset, even a stranger. "We used to work together. Hinobi Games."

Miko looked up at him, surprised to see that he'd followed her from the truck. He seemed so innocently concerned. Like he just wanted to make her bad day better, regardless of the fact that he hardly knew her.

"Yeah," Miko sniffled. "Guess we kinda... lost touch after you quit."

"Well, we went to the arcade that one time." Five pointed out. "But you never called me after that. Did I do something to upset you that day? I can't really remember."

"No, you can't!" She snapped, warm tears sliding down her face. "You can't remember anything we did together! That's why we stopped talking."

"I-I'm sorry," Five seemed startled. Of course he was. He had no idea what she was going on about. "But we never really did anything special together. You always had the same shifts as me, but we never actually hung out other than that one time at the arcade."

"I'm going home." Miko stood abruptly and pushed past him. She couldn't stand to hear him talk like that. At some point, the walk back to her apartment turned into a jog, and then a sprint, until she was slamming the door behind her, breathing heavily.

It took a moment of calm for Miko to realize that she'd abandoned Lexi at the food truck, but there was no going back now. Instead, she shot Lexi a text to apologize and set her phone down on the counter. Lexi would be fine, she knew the way home perfectly well. With sister bonding day officially ruined, Miko now had all the time in the world to sulk on her couch, which she did readily.

Two, maybe three hour laters, a soft knock sounded on Miko's door. At first, she ignored it. Whoever it was, they didn't need to see her red-faced and crying. It was probably unwanted company anyway, she hadn't ordered any packages, nor was she expecting anyone. It crossed her mind for a moment that the person knocking could be Lexi, but Lexi had a key and she wasn't afraid to use it. When the knocking persisted, Miko groaned and stood up, crossing her living room to open the door rather aggressively.

"Uh, hey," Five stood awkwardly in the hallway, one hand on the back of his head. "So, your sister gave me your address and told me I really needed to come find you. She said we used to be... Glitch Techs together? Her explanation was really confusing."

"Get in here," Miko sighed and stepped aside so he could enter. Hesitantly, Five came inside and shut the door behind him, looking nervous. "Sit down, we have a lot to talk about."

They sat down together on her couch while Miko tried her best to explain everything, though more than once she burst into tears and had to stop for a few minutes. Five listened quietly, patting her shoulder when she seemed like she needed comfort, nodding occasionally. He wasn't passing it off as ridiculous, which was a decent start.

"Some of that sounded kind of familiar," He said when she was done. That was better than Miko had hopped for. There might be a chance of jogging his memory.

"Wait, pull out your phone!" She said suddenly. "You can read through our old texts!"

"I kind of... deleted your number?" Five admitted shamefully. "I'm sorry, we just hadn't talked in so long, I figured there was no point."

"Fine, you can look at mine." Miko got up to retrieve her phone from the counter and handed it to him. She was quiet while he scrolled through their conversations from four years ago, tapping her foot impatiently.

"I think I remember some of this." Five said as he scrolled. "Oh, I remember Ally! She was the best! Wait, if you're not a Glitch Tech anymore, did you have to give her up?"

"Yeah... I still really miss her." Miko sighed and looked away, on the verge of tears again.

"I'm so sorry. You quit because of me."

"No, I quit because of what they did to you!" Miko snapped. "I couldn't stay after that."

"Do you think any of the others are still Glitch Techs?" Five asked.

"You... remember the others?"

"A little bit." Five thought for a moment. "I remember Mitch was the worst. And I thought Zhara and Haneesh were so cool. Oh, and Bergy! Man, I miss Bergy."

"I'm sure Mitch is still a Glitch Tech, that job is definitely his peak." Miko chuckled. "I don't really know about the others. Ran into Zhara and Haneesh once while they were on a mission, but that was two years ago."

"Wow," Five sighed. "I can't believe we had this whole experience together for four years straight, and I had no idea."

"Hey, it's not your fault. You didn't know how much they were erasing." Miko laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. "If you want to remember more, my door's always open."

They continued to see each other after that. Meeting for lunch, hanging out in Miko's apartment, going for walks, always reminiscing and trying to catch one another up on their current lives. It was comfortable; they'd fallen back into their old friendship quite nicely. Miko once again felt like she could tell him anything. It was a bit depressing to know that there were still huge gaps in his memory, specific moments and missions he might never recall, but she had him back. That was what mattered the most.

Miko was twenty five when she kissed Five for the first time. It was a spontaneous thing, done on an impulse as she delivered excellent news. She'd finally gotten that engineering position she'd been after for so long. Excitement took hold and she just pressed her lips to his cheek. He didn't mind at all. In fact, he asked if they could do it again, on the lips this time. Miko was more than happy to oblige. It was unclear whether he was interested in an actual relationship, and she didn't ask, but their friendship after that did take on a flirty tone.

Miko was twenty seven when Five moved into her apartment. Officially dating for a year and a half, they both wanted to be around each other as much as possible. With the recent passing of Five's grandmother, his grandfather had moved into a senior home, leaving Five to man the food truck. He was content with this, though he couldn't stand the thought of living in his house alone. Miko had readily opened her home to him.

Their busy schedules kept them both away from home a bit more than they would've liked, but that made the time that they did spend together all the more precious. They spent a decent amount of time playing the games Five had brought with him when he'd moved in, but not nearly as much as they had as teenagers. It was still fun, still something to be passionate about, but their lives no longer revolved around it. Besides, after years of not touching her games, Miko found it hard to get back into the pattern of playing every day. It became a weekend thing.

They'd both settled excellently into their new life together. Everything was open, honest, and comfortable. Miko was still incredibly bitter about the four years they'd lost, and while Five didn't express it nearly as much, he was too. But against all odds, they were still here, still together, eleven years after that fateful day on which they'd met.

[treatian]

The Chronicles of the Dark One:  The Dark Curse

Chapter 213:  His Grand Finale

The day before he left to make his deal was busy and sad, slow and painful, happy and relaxing all at once. He walked his home, walked the halls of his castle, the one he'd always intended for Bae to share with him. He walked with the potion to call items to him in one hand but looked around with the eyes of a stranger. This was the last time he'd be in this castle, maybe forever. But his trip with Zoso so long ago to his former home reminded him that nothing was permanent. Just because he wouldn't be returning here didn't mean that others wouldn't. So he made it safe. When he stumbled upon an item he knew he wanted in the other world, he anointed it with his potion and then made the decision whether to hide it or to leave it for whoever might venture into his home between now and the curse. Belle's chipped cup and her teapot, the only surviving pieces of her tea set, aside from the saucer in the cabinet, he put in her dungeon cell. Pandora's box was safe where it was hidden in the kitchens, but the idea of anyone walking through the dungeons and kitchens she'd once called her own made him want to vomit. So he placed the tea cup's plate back in the stack by the door and then sealed them. He used Heart Magic, a kind of magic he rarely used because of how easily it left him drained, but after tonight he wouldn't be using his magic for quite some time. He may as well use it for this. Using Heart Magic to seal the lower levels ensured that the doors and windows disappeared, never to be opened again unless someone who loved him touched them. Someone…with Belle gone, that was only Baelfire. He couldn't use blood magic because he didn't have Bae's blood, and anyway, heart magic was deeper and far more powerful. It would keep the world sealed away, freezing those things in time so that even if his castle was invaded, they'd never find the things he truly cherished.

The Saxony Wheel that he'd learned to spin on as a child he stashed in Baelfire's room along with all of Bae's clothes and possessions. Then he sealed that room as well. He put the flower Belle once sat upon Baelfire's altar into his room along with the Great Wheel his aunts used, then he followed the same procedure and sealed it all away. Books, a few other special items he didn't want anyone touching, like his dagger, he hid in Belle's library, in some of the stonework by the fireplace. If his captors were smart, they would search him before they placed him in his prison. He couldn't take his dagger with him. Sealed away in Belle's library, it was safest there.

He spent his last few hours in his tower, the place he'd felt most at home when Belle and Bae had gone. He didn't cast spells or work magic. He spun. Not straw to gold or string to gold. He just sat before his wheel, pulled wool in one hand, moved the wheel with the other, and watched as wool became thread. Then he double spun the thread and watched as it became yarn. He worked it the old fashioned way, the slow way. A flick of the wrist here and there, two steps forward, three steps back, just like his aunts taught him.

He nearly wept when the sun set. It wasn't like him to feel nostalgic or possessive of a place, but he felt that about this one. Or maybe it was just his mind playing tricks on him. Maybe if there weren't the threat of leaving it, he wouldn't feel the way he did. He was slow to coat a flask in the potion he'd crafted the night before so that when his hands touched it, he could transfer the potion to Cinderella. He stuck it in his pocket, gave his Tower Haven one last look, then took a deep breath, walked down the stairs, and sealed it as he had the other important places in his castle. He walked one more time through the quiet castle, double-checking that everything he wanted on the other side was prepared, then seeing it was, he walked out the front door. He considered, very seriously, concealing the entire thing. But he couldn't shield the castle for everyone. And a castle standing with no windows or doors would look suspicious and tempting. He had to leave certain parts open as bait, allow the unimportant parts to be plundered and used so that the important parts would stay safe. This way, if Baelfire ever returned, he'd be able to truly have a home of memories to come back to.

With that resilient thought…he was ready.

On the night in question, he arrived right on time, and his senses expanded. She was there, looking lost and frightened as she properly should have, but he was no idiot. He knew she wasn't there alone. There were men all around them, talking over in the trees. In the woods, there was the stamp of horse hooves and the creak of wood and iron. He smelled Charming and Thomas somewhere close. One, two, three, four, five...five heartbeats, not counting those of Cinderella or her child. There was no escaping this moment. And he didn't want to. He pulled out his flask and rubbed his hands over it, absorbing the magic he'd left there.

"Well, well, well!" he droned loudly, announcing his presence to her as well as the others that were around. Their heartbeats all fluttered noticeably. And Cinderella, she wrapped her cloak around herself, trying to conceal her growing abdomen, as if that was going to help her. "You're starting to show. A little bird told me you wanted to speak?"

"Yes," she exclaimed, taking steps closer to him. "I'd like to alter the bargain."

"That's not what I do," he stated, purposefully playing hard to get. He had to maintain appearances.

"I think you'll want to…I'm having twins."

He choked down the urge to laugh. Instead, he imagined himself putting his laughter inside the flask and tossed it away. So that was how they were planning to do this, convince him it was twins, and then he'd want both as if he couldn't hear how many heartbeats there were for himself. Still, it did give him an opportunity.

"Is that so? Oh, let's have a look!" he announced, stepping forward and putting his hands on her stomach. His hands, and something more…

He touched her stomach, allowing his hands to smear the potion he'd developed over her belly. It would take some time to seep into her clothes, but not too long. He had to keep the conversation moving so that by the time it hit Thomas was out of hiding and would touch her stomach as well.

"And you would, what? Give up both?" he questioned of the girl. One heartbeat…not two. Oh, how he longed to call out her lies and expose the plan and show them all just how undefeatable he was! But for Bae, he kept quiet.

She nodded.

"Why is that, I wonder?"

"My husband, he's…he's having a hard time," she explained as she circled around him. Avoiding eye contact-proof of lies, as if he had any doubts. "Our kingdom is poor, we're losing money, our crops are dying…we can't support ourselves or our people."

More lies. Did they think that he had no idea what was happening in the world, that he didn't watch the Kingdoms just as avidly as he watched Snow and David? This was what they expected him to fall for?

"And you would trade your other child for…comfort?" he questioned, playing along.

Cinderella smiled a grin that made her look sinister. It would have been convincing if he didn't know every part of her tale was a lie. "I can always have more children, but I can't make crops grow where the soil is dead. In exchange for our other child, you will see to it that our land is once again fertile. I think it's more than fair," she stated, pulling out a long piece of paper titled "Contract."

That was suspicious all on its own. Was this how they were planning on catching him, with a phony contract? Was the magic to trap him written into it somehow?

"Yes!" he snapped eagerly. "Yes, yes, it is…if what you're saying is true."

"It is!" she insisted as he inspected the contract, trying to find the link in it that would remove his magic long enough for them to "capture" him and take him away. He could find none. Not at a glance, at least.

"And all you have to do…is sign on the dotted line."

Ah. Not the contract…the quill. It reeked of Fairy Magic. Too much fairy magic along with a concealment spell. Someone had bewitched it, some fairy, that was, and they'd gone through a lot of trouble to hide the fact that it was bewitched.

"What a lovely quill!" he laughed, snatching it from her hand. There was so much Light Magic on it that it practically burned his hand. "Wherever did you get it?"

"It's from our castle." An unlikely story…

"You know," he sighed, staring her down, "the only way to stop me is through magic."

"I'm not trying to stop you."

"Of course, you're not. Because, as we all know, all magic comes with a price," he announced, making the same physical comparisons he had on the day that he'd first met her. "And if you were to use it to, say, imprison me, then your debt to me would only grow. And we wouldn't want that, now, would we?" he threatened, knowing that she wasn't going to give into his threats.

The Princess only sneered at him. "Just sign the contract, please."

"Are you sure you're happy with this new arrangement?"

The girl took a breath…then two, then pushed the contract into his face again. So that was that. He took the contract in one and held the quill in his other. It was almost ironic, unfathomable in a way, how simple it all was. A stroke of the quill and he wouldn't see freedom, true freedom for until the Swan was twenty-eight. After more than a hundred years of this…it was going to be like a vacation.

"Then so it shall be."

He signed the contract.

Immediately he felt magic, Light Magic, spread over his body and hold him in place as the contract fell to the ground.

"Thomas!" Cinderella cried.

"No one breaks deals with me, dearie. No one," he growled just for show as the troops came rushing in. "No matter where you are, no matter what land you find yourself in, I assure you–I will have your baby."

"Never," Thomas said, coming out of the carriage. And then he did exactly what he wanted him to do. He tucked his Cinderella under one arm and placed his hand over her belly and rubbed, his skin soaking up the magic he had placed there, magic which would still be effective even if his own currently wasn't. He couldn't perform magic now, but he could still feel it, and the second he did, he felt the magic he'd placed on him and her as well join together and activate. He could feel it mingle in the air even as David and Grumpy came along, grabbed his arms, and fit him into the back of the jail carriage.

"After all, I've done for you…" he sneered for good measure.

"Quiet!" Grumpy snapped.

"Did we really win?" he heard Cinderella ask her Prince as the doors to his temporary cell closed.

"Yes. I told you we would."

"I was so afraid," she whispered as she placed her hand over his cheek and rubbed his skin as though she was clawing it. "I was so afraid that we'd fail. That…that I'd have to go back to that life, that…that terrible life. I was…I was afraid that I would lose you and that nothing would have changed."

"As long as I'm alive, you will never go back to that life," Thomas assured her before the pair kissed. "Now. How is our little Alexandra?" he asked when they broke apart. Magic filled the air again, and he glanced over to see…he was touching her belly again. The magic was working, on both of them…any second now…

"Alexandra?"

"Did I not mention that I picked out a name?"

"A name? That's more like a prison sentence."

"Well, I like it."

"Mm, men. You really know nothing of ch-" And then it happened. The child stopped mid-sentence, and her mouth dropped open. She let out a groan and then another one as Thomas pressed forward. "Ella, what is it?"

"Oh, it's…it's the baby," she stated, hunching over in pain. "Something's wrong."

"No, no, no. It can't be. It's too soon. It must be the stress. The excitement."

"Oh, I'm dizzy."

He smiled. Right on cue.

"Sit, sit. I'll go get you water."

"Okay," she breathed as Thomas launched off into the woods to a nearby well. Launched off for the last time. The magic he'd planted had been coming to fruition as he'd run. In no time, the Dislocation Curse would take him; it would send him far away with rags for clothes, a beard, no money, and no means of getting home until the Dark Curse was cast. They wouldn't be together for a very long time, not until after the Swan returned. Not until he was free. This had been a good deal.

All of a sudden, just as quickly as it had come on, the magic he placed on Cinderella passed. He hadn't meant it to do damage, just suggest damage. Unlike the Charmings, he had no desire to take a child from its mother. All he wanted was a favor from the Swan…and his reputation upheld.

"Thomas!" Cinderella cried out with a smile on her face. "It's okay! It's passed! Thomas?" She rose from her seat and followed after her husband. She walked into the forest. A few moments later, she returned in a fury. "What did you do?" she cried as David locked the door appropriately. He was able to move on his own again, stiff and not very well, but if they wanted him captured, then he needed to be locked inside.

"Ella, what's wrong?" David asked.

"Your Highness, what happened?" Grumpy wondered.

"What did you do to my Thomas?" Cinderella cried, throwing herself at the bars.

"I haven't done anything. In case you haven't noticed, I've been otherwise engaged."

"Something's happened to him. You know. Tell me!"

He turned to look at her with a sly smile. It was all about appearances. "I have no idea, dearie. But I did warn you–all magic comes at a price. Looks like someone has just paid."

"Don't listen to him!" David insisted. "We'll find Thomas."

"No, you won't," he interrupted. "Until that debt is paid, until that baby is mine, you're never going to see him again."

David tugged at Cinderella, dragged her away from him as if retreating to safety, a strange thing to do if one had such faith that he was truly captured.

"In this world or the next, Cinderella," he yelled after her. "I will have that baby!"

Or a favor from the Swan to get him back to his baby.

[sparrowwritings]

Writing Challenge Day Thirteen: Angry

Day Twelve -- Masterpost -- Day Fourteen

All she needed was a single hour. Just one where she could relax, focus on her research, and not be bothered by anything trivial.

The door to her workshop slammed open and Doctor Kofaranin Yasiq heaved the weary sigh of the overworked. “What is it now?” She barked as she turned from the open journal she had been writing in. 

The crew member in her doorway at least had the gall to act sheepish when her sharp gaze turned on him. “Er...Beggin’ yer pardon, Doctor, but uh...th’ Cap’n says we’re to be raidin’ th’ merchant ship soon and er…” He stepped aside. “He don’t want th’ Magpie gettin’ too ‘andsy while arrows are flyin’.” 

Right behind him stood the small and slight child that had been adopted by the crew. Terazin also known as Zin also known as a number of other nicknames, gave a slightly awkward wave. Her large pointed ears poked out of the cloudy dark hair that framed the girl’s face. They twitched upwards at the attention the doctor gave her.

Kofaranin made sure to look directly at the crew member who delivered Zin when she hardened her stare. “And keep her entertained, I suppose.”

“Er, not, not in as many words, Doctor Koffin…”

She waited for long enough that he started to fidget in place before she responded with a sharp. “Fine.” Koffin beckoned the child inside. “Come along, I have things to do before the inevitable disaster.” 

A negative emotion flashed across Zin’s face before she smiled and signed at the crew member. “Good luck! Find lots of loot!” Kofaranin interpreted from the child’s gestures. He at least gave a smile and a nod before waving farewell. As soon as Zin had entered, the doctor shut the door tight. If she hadn’t been anticipating injuries from this venture, she would have locked it. As it stood, the door would stay shut until either she opened it again or someone else barged in. 

Turning around, Koffin could see that Zin was already preoccupied with the various bottles and tools that were scattered about the tables she used for research. Most of them were held in place by way of specialized indentions in the wood, which were quite handy considering the constant movement of a ship at sea. There would be time to play with the tools later, though. She needed to prepare.

“Zin, I’d like your help setting up.” The doctor knelt down and opened a large drawer that was underneath the biggest of her work spaces. This one was completely flat, and polished to an unnatural shine. Still, there were a number of dark brown stains that no amount of cleaning had been able to remove. A hazard of the job. Taking out a large white sheet, Koffin placed it on top of the table. 

With the slightest amount of hesitation, the girl tiptoed her way to the table. It took a couple of tries, but soon the sheet covered the space on all sides. On top was the pig-like mask that the doctor used for her procedures and a leather bag of tools. 

Now all that was left was to wait. 

Terazin had sat on the single bolted down chair in the workshop while Kofaranin had begun to write in her journal again. The girl was swinging her bare feet with ease and pointedly not looking at the doctor. That was fine. The less interrupted she was, the more she could get done before the fighting started. 

Her luck wouldn’t hold out.

Out of the corner of her eye, Kofaranin could see Zin lift a hand towards the doctor’s coat. She did that motion at least four times before Koffin let loose a sigh. “Would you like paper, or would you prefer to sign?” She turned to the child.

Zin winced and started signing, clearly indicating her preference. “I wanted to know if you are okay. You seem,” Here she hesitated and her ears drooped a little. “Angry.” That particular sign was of an enraged face and a clawed hand coming towards it. 

Of course the child noticed. Children notice all sorts of things about adults that no one realized until it was far too late. Koffin gave a sigh and tucked some of her thin black hair behind her own slightly pointed ears. “I am. Angry, that is.” Zin’s already large hazel eyes widened further. “And not because I was told at the last minute that I had to care for you.” The doctor pointed a pale, currently gloveless finger at the girl. “If you have any misunderstandings about that, I ask you nip those in the bud, Reneh.

No, what I’m angry about is this mission.” She continued on though Zin had put a hand on her chest at the Elvish word. Reneh was a gender-neutral term of endearment, one meant to be used for individuals who had a familial love for each other (rare as it was to find among full blooded elves). Koffin’s face reddened at the sight of the girl’s sudden admiration and she coughed before she explained further. “It’s ill advised during this season to attack ships, regardless of how desperate one is to impress the crown. The heat increases the miasma of the world, causing sickness and further irritating wounds taken. Not to mention the potential for rot increases manyfold in the summer--” 

The doctor ranted about her misgivings about the mission for long enough that it took a sudden jolt of the ship for the two to realise that the battle had started already. Koffin could pick out arrows being fired from crossbows on both sides, and screams coming from the ship next to them. The workshop’s portholes had tinted glass, but there was light enough that she could see the aft of the merchant ship that the Merry Tale was attacking.

She clenched her teeth and went to grab her mask. “It’s like he’s asking to get hurt…him and the crew...” Koffin muttered to herself as she fidgeted with the straps on the inside.

Another jolt from the ship turned her attention back to Terazin, who was squinting from her to the porthole. Slowly, the girl’s face brightened. It was as if she was coming to a revelation. As usual, it was easy to read the child’s expressions. Perhaps it came from her inability to speak? Koffin tabled that idea as Zin started to sign. “I know why you’re angry.” 

“I’ve told you at length why I’m angry.” She tugged on her leather gloves as she spoke. “I doubt I left anything unsaid.”

“You’re not angry because you have to heal the crew.” Zin grinned triumphantly, showcasing the latest couple of gaps in her teeth. Koffin would have to examine them again to be sure of how many other baby teeth the girl was going to lose. She nearly missed catching the latest, very excited signs. “You’re angry that they’re getting hurt!”

Kofaranin froze as if she were caught in a lie. Except...that was far from the case. She didn’t know what to say, for once. 

“Your face says I’m right!” Zin clapped and twirled, though it was interrupted by yet another jolt. Really, this battle seemed to be gettin far more violent to the ship than usual. Unperturbed, the girl kept signing, though it was much harder to keep up in Koffin’s shocked state. “You work so hard to make all of the potions and keep everyone healthy. Sure you can be scary, but that just means you love us so much!” She paused, her elation temporarily halted. “Right?” The sign was her hands with their pointer fingers out, tapping on top of each other as she nodded and tilted her head with the question.

Clearing her throat, Koffin ignored the rising temperature in her face. “If I must assure you of my feelings, then I can say with utmost certainty that I--”

“DOCTOR!” A burly woman knocked open the door with one of her massive shoulders. “CAP’S BEEN HIT!” Sure enough, the figure she held in her arms was indeed Captain Cevonnis Torrent. He gave a weak smile, his false teeth having apparently been lost during the fight. His red jacket was unbuttoned, revealing both the crossbow bolt and the blooming amount of blood on his white shirt. 

Fury overtook the doctor. “Leave him on the table and get out there, Janika. Make sure no one else gets hurt or so help me--” Janika had already placed the captain down and was running as Koffin spoke. “Zin, get me the small saw and the second largest extractors.” 

Having been given orders, the girl hurried to comply. It took only seconds before the doctor was ready. “Now stay with the chair until I’m finished. I don’t want you to inhale his miasma for too long.” With a hesitant nod, Zin ran and clung onto the bolted down chair. “I hate you. You and every member of our crew.” She muttered darkly to the Captain as she pulled on her pig-like mask. 

“Glad to see your usual method of affection is well intact.” Cevo quipped as if he wasn’t severely wounded. “For a second there I’d thought you’d meant it.”

Instead of replying (not that she could have been heard very well while wearing her mask), Koffin stuffed a medicine-soaked rag into his mouth and began her work.

None of her crew were going to die today if she had any say on it. Even those as annoying as Cevo.

[henrik-von-schneeplestein]

❝ i’ll make sure nothing bad happens to you. ❞ -schneeplebro, you got me loving this one

Okay, first of all, thank you so much. Second of all, I’m so sorry that this took so long. It reminded me of a story that’s been in the back of my head for a little while now so I just decided to go ahead and do that even though I didn’t 100% know where it was going.

Warning for medical situations and surgery, but nothing graphic. No one’s more squeamish then me so I very intentionally skipped over/bullshitted around that stuff, even if it made the pacing kinda weird lol.

“There’s a patient looking for you.”

“If they just have a question send Laura. I’m on call for emergencies today,” he answered the intern without looking up from his paperwork.

“No, this guy said he was a friend of yours. Name was Chase -”

“Where is he?” Henrik almost knocked the kid over, he was up and across the room so fast. 

“He was in the ER last I-”

Henrik didn’t wait for him, just went right for the stairs. The ER was, as always, chaotic and noisy, but he managed to pull a doctor aside and ask about Chase.

“No Chase Brodys admitted - I have an Alexis Brody.”

“Yeah, that’s his daughter. Where are they?” As the doctor led him back into one of the rooms, Henrik didn’t know what to expect. Anything bad happening to the kids was unimaginable; but at the same time, Chase did have a very real history of hypochondria when it came to them. Henrik couldn’t even begin to count the number of times throughout their friendship he’d answered frantic late night phone calls about fevers or double-checked scraped knees for signs of infection.

He knocked before opening the door. “Chase?”

Chase was sitting next to Lexi, rubbing his face with one hand and looking close to tears. His younger son was sitting in his lap, but when Henrik came in, he stood up, setting Noah back down in the seat, and said, in one breath, “She wasn’t feeling well and she wouldn’t eat and then she said it really hurt in her side and so I brought her here and um, they felt her stomach and then they did an ultrasound and they said it was appendicitis so they want to get her into surgery and I couldn’t even get in touch with Stacy until like twenty minutes ago and she drove out to visit her parents this weekend so she probably won’t be here for hours but they want to take Lexi to Sedation right away.”

He put a hand on Chase’s arm. “Alright. Is all alright, Chase. Hi, by the way.”

“Henrik.”

“Okay, okay.” He walked crouched down beside Lexi. She was awake, but not at all her usual energetic self. “Hi, Lex Luthor.”

“Hi Schneeple.”

“How are we feeling, hm? I bet the other doctors already poked your belly a whole bunch?”

“Yeah - it hurt.”

“Have they given her anything for pain yet?” he asked Chase, looking up at her IV pole.

“Yeah. Just, uh, ten minutes ago, maybe? Like right before you got here.”

“Ok. I’ll be gentle, I promise.” He pressed along her abdomen briefly; after a few whimpers he didn’t see much reason to keep tormenting her. They’d already done the ultrasound. “We should definitely get her into surgery as soon as possible. You might want to call Jackie, see if he can come by to pick Noah up and watch him for a while. I don’t know how long you’ll be here.” Chase just looked at him, eyes wide, like he was waiting for Henrik tell him what to do to make this go away, or what he did to make it happen in the first place. The best he could give was, “It is a very safe procedure. We do it all the time. And I’ll make sure she gets Dr. Fletcher; she’s one of the best surgeons-”

“Wait, you’re not gonna do it?”

“I did not think that would be what you wanted. I am supposed to be doing emergency surgeries today, but if I explain to my boss what the situation is, I’m sure we could get someone else.” Technically, there was nothing against the rules about him doing the surgery; she wasn’t a family member. But he and Chase were close - best friends… even if they weren’t as close as Henrik wanted them to be. And unlikely as it was, if anything went wrong, Chase would never forgive him. Henrik wasn’t, by nature, a dramatic person, but this was Chase’s child. Even if he didn’t hate Henrik forever - and that was a big if - there was no way they could ever be friends again. 

“I don’t know the other doctors.”

“I promise, they are all excellent and more than qualified for such a simple -”

“I don’t care.” He stepped closer to Henrik, grabbing his wrist and looking straight into his eyes. “I only trust you. Please.”

He took a second to answer but he didn’t know why. Maybe just to drink in the sight of Chase looking right at him, in case it was the last time it ever happened. Because he knew, as soon as Chase asked, that he was going to do it. He couldn’t say no to him, and he wasn’t going to leave Chase with someone he wasn’t comfortable with just so he could duck out of the pressure. He was many things, but he wasn’t a coward. If for some reason this was the one in a million case and something terrible happened he was going to lose Chase, but he’d rather be able to look him in the eye and tell him that he had done everything he could than have to live with the guilt of being too scared and stepping aside when he might have been able to do something. He slid his hand into Chase’s, squeezed it, and then walked back to Lexi.

“Did the other doctors explain what we’re gonna do?”

“Surgery?”

He chuckled. He knew she knew what surgery was in a general sense; they’d done pretend operations on her stuffed animals once or twice, and she was normally excited whenever she got to visit him at the hospital. It was a testament to how bad she felt that she hadn’t demanded to use his stethoscope yet. “Yes, surgery. There’s this nasty little bugger inside you called your appendix that’s making your belly hurt, so I’m going to take it out, okay?”

“Is it gonna hurt?”

“We will give you medicine to make you go right to sleep and you won’t feel a thing. It may be a little bit sore when you wake up, but not as bad as it is now. We can give you some more of this pain medicine, and I think just maybe your parents might be convinced to give you some ice cream when you start feeling hungry again. Do we have a deal?”

“Ok. But only because you’re the best doctor and I know you’ll do a good job.”

He smiled and held out a hand for her to shake. Her hand was so tiny; even with all her bravery and sincerity, she was still just a little kid, and he loved her like he loved his own kids. Chase wasn’t the only one he was scared of losing, but that thought was unbearable, so he promised both of them, “I’ll make sure nothing bad happens to you.”

He turned back to Chase. “I will tell them we are ready to go to get moving. They should be here in a few minutes; you might want to try Jackie while you wait. You can tell him - and Stacy, when she gets closer - to go in the main entrance of the hospital. I’m going to have a buddy of mine go and explain what is happening to the person at the information desk, so they’ll know where to send them. In Sedation they will get her ready for surgery - give her some antibiotics, maybe something to calm her down, if you think that would be best. You will probably have some papers to sign. I will meet with my team, we will figure out some details. Usually they’d have me go out and see her beforehand, but I will let them know I’ve already examined her, so I’m not sure if I’ll see you or not. Once she’s in the OR, someone will take you to the waiting room until we’re done. Alright?”

“Okay.” 

Henrik waited a second for him to say more - ‘good luck,’ maybe, or ‘goodbye.’ But he seemed to be scared beyond words, so Henrik gave him what he hoped was an encouraging nod and left to check in with the ER team. 

After that, as promised, he tracked down one of his coworkers and hurriedly asked them to go to the front desk and tell whoever was there that when a Jackie or Stacy came in to send them to the waiting room outside the OR, and even as he was finishing up, he was being paged.

It was like life was happening at double speed, meeting with the rest of his staff about the case, telling them he’d already been called to the ER to examine the patient, scrubbing in. And then it stalled to slow motion as they wheeled her in. Chase was with her - they let parents do that sometimes with pediatric patients, just until they fell asleep. 

It was strange and wrong, to see him here. Chase’s eyes scanned the room and all the surgical staff. He blinked when his eyes met Henrik’s, like he hadn’t recognized him in the full getup of his surgical gown, gloves, and mask until that moment.

“Ready?” the anesthesiologist asked Lexi. 

“Yeah.”

Chase squeezed her hand. “You have good dreams, ok, and I’ll be there when you wake up. I love you.” 

They held the mask over her face and told her to take deep breaths. Henrik watched Chase; he couldn’t touch him - it wasn’t sterile - and there wasn’t much he could say to him either. It may not be technically illegal to operate on someone you happened to know, but given how close they actually were, this was an ethical nightmare, and if any of the other doctors in the room caught wind of it, they wouldn’t hesitate to tell Schneep to get the hell out and send in a more impartial surgeon. He just tried to be gentle when he said, “we’ll take it from here.”

Then Chase left, and in spite of everything, Henrik felt calm. One of the reasons he loved his job was that it was straightforward in its complexity. It wasn’t easy, but it was simple in that there was procedure to it, it was step by step, do this then this, be careful of that, and if something goes wrong, you have a limited number of choices, each with clear, factual benefits and risks. It wasn’t like life, where everything was all tangled up and you could fall in love with your best friend and you had to decide to tell him, or not tell him, or tell him in four months or two years, and there was no way to know what would happen when you did. Henrik was never good at ‘meditating’ or ‘deep breathing;’ his mind was only ever clear when he was standing over a patient, when he had no choice because someone’s life depended on his ability to shut up all the noise that forever rang in the back of his mind and focus on doing each thing perfectly, one step at a time.

And almost in a blur, it was over. Even as they were stitching and bandaging, he almost couldn’t believe it. He’d been holding his breath for the disaster and it never came.

Apparently Chase felt the same; after taking extra care to wash all the blood off his hands, he wanted to be the one to tell Chase they were done. As soon as he walked into the waiting room, Chase sprang out of his seat like he had in the ER earlier. “What happened?” 

“Nothing happened. Everything went perfectly and they’re taking her to Recovery now.”

Chase stared at him for a second then ran across the room, more or less jumping to wrap his arms around Henrik’s neck. Henrik wrapped his around Chase’s waist and held him for a moment, until he realized that Chase was crying - finally, after holding it together as long as he needed to. Schneep patted his back. “Hey, let’s go see her, ok?”

He sniffled but nodded. “Yeah.” He picked up a plastic bag that was sitting beside his chair. “Jackie brought me some stuff from the gift shop on his way to pick up Noah,” he explained. “He took him back to my apartment so he could give him dinner and get him into his pajamas and all that. I didn’t know if we’d be here overnight.”

He held the door open for Chase and lead him down the hallway. “We’ll probably hold her just for observation, yes.” They turned into the room and Henrik pulled back the curtain. “She might not wake up for a few minutes. I convinced them to go on the heavier side of the safe range of dosage for the anesthesia and pain medicine. She will be groggy at first, but she shouldn’t be in much pain. And if they gave her medicine for anxiety beforehand, she probably won’t remember what happened after that; that is normal side effect.”

They sat down in the uncomfortable hospital chairs, Chase never taking his eyes off of Lexi. “They decided they didn’t need to, ‘cause she was ok. She’s so brave, I don’t know where she gets that.”

“From you.”

“Please. I’m a mess. I don’t know what I would’ve done if you didn’t work here, dude. I can’t handle this kind of shit by myself.”

“It seemed pretty handled when I got there. She was already where she needed to be.”

Chase shrugged, ducking his face. He reached into the plastic bag and pulled out a bottle of water - which, Henrik was glad to see, it looked like he’d already been drinking -  and took a sip. “Do you want something?” He pulled the bag all the way open in his lap. Henrik could see three more bottles of water, two of those refrigerated bottles of iced coffee, a little get well soon teddy bear, a phone charger, a few granola bars, and some chocolate. Leave it to Jackie.

“I mean, I didn’t want to say anything, but usually when you come visit me at work you bring me some lunch or something.”

Chase laughed, and the sound almost made the whole exhausting day worth it. “I apologize for my rudeness.” He held one of the coffees out to him. “I know you don’t usually like iced, but hey, it’s caffeine.”

“No thank you. I’m sure one of them is for Stacy. Have you heard from her, by the way?”

“Oh, yeah. She should be here any minute.” He bit his lip. “She’s gonna be mad.”

“Why on Earth would she be mad? What could you have done?”

“I don’t think she’ll really be mad at me, but she’ll be frustrated. And scared. As shitty as this day is, I don’t even want to think about one of the kids being in the hospital and me not being able to get to them. I just think we’re both too emotional right now, and things between us are still… a little tough. I don’t know how this is gonna go down.” 

He never knew how Chase did that, could see the humanity in the worst of situations, and he never knew what to say when he did it either. He just looked at him until Chase said, “Lexi’s ok. That’s all that matters.”

It was all that mattered. After all the unexpected stress of the day, Henrik started to relax a little, just sitting with Chase. He spent a few minutes going over some of the basics of what they’d do for pain medicine, how to take care of the wound. At some point, Alexis stirred.

“Hey, sweetie. How do you feel?”

“When’s the surgery?” she asked, her eyes still closed.

“The surgery’s over. You did it.”

“I did it?”

“You did! You did a great job. Do you want some water?”

“Mmm-mm. Not thirsty, just sleepy.”

“Don’t you at least want to see what Uncle Jackie got you?”

But she’d already fallen back to sleep.

“Should I wake her up again?”

“You don’t need to unless you want to try. She’s getting fluids; she won’t dehydrate.”

Chase settled back into his chair. 

“At some point, we’ll get her moved to a proper room for the night. But I make no promises about when. Trust me, now that this is no longer an emergency, you’ll see how slow a hospital can be.”

“If that’s the worst I have to deal with, I think I’ll live.”

“That’s -”

And then the door opened, and there was Stacy, looking completely frantic. “Where-”

Chase got up to get her attention. “It’s alright, Stace. She’s right here, she’s ok. Everything’s good now. She woke up a little for a minute, she was out of it but-”

He was cut off by Stacy pulling him into a hug. “Thank God you were there, Chase. She told me her stomach felt weird before I dropped her off to you last night and I thought she was just being dramatic because she - she wanted to take every stuffed animal she owned, I swear, and I told her there was no room and she had to pick just a few and I don’t know why I didn’t listen to her or why I didn’t let her take the damn toys I just -”

Whatever Chase had been expecting, it clearly wasn’t this, but he managed to get her to sit down, offer her some water. “That was probably nothing. It started getting bad this afternoon - believe me, you would’ve noticed. You would’ve done the same thing.”

Henrik was suddenly very uncomfortable; he backed off to a corner of the room, not sure what he was meant to do or say, just watching them talk between themselves. After a few minutes, Chase came over to where he was standing.

“Hey - you heading out soon?”

His shift had long since ended, but it felt so strange to just walk away from the situation. “I can stay. I don’t have the boys tonight.”

“No, you should go. You must be tired. Go home and get some rest; we’ll be good here.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I texted Jackie, he said he can handle Noah for the night. Stacy and I are gonna stay with Lex.”

“Okay. You know where everything is - the cafeteria, the vending machines, all that?” Chase nodded. “And my office, too? I will leave the door unlocked for the night, in case you need anything or you decide you need to be… in separate rooms for a while.”

“It actually seems kinda fine. I don’t think it’ll be a problem.”

“Well, just in case. And there should be a sweater in there if you get cold, some snacks maybe. Just look in the desk drawers.”

“Got it. Now go get some sleep, for real.”

He said it kindly, but it still felt like he was being sent away. He knew it was childish and stupid, but after everything, it was hard to let go. To accept that no matter how much they went through, Chase and Lexi weren’t his family. To leave them behind.

By this time, the hallways were a little quieter. He’d just pressed the button for the elevator when he heard Chase’s voice yell, “hey wait!”

He turned, and Chase was jogging toward him. “I forgot to tell you something!”

“What is it?”

Once again, Chase wrapped his arms around him, pressing his head against Henrik’s chest for a brief second before getting on his tiptoes to whisper in his ear.

“Thank you.”

And maybe it didn’t change anything, but the elevator opened behind them and then closed again, and they were still holding on to each other.

[myncisworld-2point0]

[NOTE: This article is from 2014.]

According to some people, Mark Harmon is best known to his fans as Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs on CBS’s hit drama series NCIS. Those people are wrong, of course, because he’s always going to be Freddy Shoop, a summer school teacher in over his head in 1987’s appropriately-titled Summer School. Harmon turns the ripe, young age of 63 today, and it’s clearer than ever that this man is in possession of a map that leads to the Fountain of Youth, because Harmon ages with grace, am I right, ladies? In fact, while it’s no wonder why this actor was named People’s Sexiest Man Alive in 1986, it is rather shocking that he never received that accolade again, specifically in 1987, when the most important work of his career was released.

The coke-fueled era of the 1980s in Hollywood was filled with more high school movies about slackers and smartasses than anyone actually needed, especially when it came to featuring students who looked like they were older than the teachers. Summer School was always perhaps the most underrated of the decade’s tributes to slackademics (trademark pending) because what it lacked in the typical star power of, say, a John Hughes film, it more than made up for in creating arguably the most creative collection of “teenage” dipshits than any film of the genre. At the same time, it showed that Harmon, who was probably best known at the time for his role as the HIV-positive Dr. Robert Caldwell on St. Elsewhere, had a strong sense of comedy, while also confirming (along with her debut on Cheers that same year) that Kirstie Alley was much, much more than just a really attractive Vulcan.

Summer School isn’t just some cult classic that people love to mention whenever someone randomly asks, “Hey, whatever happened to Dean Cameron?” It was actually well-received at the box office, earning $36 million in theaters on what I assume was a budget of a few rolls of nickels and someone’s baseball card collection. Critics, however, were a little more mixed on this mindless comedy, as Roger Ebert gave it one-half star out of four, which sounds a lot better than one star out of eight, so you know what? I’ll take it.

Maybe in the movie business we could coin the term vaporfilm, for movies that zip right through our brains without hitting any memory molecules.

“Summer School” is a movie like that, a comedy so listless, leisurely and unspirited that it was an act of the will for me to care about it, even while I was watching it. This movie has no particular reason for being, other than to supply employment for people whose job possibilities will not be enhanced by it. (Via RogerEbert.com)

Here’s a tip for all of you aspiring film critics out there, courtesy of King Ebert – if you’re watching a movie with a title as lazy as Summer School, and the opening of the film features a school’s teachers trying to haul ass after the bell on the last day of the semester so they don’t get suckered into teaching the titular course, get up and walk out. Leave the movie for those of us who love to watch stupid movies and go to the next theater to watch and analyze La Bamba. Perhaps that’s why the fan reviews of Summer School on Netflix seem to be so glowing, as I only found three that were two stars or less. In fact, here’s the worst of them all:

Nothing but trash. Nothing worth seeing. Degenerate teens in bad need of harsh discipline. It’s depressing to think that so many young people actually enjoy this trash. This movie is immediately available from NF while so many more interesting ones languish in the ‘saved’ section, or in ‘short wait’, ‘long wait’, or ‘very long wait’ status. Just one more nail in the coffin of American culture, or lack thereof.

Thank God Armond White weighed in. The majority of people, myself included, fondly remember Summer School for what it is – a fun, stupid movie that was meant to make us laugh, while perhaps also rubbing our noses in the awesomeness of 80s California if we didn’t live there. But I’ll take this analysis one step further by laying out these 10 very important lessons that I took away from Summer School after watching it this morning, in paying tribute to Harmon, a man who was Kevin Costner before Kevin Costner was Kevin Costner.

Always put sunglasses on your dog.

Fact: 100% of movie posters that have dogs wearing sunglasses on them are movies that I’m willing to at least watch. The movie could be called This Dog Dies from Space AIDS, and I’d still be curious to see why that dog is wearing sunglasses.

Always have an escape plan.

When everybody else is hauling ass from the faculty parking lot at the last second, there’s no reason that you shouldn’t already be packed for your trip to Hawaii. I don’t like to point fingers, but Mr. Shoop’s girlfriend is clearly at fault here. All she had to do was pack the car for him, and he could have jumped in and taken off for the airport. Instead, Kim kicked her man while he was down and not only snatched her ticket to Hawaii from the pocket of his rad flowered shirt, but she also told him to drive her to the airport. I don’t mean to offend anyone who is overprotective of fictional characters, but I hope that Kim was eventually fed to the volcano gods.

Also, let’s consider this a lesson within a lesson – would you walk away from your teaching job right now if someone handed you a winning lottery ticket for $50,000? I say no. Just pass all of the morons while you spend the class time reading up on investment opportunities.

Never be afraid to encourage the creativity of your students.

https://youtu.be/-5Pku48YPFo

The true sign of a teacher’s efforts in a classroom is how far the students are willing to go to show others their appreciation of his work. In Shoop’s case, once he resigned because his students were greedy little pricks, those same students objected to a new teacher taking over the class by staging a gruesome and horrifying murder scene, complete with two of the students wielding chainsaws, declaring themselves psychopaths and thus taking credit for the violence. Of course, I can’t stress this enough, no high school students should ever think about trying to recreate this scene today.

On a side note, and I hate to nitpick true artistic masterpieces, if you’re going to have a severed hand pull a dude’s tongue out of his mouth and slap him with it, it’s really important that he not blink. Damn it, people, we need accuracy.

Being a male teacher in California in 1987 was probably terrifying.

https://youtu.be/farC0cWkpvc

Between Summer School and Revenge of the Nerds II: Nerds in Paradise, 1987 was a huge year for Courtney Thorne-Smith. Hell, both movies came out in the same week in July, when she was just 19 years old and poised to become the next big things in terms of girls that all teen boys wanted to marry. Unfortunately, her movie career never really panned out, as the last live action role she had on the big screen was as Natalie in the Carrot Top hot fart Chairman of the Board. Her TV career was obviously a lot better, but that’s neither here nor there. Having her play a lovelorn surf goddess crushing on Shoop probably lured a lot of guys to the teaching profession, only to have them learn the hard way that prison sucks.

Additionally, there was the foreign exchange student Anna-Maria Mazarelli, who would grow up to win our hearts as Alotta Fagina. Was it standard procedure for foreign exchange students to be shoved into remedial English classes upon arrival? Sure.

It’s important to support fine arts programs.

https://youtu.be/u0kF24ceZMI

When I write about how hilarious it was how Hollywood tried to make us buy that some actors were teenagers when they were clearly at least a decade older, Ken Olandt is really Exhibit A. The guy who played Larry, the sleeping student by day and male stripper by night, was actually 29 when he was portraying a 17-year old, which is pretty hard to pass when very few teenage boys A) look like that and B) are hired to shake their dongs in strip clubs. Still, glaring age gaps and statutory and employment laws aside, it was nice to see that Shoop was so cool about Larry’s awesome after-school job. That is until he was busted by his mom and presumably spent the next decade in therapy.

It’s not lying if the company ripped you off in the first place.

The first time that I ever saw Summer School, I was convinced that the part about writing letters to companies to get free stuff would work every time. I spent a lot of time trying to write letters to the companies that made my favorite toys, so I could convince them that the action figures and especially the vehicles that I couldn’t afford had been broken. But then I realized that I might be called on my BS, and guys in suits might show up to my home demanding to see the broken toys, and then I’d be screwed and sent off to prison for lying. Ultimately, owning Krang’s fortress wasn’t worth a life spent in prison making license plates, which is how TV and movies taught me that license plates were made.

Jail in California looks very scary.

I still don’t know what the guy with the mustache is doing with his hand, but it’s really scary and I don’t want to ever have someone do that to me, so I’ve chosen to lead a life on the straight and narrow. Thank you, Summer School, for teaching us that jail is filled with scary perverts who want to do bad things to shirtless men on roller skates.

No matter the risk, steal your boss’s girlfriend.

https://youtu.be/B7ZTNm5o780

Vice Principal Gills was a pretty big bite in the ass, so we had to cheer for Shoop in pursuit of Robin Bishop, because Shoop was the coolest and his girlfriend had only recently taken off for Hawaii without him. Sure, Robin was kind of stuck up because she questioned the legitimacy of taking students to something as awesome as a petting zoo, which produced adorable moments like this:

And she also wore a denim shirt tucked into a different shade of denim skirt, because it was the 80s, but she had a good heart and she just wanted what was best for all students, even if it meant agreeing to a date with Shoop to get there. Also, Gills looked like a total goober-douche, and there’s no reason he should have been with Robin.

Education can be a compromise.

https://youtu.be/LzdoMQL_jR8

Is Alan Eakien one of the most underrated teen nerds of cinema? I say yes. That kid may have been dumber than rocks compared to his genius brothers, but he negotiated circles around Shoop. In exchange for a slightly-above-half-assed effort from less than half of the original class roster*, Shoop’s couch was set on fire, his goldfish murdered and car wrecked, bookending that whole going to jail for the two D-bags thing. Things could have been considerably worse, too, because Robin could have tried to get him banned from teaching for the rest of his life for allowing a female student to live with him.

But ultimately Shoop sacrificed so much for the sake of helping a few of his students learn some lessons about life, since they didn’t all pass their exams. Is he a good teacher for that or was he just an idiot being taken advantage of by other idiots? Especially idiots who looked like this:

Being an idiot isn’t all that bad, so long as you’re not a total idiot.

https://youtu.be/8fvhchY0UmY

Hey, in the end, some of those kids passed their exams, and the most important of them all was Pam, because that meant she could move on and not try to make it so Shoop returned to jail. This guy went from being just a run-of-the-mill bro’s bro gym teacher to making an impact in the lives of some kids who looked like they were grown adults. Sure, he couldn’t even talk a 17-year old out of stripping, and he allowed some of his students to treat the foreign exchange student like a sex model, but Freddy Shoop probably learned more than anyone.

Also, he totally stole the douchebag Vice Principal’s girlfriend, and Wonder Mutt found Bobby again in the end, so this really was a movie with a beautiful and happy ending.

[justaghostingon]

The Trial of the Lost Girdle

Part four: The Witness

Gyrus stepped to the podium, standing back straight, arms casually gripping the sides of the stand, as if he were giving a presentation instead of standing as a witness and potential suspect. His eyes were forward, staring down the crowd, not glancing right or left. Kodya had his head buried in his hands at the witness stand, but Gyrus didn’t even glance at him. Out of the corner of her eye, Queen Mary saw King Don shift slightly, expression intense and focused. 

Gyrus began to speak. “I, Gyrus Axelei, am here to present my part in the case of the misplaced girdle of Queen Mary, in the hopes of absolving Kodya against all accusations. May I begin?” he directed the last part to Knox with a polite smile.

Knox looked over him, assessing. “Your strong posture, tightened jaw, and steady eye contract show you are very determined. Proceed.” 

“Thank you Knox,” Gyrus gave an absent nod in his direction, but his full attention was turned to the audience. Queen Mary could see a gleam in his eye she knew far to well, one that told her he was not going to back down. “As you all know, I was not feeling well these last few days.” Queen Mary raised an eyebrow, as Knox did not flag a lie. So he had been sick like King Don had said. How odd. She’d never known him to be sick before. 

“It was recommended to me...” a muscle in Gyrus’s jaw twitched, the only sign of his frustration at what Queen Mary could only assume was a most unwanted request, “...that I not attend any of the main events for my health, even the Treaty Ball. Therefore, I retired to my quarters to spend my time on one of my projects in an effort to distract myself. It was then, on the night of the Treaty Ball, that I decided to experiment with dissolving acid and the story really began.”

“Dissolving acid?” Queen Mary interrupted. “Why on earth would you be making something so dangerous in the middle of a peace treaty?”

Gyrus’s lips twisted briefly downward, as if frustrated at the interruption. But Queen Mary did not care. To make something so dangerous deserved an explanation, in her humble opinion. And from the way King Don frowned at Gyrus, he agreed.

“It’s not nearly as dangerous as it sounds,” Gyrus sighed.

“Lie,” Knox said. 

“Ok, it is as dangerous as it sounds,” Gyrus amended. “But it has a lot of practical uses too. Like dissolving rocks in soil, or removing trash, plus a lot of chemical uses that would take far too long to explain. The point is, I wasn’t making it for any purposes that would interfere with the Treaty. Right Knox?”

“This is true,” Knox said. “But from the increased heart rate of the audience, I can conclude that you have convinced no one.”

“So I was making the acid,” Gyrus plowed on, regardless of the concerned looks from the crowd. “And Kodya came in to my chambers.” Gyrus’s face softened to a faint smile. “I wasn’t expecting that, I thought he and Neph were going to the ball. But he said he wanted to keep me company, so I decided that an extra set of hands would be a great help.” 

“Lie,” Knox interrupted. “Furthermore, your increased internal heat, sweat, and muscle tension all agree that you are nervous. Conclusion: you do not want to explain.”

“Oh?” Gyrus let out a high pitched laugh as he ran a hand through his hair, cheeks tinged with red. 

Oh Lord, Queen Mary thought. Was Gyrus, ever oblivious, never interested Gyrus, blushing? Had the end of times come upon them?

“I may have been...” Gyrus gave a small cough into his fist, “...showing off. Not taking the proper precautions and the like as I performed some showy tricks.” He was definitely blushing. “In my arrogance I assumed my power could protect us both should an error occur, so there was no need to worry about the risks.”

“I was wrong.” Gyrus stared down at the podium, hands clenching into fists. The audience stared, and even Kodya peaked out of his arms to look up at Gyrus in confusion. Queen Mary couldn’t blame them. It wasn’t every day you heard Gyrus admit fault. 

Gyrus continued, voice heavy with regret. “I let Kodya pick up one of the vials of acid, carefully of course, and under my own razor-sharp focus. He was only supposed to hand it to me, but as he was carrying it over...” Gyrus swallowed, “...a loud crash echoed through my chambers. Kodya startled, and the acid in the vial flew out in a perfect arc and landed on his clothes.”

A gasp escaped the audience, and Mary felt one bubbling up inside her to. Only years of practice stopped her from making a sound. Gyrus had stated that acid could burn through rocks, what could it do to human flesh? She cast a glance at Kodya, but she couldn’t see any signs of burns on his arms or face. Not that she had a very good view. Quite a few other gazes were drawn to Kodya too, and he hid his head back in his arms.

“I reacted with my powers, just in time, removing the contaminated material and shoving Kodya into a decontaminate shower. I was fortunate that he was unharmed.” There was a beat of silence.

“Ye stripped him?!” Tori shrieked in shock. Queen Mary allowed herself the slightest of winces at her Champion’s rather...blunt phrasing. From his place beside Tori, Kodya groaned, ears burning red as he attempted to bury his face deeper in his hands.

“It’s standard procedure!” Gyrus snapped. “If I hadn’t acted the acid would have cut through far more than clothing.” 

“This is true,” Knox said. “But your increased heart, sweaty palms, higher pitch and aggressive movements suggest you are very embarrassed.”

“Yes well...” Gyrus tugged on his sleeve, “...the point is, Kodya was out the way, and I turned to the culprits.” Gyrus’s face darkened. He raised his face, eyes burning, to look directly into the audience. “It was Oli and Anan.”

A gasp went up from the audience, as every head turned to gaze at two figures in the crowd. Queen Mary followed there gaze to see Anan and another man standing beside Sylvia, Anan’s hands were raised as if in surrender, and the other rounder man was half behind him, shaking. Both looked very nervous.

“Yes,” Gyrus said, with a thunderous frown on his lips. “Oli and Anan had barged into my lab without knocking, and startled Kodya into dropping the acid. But don’t worry,” Gyrus’s lips twisted into a smirk. “I made certain the were properly informed of the gravity of their actions.” 

Out of the corner of her eye, Queen Mary saw both Anan and the man who must be Oli wince.

“My wardrobe had been knocked over in the chaos,” Gyrus shrugged, “I don’t know if it was my power, or Oli and Anan hit it by accident. But the clothes had spilled all over the floor. Kodya...interrupted my lecture to request a towel. I collected a few items from the floor, and pushed them through the curtain for him to use. When he emerged, I made Oli and Anan apologize, and sent them all on their way.” 

Gyrus hesitated half a second before adding. “As he left, I remember Kodya had a blue cloth belt around his waste. I didn’t think much of it, but that was very likely how he got it.”

“You are not lying.” Knox said. “But if you are able to remember the color of a cloth around Kodya’s waist after seeing it once, how did you not recognize the girdle of the queen after having an entire conversation with Kodya later?”

That, Queen Mary thought, was an excellent point. Gyrus was known for his almost perfect memory. It was rumored he’d never forgotten a moment in his life. So how hadn’t he recognized her girdle?”

“Oh I hadn’t seen it before.” Gyrus pointed out. “When I...” his eyes flickered briefly to Queen Mary and she sat up straighter, “...lived in Amethyst, the champion’s sash was purple, not blue. I was sick for most of this, remember? I didn’t see Tori until after she lost the girdle.”

That certainly made sense, Queen Mary begrudgingly admitted to herself, but there was one question that was still on her mind. “If you knew what the girdle looked like when Kodya wore it out of your rooms, why did you claim not to recognize it when you saw Kodya wearing it with the other knights?”

“I, uh...” Gyrus scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, “Kinda did?” 

“What?!” Kodya’s head snapped up from his arms.

“Only 60%!” Gyrus hastily added, arms spread wide in defense. 

“Lie.” Knox’s voice was flat. Kodya glared at Gyrus, who shot him a panicked glance.

“75%! no, 76.458% certain it was the one he’d taken from my room!” Gyrus’s voice was high pitched. “I wasn’t absolutely certain, I’d only really seen it from the back, but it was blue and had the symbol of Amethyst Eye...,” Gyrus began to fiddle with his fingers, “...and my wardrobe had been knocked over...I kinda just assumed it was probably something from way back then that I’d forgotten about?” He peaked through his bangs. “I wasn’t certain though, and I didn’t want to be wrong...And he seemed so uncaring about it.” Gyrus’s lips twisted downward, “...like he was embarrassed or didn’t care.”

Gyrus hugged himself as he looked down. “It hurt a bit, and I decided if he was going to have a token, he might as well understand its importance. Besides, there was still a fourth of a chance it was someone else’s and I didn’t want anyone else to get hurt...So I just kinda...pulled him aside, and let him know that if it was someone else’s he should treat it with respect, and heavily implied that if it was mine I didn’t mind if he kept it?” Gyrus ended in a rush, avoiding all eye contact and blushing like mad. 

Queen Mary stared at the blushing mess before her and wondered who he was and what he’d done with the Gyrus she remembered, who was so clever and aloof. Because really, in what universe did talking about tokens as symbols of the affections of others mean that someone was interested? Maybe its a good thing Gyrus never showed an interest before, he would have caused all kinds of chaos in her court.

Kodya’s eyes were wide, and it looked as if he was about to say something, but Gyrus interrupted, “I can safely say it wasn’t in my room before that incident, as I did not receive any other visitors to my chambers that night. As anything with Kodya was likely marred by the acid, I can safely assume that it must have come from Oli or Anan. I suggest you ask them.”

Anan spoke up from the crowd, braking the tension in the room. “Gee, Thanks Gyrus! Nice to know you’ve got a guys back!” Gyrus did not look at him, instead taking great interest in the stone of the floor. Kodya was still staring mouth opening and closing like he wanted to speak. 

King Don sighed. “If you have nothing more to say, you may go back to the witness stand Gyrus,” he said as he rubbed his forehead as if to stop a migraine. “Oli and Anan, I believe its time for the both of you to come forward.”

Queen Mary watched as the two men stepped forward, Oli wide-eyed and shaking, while Anan hid his worry with a glare at Gyrus. Perhaps now, they would finally get some answers.

[windyfiend]

 A half-hour passed, and the empress’ throne sat empty.

 While Kieran hummed a delightful tune, Alexis quivered at attention, their eyes locked on the darkened doorway through which Isobel must appear at any moment.

 The moments ticked by. Nothing moved.

 “Something’s wrong,” Alexis announced, their crisp voice echoing in the vaulted hall. With a turn on their heel, the commander addressed the sleepy guards. “Take him back to his cell.”

 “Ah, so you’ll check up on our dear empress, won’t you?” Kieran chuckled, smiling thinly. “How thoughtful.”

 “Ensure he doesn’t speak to the other prisoners,” Alexis snapped.

 “Oh, it’s much too late for that,” Kieran replied with a grin and a stretch of his throat, and the officers led him away.

 While the doors thudded shut, Alexis marched alone up the red steps, held their breath while they passed the amethyst throne, and slipped through the narrow open archway between the tapestries.

 On the other side they found an empty corridor, warmed by the filtered glow of sunlight, and no sign of the expected empress.

--

 Alexis began their search at the radio room, where the controls and microphones had been neatly tidied after the broadcast; a handwritten speech still lay curled atop the desk, etched with scribbles and red-inked arrows among the empress’ unreadable scrawl.

 They hurried to the vacant dining room, then to the holler and clamor of the kitchens where none of the cooks had seen her, and then to the south wing and the empress’ private chamber door.

 Alexis knocked swiftly and bent their head to listen. “Ma’am!” they called. “Are you alright?” When there came no movement nor reply, the commander knocked again and stepped inside.

 Light from the opposite windows fell soft upon a modest room, the walls heavy with canvas paintings of river stones and flowing water. The quilted bed had been made pristinely, the floor swept clean, the potted plants trimmed and thriving. No one was there.

--

 They strode through the Great Hall-- where janitors scrambled busy setting tables for the Sunrise Feast --and stepped through the glass doors and into the greenhouse.

 A rainforest of draping green and silvery leaves shimmered in the bright fragrant heat. Butterflies fluttered lazily between the palms and the ivy, the orchids and the trailing succulents that crowded moss-softened lilies. Alexis followed a path between the hanging branches and knelt to lift a trap door in the weathered wood.

 A stairwell led down into the churning gloom.

--

 The deep tunnels hummed and whirred with the noise of a distant machine. The stone walls shuddered and the dust trembled beneath Alexis’ feet. They followed the narrow hallway, passed two branching tunnels, took the next turn and bowed their head beneath a low ceiling. The passage ended at a pair of heavy doors.

 Sunlight pressed bright and shining between the cracks.

--

 Alexis pressed their armored shoulder against a door, pushed it open and turned their eyes away, squinting against the brilliant blinding light. With an arm raised to shield their sight, they approached the thrumming noise of the machine.

 The painted walls shimmered with the sweeping shadows of passing planets and moons.

 “Do you remember the last time the sun shone in the sky?” the empress called.

 Alexis peered out from under their arm and saw her standing at the rail of the orrery, her face turned up toward the light. Her long braid of iron-gray hair seemed to shine like diamonds.

 “You were expected at the trial this morning,” Alexis said.

     “I     do,” Isobel continued as if Alexis hadn’t spoken at all. “The sky was the color of bluebirds, and the clouds were white as lilies. You could see colors all the way to the horizon. Then it all turned red, then violet, then dark.”

 Alexis stepped up beside Isobel and turned their back on the light of the orrery. They peered down at her from under the shadow of their shielding forearm. “Why did you miss Kieran’s trial?” they asked in a level voice, to anchor her back to this time and place.

 Isobel tipped her head and twitched an amused smile. “You arranged that trial, not me. It never required my presence.” She leaned back, her brows raised at the squinting commander. “Why don’t you put on your helmet, if the light hurts your eyes?”

 Alexis replied carefully: “You said--”

 “I know what I said,” Isobel teased with a small grin. “You’ll blind yourself if you stare any longer. Put your helmet on, silly. Just keep the audio off.”

 Alexis paused while they determined the correct response to this test of their loyalty. Finally, they placed the helmet over their head with a twist and a locking click, and suppressed a sigh of relief.

 The empress smiled softly. “I didn’t show up because you don’t need me, Commander Alexis. With your position of power comes responsibility: such as what to do with your own subordinate who acts against protocol. Should he be punished, or could we play to his strengths?”

 “He killed four citizens without justifiable cause,” Alexis protested stiffly. “Our first duty as Scythes is to      protect     the people.”

 “So what if he weren’t a Scythe?” Isobel stepped away from the machine and peered up at the shine of Alexis’ beetle-like helmet. “He enjoys killing, does he not? And he’s good at it. The Scythes have no use for killers, but I do.”

 “An assassin?” Alexis guessed, skeptical. “Isn’t that rewarding him for his misconduct?”

 “He will have no opportunity to kill unless I command it,” said the empress. “If it’s murder he wants, he will learn to obey.”

 Alexis bent a hesitant bow. “Yes, Isobel.”

 Isobel grinned and leaned back against the rail. “I have another matter to discuss with you. I heard Sebastian fired his artificers.” She watched Alexis as if she could read their expression through the armor.

 “He told me they had expressed…      immoral     persuasions regarding Runa’s procedure,” Alexis said carefully. “I inferred that she might not have survived, had they stayed.”

 “Runa. That’s the child that fell from the cliff,” Isobel guessed aloud, then raised her chin with dismissive authority. “I need you to look after Sebastian. I gave him a job to do, and I have reason to believe he’s stalling. I need you to apply whatever pressure is necessary in order to convince him that my assignment takes priority.”

 Alexis bowed their head once more. “I will ensure he understands the importance of his work.”

 Isobel sat atop the rail, staring up at the mechanical planets that orbited overhead, waiting for Alexis to ask her for an explanation. The dutiful Scythe, instead, kept silent.

 “How is the search for Briony going?” she asked, her gaze fixed above.

 Alexis clenched an armored fist. “Officer Pallas is leading the effort. They’ve found nothing.”

 “Good.”

 A palpable tension strung between them. Isobel watched the commander with sidelong consideration. “Do you have doubts, Alexis?”

 The commander trembled with the effort of silence. They sucked a breath through their teeth. “She was a      child!”     Alexis burst, while their body felt trapped in the rigid posture of respect. “What I did to her--”

 “We did what we had to do.” The empress dropped to her feet, strode swiftly forward and pressed a firm grip to Alexis’ shoulders. Her gaze held steady and grounding. “If the sunlight dies,      we     die. All of us. Briony, and Runa, and everyone in the city would starve and freeze to death within the year, if the Kith don’t murder us first. I know you understand as well as I do that this arrangement is the only way our people have survived so long.” She laid a hand aside their helmet and searched for eyes she couldn’t see. “Don’t let the Light into your head, Alexis. They would kill us all with their lies.”

 “We should attack the forest,” Alexis hissed bitterly. “Round up the Kith, hold them here and      force     them to light the city. They took the sun for themselves. We will make them give it back.”

 “I wish it were that simple.” Isobel stepped away. The orrery’s sunlight washed over her. “There may be another solution, one that could finally release us from the Kith’s hold without war. But I need the artificer’s cooperation. I need you.”

 Alexis drew long, settling breaths. They clenched and unclenched their fists, raised their head high, and spoke in a raking voice. “I will not fail you.”

--

 After the planetarium doors had fallen shut behind them-- muffling the sound and light of the blood-bought machine --Alexis stooped swiftly through the darkened corridor and returned their helmet to full audio settings.

 A message was waiting from the palace guard.

 [Commander, we found the cell doors open when we returned with the prisoner. The Light operatives have escaped into the palace.]

[dogbearinggifts]

Beauty in the Mundane, Chapter One: To the Wolves

Umbrella Academy

Author’s Note: This is chapter one of an AU answering this petition from @scotty-the-t-rex calling for Hazel and Agnes to go back in time and adopt the Hargreeves kids. If this is the first time you’re seeing it on your dash, you can read the prologue here. 

The whole fic is also available on AO3. 

Oh, and if you’re interested, the song I took the chapter title from is by Anberlin. I don’t know if I’ll use song titles and/or lyrics for every chapter, but I liked it for this one. 

**********

Day four of surveillance wore on toward a conclusion without a single broken law on Sir Reginald’s part. 

This was to be expected, Agnes had told him. Reginald wasn’t quite a hermit, but only an actual hermit would dare call him social. Hazel was still a bit fuzzy on which laws applied where and when and to what extent, but he figured any evidence gathered whilst spying through the windows of that mansion would come down on his head, rather than Reginald’s. An act witnessed in a public area, though—that was fair game. 

He only needed Reginald to cooperate. 

Hazel took a bite of coffeecake. It wasn’t near as good as Agnes’ donuts, but neither dared approach Griddy’s—Hazel because he had been a stranger to Agnes when they met, Agnes because crossing paths with your younger self had to create one hell of a paradox. “Think I’ve probably crossed my own timeline before,” he’d explained, “but the Commission always sent me someplace I wouldn’t run into myself.” 

He’d been on a few stakeouts, though with the Commission’s emphasis on finishing a job before most folks could finish tying their shoes, he was still a bit vague on proper procedures for operations that lasted more than a few hours. Moving their base from one side of the Academy to the other hadn’t been a bit of strategic brilliance so much as an act of necessity; when a building took up an entire city block, it was impossible to tell when your target might slip out through the back door. 

“I’ve got some beef jerky in the back, if you want that next.” 

Hazel smiled. He still wasn’t certain if bringing Agnes along was a good idea, tactically speaking, but her pleasant company kept his more unwelcome thoughts at bay. “I’m good, thanks.” 

She settled back in her seat, though she quickly sat forward again. “Oh!” 

He followed her gaze down an alley between the Academy and a neighboring business, caught the same flash of movement she did. His hand rested on the ignition. 

No adults lived in that household, not yet. According to what Agnes had read, a robot mother and a monkey butler resided on the premises; but given Sir Reginald’s fondness for privacy, the only grown man who could be stepping out of a side door was the billionaire himself. 

A balaclava covered his hair, and a grey overcoat covered him down to his knees. Dress slacks ended in polished loafers. He didn’t bow his head as he exited, didn’t glance over his shoulder or hesitate before sliding behind the wheel and pulling the door closed. The knot in Hazel’s stomach tightened. 

“Looks like he’s not expecting a tail,” Hazel said. “You remember the plan?” 

Agnes nodded, retrieving a small notepad and pen from the glove compartment. A quick glance showed him a few mock interview questions. Posing as reporters would likely earn more bluster than answers, but if they were caught, the lie would do. “Which one should I ask first—the one about the mustache-sclupting contest, or the one about Colonel Sanders?” 

Hazel watched as Sir Reginald’s car chugged to the end of the alleyway, paused, and turned right without signaling. This might not be their chance, but it was a big enough oddity to merit further investigation. 

“Whichever one you think’ll make him madder.” 

He eased the car down the alley and turned right. 

******** 

Following a target through city traffic was always easier than following one through the countryside, for obvious reasons, but that was no guarantee of secrecy. For every three targets who drove on entirely oblivious, there was one whose continual glances in the mirror revealed more than they were meant to see. 

Reginald kept to the speed limit, sometimes dipping a mile or two below. He took no side streets, made no U-turns and slowed the second a light turned yellow. Aside from an apparent allergy to using his blinker, his turns were neither sudden nor sharp. Were this an ordinary job, Hazel might have found the target’s obliviousness heartening, even amusing, but as Reginald turned off the main road and down a side street, Hazel only felt sick. 

He might not do anything worth calling the police over. Hazel knew that. He probably paid someone else to buy his groceries and it was too late in the day to try and renew his driver’s license, but there were other errands that could have lured him from his home. Reginald might be on his way to do any number of perfectly legal things, and then Hazel and Agnes could leave to plot their next move. 

City traffic thinned as high-rises and glass-walled office buildings gave way to townhouses and fourplexes scattered among the sort of crackerbox homes that had been popular six or seven decades prior.  Reginald slowed, and when he turned left at a stop sign, Hazel crept through the intersection at a speed that might have made Cha-Cha slap him upside the head and ask if he’d forgotten where to find the gas pedal. 

“He went past the last stop sign,” Agnes said, craning her neck to see out his window. Hazel had seen it happen, but still welcomed her confirmation. “And the—oh no, he’s going right.” 

“You know what’s up there?” 

She frowned in thought, a frown that deepened after a second or two. “I—I think it’s a cemetery.” 

“Can I get to it from here, or do I have to take the same street he did?” 

“Keep going straight until the next sign, then turn left. Should take you right to it.” 

He increased his speed. Inside of a minute, a green hill sprouting grey and black slabs of stone filled his vision, but he was more interested in Reginald’s car, parked along the curb mere feet from the entrance. A flash of movement signaled the man himself striding through the wrought-iron gates, quickly taken out of sight by the winding road. 

Hazel pulled into a spot on the opposite side of the cemetery, one shielded from view by hills and a few overgrown trees, stepped into the evening chill without a word. Agnes closed her door quietly, and they both noted the payphone outside a gas station catty-corner from where they stood.

Agnes caught his gaze, and he held it a moment. 

If all went according to plan, they were about to change the timeline. 

He’d known it from the beginning, been cognizant of that fact since he turned her heartbreak into a suggestion. But all those hours watching the Academy, all that time waiting for the man to show his face and charting a strategy—it all had kept the true scope of what he was planning to do at bay. Now there was nothing between it and him. Nothing to keep the thought from crashing down on him like an entire wall of crumbling brick. Only Agnes, slipping her hand in his, kept him from ducking back into the car and heading to the opposite side of town. 

Part of him said to pull away, leave both hands free for whatever confrontation might ensue if Reginald turned out to be more observant than he let on. Another part said it would add to the illusion. Just a couple strolling through a graveyard on a cold autumn evening, on their way to visit family or a friend, keeping to the grass because the grass was more pleasant. Nothing unusual, nothing to worry about. 

Reginald’s figure came into view, and Agnes dropped his hand. She might as well have dropped the rope tethering his life preserver to the boat. 

A monument stood by, one of those melodramatic statues depicting an angel in grief with names and dates and a host of other information engraved below. It wasn’t the best concealment Hazel had ever used, and it was less than he would have liked, but he didn’t see anything better. 

Reginald’s footsteps fell silent as he stepped off the path and brushed through the grass, stopping at the sort of mausoleum Hazel imagined a guy like him might insist upon as the site of his own burial. A key opened the door, but he didn’t step inside, choosing instead to speak inaudibly into the darkness. Hazel watched a second, then cocked a brow. 

“He usually yell at dead guys like that?” 

“No.” Her voice carried the same confusion he felt. “I mean, not that I know of—he could. He does have a son who—” 

Her words ended in a gasp, cut short by a hand to her mouth. 

“Oh my god. I—he—oh my god.” 

Hazel remained standing as she sank to the grass. He’d known the guy was twisted; Agnes had relayed a few accounts from Vanya’s book, stressing that the girl was excluded from much of what went on and likely didn’t know the half of what her siblings had gone through. What she had seen, what she had known, was more than enough to convince him getting those kids out from under his thumb might be enough to avert the apocalypse after all. Locking a kid who could see ghosts in a mausoleum seemed right up his alley. 

It still didn’t explain why. 

Klaus—the older Klaus, the junkie—he wasn’t the only one to break in the dark. Not everyone could hold it together through beatings and stranglings, but leave them alone with their thoughts, alone to wonder what was next, alone to recall the pain and terror and families they might never see again? There wasn’t a kink in the world that could save you from that. 

But that was the realm of torture, and torture was a tool. Find somebody with information locked up in their head, attack their defenses long enough, and those defenses would crumble. An eight-year-old boy couldn’t possibly hold secrets so valuable his own parent would lock him away. 

Whatever speech Reginald had planned was not a long one. He turned away, locked the door, and retraced his steps. Hazel watched, waiting for him to look his way, waiting for some signal that he ought to duck further out of sight, but Reginald didn’t so much as slow his pace. 

Hazel pushed questions aside. The why wasn’t near as important as the what. 

He fished a quarter from one pocket and crouched in the grass beside Agnes. “Go to the payphone and call the police. I’ll wait here and make sure Reggie doesn’t come back.” 

Her fingers wrapped around the quarter, but she didn’t pluck it from his grasp. “You’re not going to let him out?” 

Her tone and the look in her eyes were enough to give him pause. “The police’ll do that.” 

“And what’ll he do? Just wait in there with the ghosts?” 

He’s lasted this long sprang to mind, but Hazel didn’t dare voice that thought. “Look, if I mess with their crime scene—” 

“It’s not a crime scene, Hazel, they know who did it. Or they will.” 

“I didn’t bring my tools with me.” 

“It’s a mausoleum, not a bank.” 

There were more counterpoints, more arguments, but the guilt coiling in his middle was nowhere near welcome. He sighed. “I’ll pick the lock.” 

She took the quarter and got to her feet. He stood with her, watching as she retreated toward the gas station. After a few yards, she halted, saw him still beside the monument, and pressed her lips together, waving her hand in a shooing motion. 

The lock was nothing fancy, nothing too complex. A simple pick and a little finesse would get him through in a matter of seconds. Hazel could see the process laid out in his mind as though in a how-to guide, or that handbook he hadn’t touched since training. Everything else, everything that came after, was as clear as a mud puddle subjected to a thousand splashing feet. 

Hazel reached into his pocket, brushed aside the coins he’d collected on his travels, and found the lock picks. They weren’t anything fancy, just a set of picks gathered in a case similar to a Swiss Army knife, but they did the job when the job didn’t have to look too professional. 

Light faded from the sky as twilight became evening, but Hazel could have found the necessary pick even in the dark. Once he had it, he set to work. 

The lock clicked open. Once it did, once Hazel’s eyes adjusted to the dimness, he couldn’t have spoken had he wanted to. 

Klaus Hargreeves was a far cry from the junkie who’d stolen his briefcase. He was small at this age, with a slight build and curly hair. A blazer covered a starched white shirt and argyle sweater vest, but knee-legnth shorts, similar to those Five had worn, were his only shield against the cold floor. 

He should have been the one to call the police. Agnes. Agnes would’ve been better suited to this, would’ve had the kid calm inside of a minute and ushered him out with no trace of tears. One of those police officers allegedly on their way would have known what to do. Grab any bystander off the street and chances were ten to one that they would know what to do better than he could ever guess. Chances were ninety-nine to one that they would improve the situation, rather than making it ten times worse. 

But Agnes was gone, the police weren’t yet en route, and Hazel was alone. 

“Hi.” That seemed as good a place to start as any. “Whatcha doing in here?” 

Klaus drew a shaking breath, but only a few choked sounds came out. He’d folded himself up against the wall, as if making himself smaller might fool whatever terrors lurked, and he made no attempt to move—though he did shrink back as Hazel took a few steps forward. 

It should’ve been a paramedic walking toward this kid. A paramedic or some minimum-wage employee manning the gas station across the street. Someone who didn’t have a small army of ghosts trailing behind and no idea how to fix a person instead of breaking them. 

He couldn’t do anything about the ghosts, but perhaps he could make himself a little less intimidating. Hazel knelt, suppressing a wince as pain shot through his knees. A name. Maybe a name would help. “I’m Hazel. What’s your name?” 

There was another long gasp that shuddered like a dying engine before Klaus spoke. “Klaus.” 

“All right, Klaus.” Hazel shifted, and the scant light illuminated fresh tears on Klaus’ cheeks. “What do you say we get you outta here?” 

Klaus didn’t move. His gaze flitted from Hazel to the air beyond. As far as Hazel knew, ghosts couldn’t open doors; and he’d never seen one, but surely there had to be some indicator separating them from the living. But as Hazel watched, Klaus’ eyes didn’t flit back and forth the way they might have from one ghost to another. His gaze remained steady on the door, as if trying to determine whether it had opened at all or if that hint of rescue was simply a figment of imagination. 

Jesus, how long had he been in there? 

Hazel bent his fingers slightly, as if inviting him to move closer. “C’mon. Let’s get you out of here.” 

Klaus shifted. Both arms remained wrapped around his knees, but one loosened. 

“S’okay. We’re gonna get you out.” 

One arm let go and then the other. He shifted onto hands and knees, reached out to meet Hazel’s outstretched hand. 

Klaus’ cold hand brushed Hazel’s for only a second before clinging to it and, before Hazel could fully process what was happening, Klaus had his arms wrapped around Hazel’s neck, so all he could do was pull himself upright as Klaus buried his face in Hazel’s shoulder. 

Hazel got to his feet, balancing Klaus’ weight as best he could. His wrist screamed in protest, but he couldn’t set the kid down. Not now, and it was only a few steps to the door. 

Those few steps weren’t over quick enough. Hazel’s vision of setting Klaus down gently and sinking onto the grass died when Klaus kept hanging on, so he sank awkwardly to his knees. Once Klaus’ feet touched the ground, he slackened his grip. Cold air chilled the tears on his suit jacket almost instantly. 

Hazel expected the relief, but not the mingling guilt that came with it. 

“You okay?” 

It was a stupid question, but Klaus nodded despite another shuddering breath heralding more tears. Not knowing what else to do, Hazel put a hand on his shoulder. 

Maybe he shouldn’t have been surprised that Klaus leaned in, or when he threw his arms around Hazel’s shoulders. The torment he’d escaped hadn’t been the most brutal in the world, but given what he could see, it wasn’t something Hazel would’ve wished on anybody, either. Of course he’d be a little fragile after. Of course he’d cling to whoever was near. 

It still took a few seconds to return the embrace as Klaus sobbed into his shoulder. 

********

By the time red and blue lights split the darkening sky, Klaus had polished off most of the sandwich Agnes had purchased and was working on emptying the water bottle. In defiance of Hazel’s prediction, he sat closer to him than to Agnes. Unsure of what else to do, Hazel wrapped an arm around his shoulders. 

“Sorry if I messed up your crime scene,” Hazel told the first officer to come within earshot. “Wasn’t sure how long the kid had been in there.” 

“I would’ve done the same thing.” The officer crouched down, and a tag bearing the name S. GUTIERREZ came into view. He gave Klaus a gentle smile. “Glad you made it outta there.” 

Klaus looked down at the water bottle in his hands.  

“What were you doing in that mausoleum, anyway?” The officer’s tone wasn’t quite jocular, but it was lighter than Hazel expected. “Those things aren’t safe for kids.” 

Klaus swallowed. 

“It’s okay,” Gutierrez said. “You’re not in trouble.” 

It was a minute before Klaus spoke, and when he did, his voice was only a decibel or two above a whisper. “My dad.” 

“Your dad put you there?” 

Klaus nodded. 

“Why’d he do that?” 

Seconds turned to minutes, and Klaus did not answer. He swiped at his eyes with his sleeve. 

“It’s okay,” Gutierrez said again. Another few seconds passed. “What’s your name?” 

“Klaus.” 

“What’s your last name?” 

“Ha—Hargreeves.” 

“Who’s your dad?” 

Agnes put an arm around Klaus and pulled him close, letting the tears come. It was a few minutes before they ebbed. 

Gutierrez’s smile faltered. It had never been joyful, never been full of true mirth, but it was a good deal sadder now. “We’ll save the other questions for later. How ‘bout we get you over to the paramedics, make sure you’re not hurt?” 

Klaus should have looked up at Agnes, or even Gutierrez; but when he raised his head, his silent plea was turned only on Hazel. “Can…can they come with me?” 

“I don’t see why not.” 

Hazel tried to catch Agnes’ eye long enough to give a tilt of the head back toward the car, but she’d already gotten to her feet, giving Klaus a hand up. Great. 

He cast a glance toward the flashing lights, squinted past in search of any people armed with cameras, tape recorders, and questions ready to fire, but saw no one. Just squad cars and an ambulance. No sign of Reginald’s car, either. No reason he could see to leave in a hurry, but that could change at any moment. The number of corrections agents exposed by reporters wasn’t high, and those stories had never gone anywhere of note, but it had happened to them. It could happen to him. The chances of it happening went up exponentially with each minute he stayed at Klaus’ side. 

Cold fingers wrapped around his. Hazel knew, before he even looked down, that Klaus had taken his hand. He looked anyway. 

Fear was still all over his face, but not the sort Hazel had seen again and again. Not the desperation of a target with no more options, confronted with an end that had come too soon. There was some relief in that look, Hazel could tell, but something else, something he’d killed all too often. 

Hope. 

There were reasons for it, reasons Hazel couldn’t yet name. Not through the guilt and trepidation choking off thought or the unknowns peering at him from behind that mausoleum door. There was a plan—there had to be a plan—but it refused to surface through the questions crowding his mind, and the sheer scope of what he didn’t know left him breathless. He didn’t know what he’d do if a flock of reporters descended on the cemetery or the police asked for a fingerprint or Reginald’s car came around the corner. 

He only knew he couldn’t leave. 

************

Author’s Note: I do suspect Reginald locked Klaus in the mausoleum a) more than once and b) when he was a lot younger than 13. I will explain my theory as to why Klaus specified that he was 13 when it happened for one corn chip. 

Prologue

Chapter Two

[dragonfics]

What’s in a name?

Chapter 1: Patient twenty-two

Ship: Spicyhoney

Tags: Doctor Rus, patient Edge, LV issues, discrimination, dehumanisation, asylum-style setting, institutional captivity, forced institutionalisation, needles, minor medical procedures, unethical medical practice, angst, hurt/comfort

Summary: Rus's work is... delicate. He wants to help his patients. He truly does. But at what point does being a doctor of LoVe-afflicted patients become unethical? How far is he willing to push his morals? Perhaps further than normal, depending on who he's pushing them for.

Notes: Another WIP to add to my collection! Please read the tags (particularly note the forced institutionalisation one, it’s a pretty strong theme through the fic). If you’re down for some angsty Spicyhoney with eventual hurt/comfort though, then please enjoy!

Read on AO3

OR

Below the cut

The facility was a good hour’s drive from the city, so Rus was grateful when the large concrete building finally emerged on the desert horizon. The sky was still red, the sun just peeking over the rocky mountains to the east. Dust swirled up around his car as he pulled to a stop at the tall metal gates. The fence that bordered the facility was at least ten feet high, with barbed wire curling over the top. Rus rolled down his window to greet the security guard stationed outside the gate. She put down her coffee mug and nodded at him. “New around here?” she asked as Rus handed over his ID card.

“i was just transferred from the training facility.”

She punched a few numbers into her computer and lifted a brow. “Doctor, huh? Good luck.”

“uh… thanks.”

“Give me your thumb, we just need to do a mana test to ID you.” She pricked Rus’s thumb, drawing a small bead of marrow, which she dripped onto a thin square of tissue. Rus waited, turning up the air conditioning in the car as her computer processed his mana. She gave a satisfied nod, shooting him a smile. “All clear. Have a good day, Doctor.”

The gates swung open with a groan and Rus drove into the facility. It was little more than a big block of concrete, the windows all barred. Rus parked in the area labelled ‘staff’ and climbed out. He pulled on his coat and crossed the parking lot to the entrance, his white sneakers quickly turning red with dust. The smell of baking dirt was already hot in the air.

The sign outside the lobby read ‘SANCTUARY FOR AFFLICTED MONSTERS’ in big black letters. Rus scanned his ID card and the doors slid open. The lobby was sharp with disinfectant—stronger than what he was accustomed to from the training ward, and it burned his nasal cavity. There was a lizard monster sitting at the reception desk, her horn-rimmed glasses balanced on her long nose. She didn’t look up when he approached, and he cleared his throat. “hi there. uh, i’m a new transfer. i was told i’d be starting on ward d?”

“ID card?” the woman said, her eyes still fixed on whatever she was writing. “And sign this timesheet for me, please.” She pushed a clipboard and pen across the counter. Rus scribbled his details onto the sheet, then fished his ID out of his pocket and handed it over. She scanned it and glanced at her computer screen. “Ward D. Down to your left at the end of the hall. Then make a right. You’ll need to check in with security there.”

“security?”

The woman looked up at him over the top of her glasses and smiled. “Extra precaution for the ones with higher LV.”

Rus swallowed, tucking his satchel under his arm. “right... of course. thank you.” He turned and walked down the hall, scanning his card again to get through a set of double doors. The air was cooler inside the ward, almost too cold, and the lights were stark white. Nurses and doctors passed him as he walked, pushing med carts and carrying clipboards. The curtains were drawn over every door, so Rus couldn’t see inside, but on the patient sheets outside was written their species and LV.

In the first hallway, there was nothing over three. But when Rus reached the next one, the numbers started to creep up. He passed an empty room with the door cracked open, and dared a glance inside. There were cuffs chained to the wall, which had scratch marks gouged into it.

When he reached the hallway pointing towards ward D, he came to a halt. The sign directed him towards a set of sealed metal doors with a keypad and various other electronic locks. Two guards were stationed outside. Well. The receptionist had mentioned security. They looked up as Rus approached. “ward d?” he asked, almost hoping they’d tell him he was in the wrong place. To no avail. They nodded and scanned his ID card again, then patted him down and checked his satchel. One of them clipped a small red button to his coat lapel.

“Any trouble and you press this, got it?” Rus nodded, swallowing thickly. They told him to collect extra tranquilisers from the storage cupboard inside. “Look for Sonya. She’ll sort you out.” They punched a series of digits into the keypad and the doors rumbled open. Rus walked through and they sealed shut behind him. The air suddenly felt a lot heavier.

This ward had a very different atmosphere to the others. The hallway was messy, med carts pushed haphazardly against the walls to make room for the nurses and doctors scurrying between rooms. Rus stepped aside quickly, narrowly avoiding a nurse who was dabbing at a dark ichor on her scrubs. For all the mess in the hallway, there were very few staff around. The eerie quiet was stirred by distant whimpering and a faint muttering Rus couldn’t make sense of. He realised it was coming from one of the rooms, and didn’t linger long enough to try and figure out what the strangled voice was saying.

More than anything, the air reeked of LV. Static prickles across Rus’s bones which made his mana tingle. It was heavy and oppressive, and Rus’s soul pulsed erratically. They’d attempted to emulate the effects of LV on the training ward, but it had been nothing like this. The highest LV patients they’d allowed them to work with in training had been five. It didn’t take a trained doctor to realise that the patients here were well beyond that.

Rus sagged with relief when he found the ward’s reception. The ward clerk was rummaging through a box of folders, her feathery green tail poking out from behind the desk. “sonya?” Rus asked. She turned around, assessing him with small black eyes.

“Ah, new guy, right?”

“rus.”

“Yep. Gimme a second.” She scanned the shelf behind her and pulled out a yellow file. “Okay, okay… we’ve got you starting on room twenty-two, but you’ll be covering at least four patients once we know you’re competent.” She lifted her wing in a sweeping gesture. “As you can tell, we’re a little understaffed.” She flipped over the page of her folder. “You’ll be with Jackie. I’ll go find her, wait here.” She hurried off down the hall, her tail feathers fluttering.

Curiously, Rus peered at the folder she’d left open on the desk. A patient was listed. ‘Patient twenty-two’. There was no name, only a small photo of a gaunt looking skeleton with dark sockets and red eye-lights, and a deep crack down one side of his face. The photograph was faded, and folding in at the corners. Underneath, it listed his details.

Patient twenty-two

Species: Skeleton

LV: 13

Rus’s chest seized and he stopped, rereading the number to make sure he hadn’t made a mistake. It glared back at him aggressively.

There was a crash behind him as one of the doors flew open. He spun sharply, pressing back into the desk. Three nurses were dragging a muzzled and chained wolf out of one of the rooms. The monster was snarling and struggling, saliva spilling from behind his muzzle, his yellow eyes bloodshot. “Give him another shot of tranq,” one of the nurses said, shockingly calm. Another nurse jabbed a needle into the wolf’s arm and he gradually went limp. They pulled him down the hall and through a set of double doors.

“You’ll get used to that.” Rus jumped, spinning to see Sonya returning with a nurse in tow. She was a rabbit monster, her long ears flattened beneath a medical cap. “This is Jackie. She’s been on patient twenty-two for the past few weeks.”

Jackie waved a soft grey paw. “Hiya.”

“We don’t like to switch our staff between patients too often on this ward,” Sonya said, sitting back in her chair and arranging the folders on her desk. “It can unsettle them. So you’ll just be with twenty-two for now, and then—”

“i’m sorry, but—” Rus cleared his throat as she looked down her beak at him. “i think there may have been some mistake.”

She crossed her arms. “Mistake?”

“i—i’m fresh from training, so i’m only meant to be working with patients under ten lv. this one is listed as thirteen.” He tapped the folder on her desk.

“Darling, this ward is ten and up only. Why do you think we have all this security?”

There was a sick feeling in Rus’s chest. “ward d?”

“D for danger,” Jackie muttered, receiving a sharp look from Sonya.

“Look,” Sonya sighed. “To tell you the truth, you were probably sent here because we’re understaffed. We need every extra set of hands we can get.” She frowned. “If you really want out, I can probably see if they can transfer you to a different ward. But we could really use another doctor here.”

Rus glanced around at the messy hallway. A tired nurse was leading a vacant looking monster into one of the rooms, guiding him gently. He thought of his training, why he’d taken this job… “i—” He shook his head. “no, no it’s alright.”

“Good. Jackie, show him to room twenty-two. Just a check-up, a few samples, same routine.” She handed Rus a copy of the patient’s medical transcript. “Enjoy.”

After depositing his bag in the break room and collecting a few needles of tranquiliser from storage, Rus followed Jackie through the hallway, reading over the patient’s medical sheet. “he’s on a very high dosage of suppressants,” he said, trying not to flinch when a shriek rang out from one of the rooms. Jackie kept walking, as if oblivious.

“Yep. He’s got high LV.”

“high enough for a max dosage?”

Jackie shrugged, hopping over a set of cuffs abandoned outside one of the rooms. “It’s the same with most of the monsters here. Once you get past ten LV it gets kinda hard to calculate how much they need. So docs just give them the max. Or thereabouts.”

Rus frowned, flipping over to the next page. “high risk of violent outbursts?”

Jackie laughed. “They write that on everyone’s sheet in this ward. Wait until you meet him.”

They came to a quieter end of the ward and stopped outside a door labelled ‘22’. The patient sheet on the door was the same as the one Rus had glimpsed in the clerk’s file. Jackie knocked firmly. “Hey twenty-two, it’s Jackie.” Her use of the number struck Rus unexpectedly, and he glanced at her, waiting for her to reveal it as a joke. She didn’t. He followed her inside after she scanned her ID card.

The room was plain, white walls, white sheets on the bed. No cuffs on the wall, but the bolts remained. There was a bookshelf tucked in the far corner beside the window, though the collection was sparse.

The patient was sitting in a shabby green armchair in front of the window, with a book in his lap. He was wearing the same white and grey striped jumpsuit Rus had seen on the other patients, though it looked too loose on his bony frame. The shadow of the bars crossed his gaunt face as he looked up. In the photograph he’d looked fierce, but here he was almost vacant, his bright eyes dim and washed out, his bone discoloured. His gaze wandered over Rus briefly before he returned to his book.

“hello,” Rus said, approaching cautiously. “my name is rus. i’ve been assigned to you, so i’ll be your doctor from now, if things go well.” Jackie wheeled in the med cart and Rus glanced at his patient’s sheet. “we’re just going to start by doing a routine check-up. is that okay?”

The patient glanced at him, his mouth twitching with faint amusement. “If I have a choice, then no.”

Rus swallowed and looked uneasily at Jackie, who rolled her eyes. “Well, you don’t. Come on, twenty-two, he only just finished his training. It’s his first day. Go easy.” Rus almost wanted to point out that telling a patient it was his first day probably wasn’t encouraging—especially a potentially unstable patient. But the patient—twenty-two—only smirked.

“First day, huh? I thought you looked a little young to be a doctor.”

Rus smiled pleasantly, pulling on his gloves. “i’m not.” Jackie handed him a mouth mirror and he crouched in front of the—in front of patient twenty-two. Mana rushed through his ear canals but he breathed evenly. “open up, please.”

“We’ve only just met,” twenty-two said, but he followed the instruction. Rus surveyed the inside of his mouth.

“teeth slightly discoloured.” Jackie scribbled on her clipboard. “magic inside the mouth is faded, but otherwise normal.” He withdrew, placing the mirror on the tray. “thank you,” he said, smiling at twenty-two, who didn’t return it. He took his temperature next and told Jackie the reading. “high above average, but normal for his lv. i’m going to do a swab of your mouth now,” he told twenty-two, taking a cotton tip from Jackie. The patient kept his mouth open, sitting still. The swab came away a translucent red, the colour of his magic. “now we’re going to take a blood sample. is that okay?”

Twenty-two’s gaze was deadpan as he offered Rus his arm. There was an array of small puncture wounds in the bone, some shallow and mostly healed, others deep. Jackie handed Rus a needle and he felt his way over the bone until he found a hum of mana. The bone made a faint crack as he punctured it with the tip of the needle.

As a skeleton monster, Rus had never liked needles. Administering them to fleshy monsters was easier. Scales could be tricky, but bone was the worst, from personal experience. But patient twenty-two didn’t flinch, only watched Rus impassively. Rus extracted a small vial of mana and detached it from the needle. “healing balm?” he said to Jackie, reaching out.

“We don’t have any.”

Rus looked up and frowned. “can you find some?”

She shrugged. “We don’t stock it in this ward.”

Rus stared at her. “then what do you use?”

“Nothing. LV usually heals them on its own.”

“that’s only if it’s freshly gained,” Rus said, a touch irritated.

“Well, if you bring me someone who’s been misbehaving, I’m sure we can work on getting this pinprick healed,” twenty-two said with a smile.

Rus ignored him. “antiseptic then,” he said to Jackie. She dabbed a cotton ball in it and handed it to Rus, who wiped it carefully over the fresh puncture wound in the patient’s radius. “aloe vera?” Jackie gave him a dubious look but handed over the tub. It looked new. Or at least, unused. Rus dabbed a small dollop onto the patient’s arm. “okay, we’re going to look at your soul now—”

Jackie tapped his shoulder, shaking her head. “Uh, uh. We don’t do that here.” He frowned, but the look she was giving him was firm. Rus glanced at twenty-two, who still looked vaguely amused. “Too risky,” Jackie murmured, as if trying to keep it a secret from the patient.

Rus hesitated before nodding. “okay then, if that’s the case, your physical check-up for the morning is all done.”

Twenty-two dipped his head. “Pleasure doing business with you, doc.”

Rus glanced over his sheet. “before we finish up, just a few routine questions. please answer them as honestly as you can. have you been feeling drowsy recently?”

“Define recently.”

“last three weeks.”

“Yes. Though no more or less than I have these past ten years.”

Rus heard Jackie sighing loudly, but he pressed on, jotting down the patient’s answer. “headaches?”

“Yes.”

“how bad? one to ten.”

“It varies.” He tipped his hand in a vague gesture. “Fluctuates between a four and a nine.”

“right now?”

He shrugged. “A five.”

“and have you been given anything to remedy your pain?”

Patient twenty-two’s laugh was humourless. “No.” Rus scribbled down ‘pain medication req.’ on his sheet.

“any other sort of pain you’re experiencing? cramps or aches?”

“Yes.”

“can you elaborate?”

The patient leaned back in his chair, folding his hands in his lap. “My whole body feels like it’s been wrung out through a vacuum.” He considered. “Or crushed in a hydraulic press. Take your pick.” Nodding, Rus circled ‘pain medication’ three times.

“okay, that’s all. thank you—” He scrambled for a name, then swallowed and fell silent, handing the clipboard back to Jackie. “i’m going to reduce your suppressant dosage. i’ll have to process the request, but my decision should outrank theirs.”

“Doctor, are you sure that’s a good idea?” Jackie muttered.

“it’s too high,” Rus said. “he’s experiencing symptoms of an overdose. his lv is probably all that’s fighting off the more serious consequences.”

Jackie tugged on his arm, coaxing him to lean down. “No offence Doctor, but you do realise he’s probably lying about his symptoms, right?” She glanced over Rus’s shoulder. “They always do it.”

Rus stared at her in disbelief. “we have to give our patients the benefit of the doubt.”

“I dunno, doc…”

“it’s my call,” he said firmly. “he’s my patient. bring him down to forty milligrams.”

Jackie sighed, scribbling it on his sheet. “Alright, your call.”

Patient twenty-two was watching Rus, the corner of his mouth turned up. “You aren’t worried I’m going to go on a rampage and kill everyone, doctor?”

“i’m not,” Rus said flatly, and the patient smirked. Rus scribbled a few more notes on his clipboard before tucking it under his arm. “press the button if you need anything. i’m sure you know the drill.”

“Too well. I don’t suppose you could swing me some better food, doc?”

Rus studied him before following Jackie through the door. “i’ll see you this evening.”

  By evening, Rus was caught between exhaustion and adrenaline overdose. The day had followed a routine of check-ups and sample examinations. Every minute he spent in the same room as a patient was like electricity through his mana. He idly wondered if being in the presence of so much LV was bad for his health.

When he scanned his card and entered room twenty-two at the end of the day, the patient was sitting in the same spot by the window, this time watching the sun dip below the horizon. The sky was painted red and pink, wisps of cloud glowing the same colour as twenty-two’s eyes. “jackie has gone home for the evening so you just have me now,” Rus said.

Patient twenty-two turned around slowly and smiled. “Doctor. Come to watch the sunset with me?”

Rus pulled his gloves on, glancing out the window. “it’s nice. how are you feeling? any better?” Twenty-two turned away from the window and watched Rus without a word. “i’m going to administer your medication. do you want it with your food? or do you prefer to swallow?”

Twenty-two grinned. “A bit soon to be asking me that, doc. We haven’t even been on our first date.”

Rus’s cheekbones warmed and he dropped his gaze to the bowl of soup on the tray. “i’ll grind it into your food.”

“Actually, I’ll swallow, thank you. I prefer being able to see what’s going into my body—innuendo not intended.” Rus resisted the urge to roll his eyes—until he had his back turned, that was. He poured twenty-two a cup of water from the sink and watched him swallow the pills. Magic suffused the joints of his neck, hot red like the sky outside.

Suddenly, he reached out and grabbed hold of Rus’s wrists. Rus tried to step back on instinct but twenty-two’s hold was firm. He was grinning and Rus’s soul leapt into his throat. He was too stunned even to scream. “You know doc, you really shouldn’t have come in here by yourself.” Rus squirmed, trying to reach for the panic button on his collar, but the patient’s grip was like concrete.

“let me go,” he hissed.

“I could snap your neck before you even had the chance to scream for help,” twenty-two said, gazing at him. “It would be easy. Too easy.”

“don’t—”

“And your HP is so fragile, you’d barely put a dent in my EXP. I wonder if I could clean up your dust before they grew suspicious. Maybe.”

Rus could feel tears burning in the backs of his sockets, panic bubbling in his chest. “don’t,” he whispered. “please—”

Twenty-two let him go. He laughed as Rus staggered back, putting the medical cart between himself and the patient, for all the good it would do. “I won’t.” Calmly, twenty-two got up from his chair and picked up his tray from the cart. Rus stood stock still, watching him until he sat down. “Cold,” he said, sipping on a spoonful of soup. “I suppose it could be worse, though.” He glanced at Rus and smiled. “I would never hurt you, doctor. I don’t want to.” Putting the spoon aside, he tipped the bowl back and drained it. “I can’t say the same for everyone else here.” He dabbed his mouth with a napkin. “Don’t take stupid risks. Never go into a room alone. You’re lucky it was me.”

Rus’s breaths were still coming in soft, sharp pants. Magic prickled at his fingertips, and he tracked the patient’s every movement, flinching when he laughed. “You know, you’re not very good at hiding your fear.”

Rus swallowed, steeling himself and taking a step closer. “what’s your name?”

For a second, the patient’s smile faltered. “My name?”

“well it isn’t twenty-two. i’m not calling you that. i want to know your real name.”

The patient leaned back, crossing his arms. “I don’t think you’ve earned it.” He spoke lightly, but there was a warning in his eyes.

“and how do i earn it?” Rus pressed, daring another step forward. He stopped when the patient cast him a dark look, all traces of amusement gone.

“You don’t. It’s mine.” His voice was low, dangerous. Rus’s courage waned, and he took a step back.

“i’m sorry—”

“You know how you can earn it? By getting me out of this fucking place. Think you can manage that?”

Rus shook his head, a tremble running through his bones. “i’m sorry. i’m sorry, i wasn’t trying to—”

“You can go, doctor. I’m sure you have work to do.” Twenty-two returned to his food tray, picking at the bowl of nuts and dried fruit. Rus backed away to the door, tugging the med cart along with him. He scanned his keycard and hurried out of the room, locking the door behind him. The ‘22’ printed on the door glared back at him.

[melibee44]

Tramadon’t

I don’t remember much about to trip back upstairs. I think I was out again for a bit once I wasn’t gobbling ice like it was my job.

I came to in 5G3, in a room that was much bigger than the first, had glass doors, and was bright, but there were no other patients and everything else in the unit was dark.

The nurse I had was polite, but aloof, and went to work doing her job. She told me what I had had for anesthetic/pain, asked me how My pain level was, and waited for my answer.

This is a good time to tell you that I hate the pain scale with a passion. A linear scale doesn’t do pain justice, but our doctors and nurses are strapped for time and need a super fast way to assess us. I think I eventually settled on an 8, even in my fog.

She brought me a drug called Tramadol and told me to take it. It was two pills and I did as I was told. It hurt like mad to swallow them. She said that was normal because I had been intubated and it can be raw after. I also remember my jaw being achingly sore (intubation) and realized that I didn’t tell them I have TMJ because now that I get regular massages, it doesn’t bother me too much anymore. So she said that it made perfect sense for my jaw to hurt, in that case.

She said it was time for me to start moving around a bit more and try to start sitting up. So she helped me and waves of pain and nausea washed over me. She assured me that some pain was normal and I thought to myself “this is some pain?! Oh man, I’m in trouble when the block wears off...” I told her I felt like I was gonna barf. She got me something to throw up into and went to get me an anti nausea med. Luckily I didn’t throw up. I don’t think I could have handled that pain, considering I could feel my throat so well. She made me swallow the nausea med as well. I forget the name of it, but it’s the one they always give you at the hospital. It fucking hurt. I said ouch and she said something to assure me it was okay. I told her I was still feeling lots of pain, so she went and got me Dilauded. Luckily, I didn’t have to swallow that one.

I didn’t notice a big difference in pain with the dilauded, but at least I felt like I was sleepy and could rest again and seemed to be done swallowing things, so yay!

I’m pretty sure this is when my mom inquired as to whether or not someone would be by to tell us what happened in surgery, how it went, or if there was some sort of report. The nurse was surprised my surgeon hadn’t been in to tell me about it after surgery and I relayed the info I received from recovery nurse about the surgical team being gone.

My current nurse then said “I’ll go ask” and brought back my info sheets with three things jotted down on the back. She told us I had had a right hemi thyroidectomy (what i was expecting) with a massive nodule on it removed (duh, you could tell it was massive from the outside). They had moved my right anterior parathyroid from the back to the front (can’t remember if he told me that would happen, but it’s standard) and something about a “front sternal dissection.” In my head I said “wtf is that?!”

My far more eloquent mom said “I’m not familiar with that procedure, can you tell me more about it?” She’s good. The nurse didn’t know and had to go ask someone else again. She returned once more and said it was a big nodule (again duh) and they had to open some things up in the area to get to all of it. My mom googled later. It was my sternum. They had to dig around in my sternum?! (That’s still in question and I’m writing this little aside almost 5 weeks after surgery.)

At about this point, I indicated that while the dilaudid seemed to help a little (or at least got me high enough to not care) the tramadol didn’t seem to have done anything. She told me (and I’m totally paraphrasing) painkillers don’t make everything great, they just reduce the pain. It’s normal to still feel some pain. In my head I was like “shit, if this is just some pain, my tolerance is not as great as I thought! And not as great as all my docs/massage/physiotherapists have said.” I think that’s when I said “it feels like a lot though. Like the dilauded was nice enough I guess, but I’m worried about only having the tramadol at home.”

She told me (after consulting briefly with a senior nurse) that if I was worried, I could alternate it with 400mg Ibuprofen, every two hours overnight. And she told me to set an alarm, so I wouldn’t wake up with nothing at any point because then the pain can get out of control.

Through the week, I would learn that I was not to have ibuprofen after surgery and exactly what it meant for pain to get “out of control.”

They gave the nausea med and the dilaudid some more time to work, then my nurse came back (I think with some of my things this time?) and told me it was time to try walking to the bathroom. She sat me up and made sure I handled that okay, then told me it was time to stand. Standing hurt. I was nauseated, but was assured it was all okay and I figured that I’d she said pain and nausea were okay, it was time to get on with it.

I safely went to pee, which took a while for only a tiny amount, and announced my success after. As I was told to, of course. I remember stopping by the nurses station, where it seemed like the three of them were the only three other people left in the unit. I told them again “I’m worried about pain, the tramadol doesn’t seem to have worked and it’s all you’re sending me home with. I’m really nervous about not having adequate pain treatment.

“The info sheets I got at my pre-op appointment said to tell you if I’m not down to a four when you want to send me home and I’m definitely over a four. Like well over a four and I think more like a 7 or 8.” A bit earlier, I had asked my mom to look up useful descriptions of the pain scale and help me use it accurately. I vaguely remember, for emphasis, saying something along the lines of “I don’t want to come off as a complainer or worry wart, but the instructions were in a few places and very clear.”

They waved me off. They said the sheets say a lot of things. That I’d be fine. Don’t worry about it. And that “you’re not getting anything else; that’s all we can give you.” I heard this (almost exact phrase) several times over the next 36 or so hours.

I remember being scared, walking back into the room, then my mom drawing the curtains and trying to help me get dressed. I do also remember her musing about how she would get me to the car and I remember either thinking or saying “it’s just my neck, I can walk that.” because my legs felt okay. Pretty sure that’s anesthesia logic and it’s why you’re not allowed to sign legal documents for at least 24 hours. No post-surgery land title changes, my friends!

The nurse called in from outside and said I’ve left you a wheelchair! Right here!

My mom tried to figure out what to do with the bags... I was like, if I sit, do you think I can hold them on my lap? And waited to see if that could work. It wasn’t the worst. I did still have my outer muscles numbed, after all. Thank goodness. Then off we went. I had been discharged and was finally out of their hair. Not their problem anymore.

*Now might be a good time to note that I was sent home without anyone going over breathing, coughing, or any other exercises with me.

There’s more:

[azvolrien]

Five Vignettes about Asta in Stormhaven - Arrival

OK so! My original plan for this was to put all five of them in one post, since they’re all shorter than my usual ‘chapter’ length. However, all of them combined turned out to be almost 9000 words, which I thought might be a bit long for one installment. So I’m posting them one-by-one after all.

Pretty much exactly what it says on the tin. There’s a two-year timeskip between Chapter Five of Water Horses and the epilogue; I wanted to explore a little of what Asta got up to in those two years.

~~~

           The mooring ropes were tied; the sails were furled; the gangplank was out. Captain Steel stretched out her wings, gave them a shake, and folded them close against her back before she walked down to the quay with Asta and Pirate following.

           “Start the unloading!” Steel called back up to her first mate – a gruff but kind man named Greyson – still on board Curlew. “We’ve got space for the goods in Warehouse Three as usual – get everything packed away in there. I’ll see the harbourmaster before I head for the bank. After that, you can all consider yourselves on shore leave for the next week.” A ragged but enthusiastic whoop went up from the crew. “Asta, Pirate, you’re with me. And yes, Pirate, you’re getting leave as well.”

           “Are you two related?” asked Asta. “I never thought to ask, but – oh, sorry, is that rude? I don’t mean to say I think all gryphons are related, I just-”

           “Is it that obvious?” said Steel, laughing. “He’s my younger cousin. Needed a little help finding some direction, so I took him on as a favour to my aunt.”

           “I’m still not sure if it’s something I want to keep doing long-term, but I’m enjoying it for the time being,” said Pirate. “Certainly got me out to see more of the world.”

           “Harbourmaster’s office is this way,” said Steel, pointing her beak in the direction she meant. “We’ll need to get you properly signed in. Stay close; you get all sorts down here.”  

           Although Asta was no stranger to town life – she had grown up in the Imperial City, after all, and it boasted a population bigger than the entire nation of Stormhaven – the Seacourt Docks easily added up to the busiest port she had ever seen. Every few minutes a vessel arrived or departed through the gap in the long breakwater, and many more that wouldn’t fit floated offshore while tenders ferried goods and people to and fro. Shop fronts, inns and warehouses lined the sea wall, some even with their own jetties at the back, and hawkers advertised their widely varying goods at full volume. Asta quickly lost count; the crowds of traders and travellers coming and going added up to the biggest collection of humanity she had encountered since leaving Kiraan, but the two gryphons kept the swarm at bay and they made it to the harbourmaster’s office relatively unjostled. It was an unspoken mark of how integrated the gryphons were in Stormhaven that the doorway was big enough for both Steel and Pirate to step through with neither ducking their heads nor folding their wings more tightly.

           The clerk on duty was obviously familiar with them both. “Back from your latest trip to the frozen north, then,” he said, rummaging in his desk for a sheaf of forms and an inkwell. “I trust it was a profitable one?”

           “Profitable enough,” said Steel, dipping the point of one talon into the inkwell and beginning to tick boxes. “But we’re not just here to sign Curlew into its berth.” She pushed the completed forms back, cleaned her talon on an offered cloth, and stood aside to let the clerk see Asta. “This is Asta zeDamar; she’s an escaped slave who came with us from the Sea Lochs. I trust you still have the forms for that?”

           The man mouthed “Ze?” for an instant, but nodded and opened another drawer in his desk. “Yes, of course – though it’s been a while since I last needed them. You, uh, if you don’t mind my asking…”

           “I removed the collar myself,” said Steel. Her stance shifted almost imperceptibly to something less business-like and more protective, mantling her wings very slightly and pinning her ears and crest back against her scalp.

           “If you’re wondering about my surname,” said Asta wearily, “I’m the kind of noble where I have the name, but none of the wealth or power to go with it.”

           “Ah. I was, in fact, wondering. Here we go, and here’s a pen. Now, if you want to apply for Stormhaven citizenship, I’m afraid that’s a much longer and more complicated process, but as an escapee you’re entitled to Stormhaven residency under the law – and the Empire is bound to respect that law under the terms of the Treaty of Harbinger Pass. So once you’ve read through those and signed here, here, and… here, I have a couple more for you.”

           Reading over, filling out and signing all the necessary forms took almost half an hour, but at the end of it the clerk took out a very official-looking rubber stamp and marked the foot of the final page with the words ‘Leave to Remain Granted’.

           “That was more straightforward than I thought it would be,” said Asta.

           The clerk shrugged. “We’re a small country with a big neighbour; frankly we can use all the people we can get. We do have this helpful packet for new immigrants, if you’d like to see it?” At Asta’s nod, he took a brown paper envelope from yet another drawer and slid the contents out on the desktop. “Maps, lists of useful addresses, regulations to bear in mind, interesting things to see, that sort of thing. Local government complaints are to be sent to the Guildhall, while national ones are heard at the Palace. The Royal Hospital is about a mile north of where we are now, and if there are any, um, personal procedures you require, they’ll be able to help you.”

           “Personal procedures?” said Asta blankly.

           A look of masculine embarrassment appeared on the clerk’s face and he looked at the ceiling to try and compose himself. Steel took pity on the man and lowered her beak to mutter in Asta’s ear. “He’s trying to say they’ll give you an abortion if you need one.”

           “Oh. I see. I don’t. Nothing… happened. Well, not nothing, but… not that. But it’s still good to know where the hospital is.”

           “Do you have accommodation arranged?” asked the clerk, recovering. “If not, there are a number of short-term options you can look into…”

           They left the office fully signed-in, with Asta tucking the guide packet and many extra leaflets into her bag.

           “About finding somewhere to stay,” said Pirate. “I can take you to someone who might be able to help.”

           “Can you go by yourselves?” asked Steel. “I have to see the bank.”

           They assured her they would be fine without her, and she disappeared back into the crowds.

           “It’s a bit of a walk from here,” said Pirate, and bent his forelegs. “Hop on, I’ll give you a lift.”

           Asta gingerly climbed onto his shoulders, holding on to the glossy feathers of his neck. His back was about as high as Pardus’s, but his massive flight muscles made his torso noticeably broader than her construct’s. “Can you fly carrying me?” asked Asta.

           “Mm, I could for a little while if I took off from a high place,” he said. “But as things stand – I can just walk faster than you. Four legs and all that.”

           “Who is this person you’re introducing me to?”

           “Friend of mine. Works as a librarian up at the College, so she’s not what you’d call rolling in it, but some relative or other of hers was and left her a house way too big for just one person. So she decided to make it a kind of informal refuge for women who’ve got out of bad situations. If she’s got a room free, I know she’ll let you use it until you find your feet.”

           “What’s her name?”

           “Arianrhod.”