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mythicamagic · 3 years

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Funeral Flowers: a Sesskag Oneshot

Summary: Sesshoumaru knows what Kagome's favourite flower is- because it just so happens Forget-Me-Nots have been filling his throat for months. Hanahaki Disease fic. Sesskag oneshot.

AN: for @drosselmeyerwrites, who is also a lover of the 'suffering Sesshoumaru' trope. She's been a lovely commenter and wholesome person in the fandom ^^

Warning: body horror elements. This is a Hanahaki Disease fic with a twist on the concept.

Words: 10,000

Rated M

@cookieasylum drew an amazing fanart for this fic so please check this fic out on Ao3!

Funeral Flowers

It started as a mere flutter. Sesshoumaru could feel it at the back of his throat: the beginnings of something that tickled and irritated his windpipe- not enough to cause anything serious, but just noticeable. This sensation only worsened with time.

Kagome looked at him like he'd grown a second head after hearing him stifle a certain noise clumsily behind his fingers.

"Huh," she mused, peering closely at him. "I don't think I've ever heard you cough before."

After a few weeks, he'd begun coughing. A little blemish that he could easily hide behind his hand. Sesshoumaru had wanted no one to notice such a shameful thing. An unwilling action, but required in order to clear his airways.

"Hn," peeling long fingers away from his down-turned mouth, he looked away. Kagome shifted bare legs in the glittering water, lounging on some rocks by a river while half-heartedly sunbathing in a tank top and shorts. Golden eyes slid back to the slim, pale stretch of her smooth, toned leg as she swayed it.

"Kind of a human action, isn't it? Do demons even get colds?" her concern only seemed to increase. "You're not sick, are you?"

"No," he huffed, adjusting himself beside her. They kept a respectable distance. 'Friends' was what she called them. Sesshoumaru tried and failed to tear his gaze away from the parting of her thighs as she stretched languidly. "I do not get sick," he added, "such a thing is beneath me."

Kagome slid both arms behind her head to act as a cushion, laying down. "A few years ago you'd have said sitting beside a priestess ankle-deep in a river would be 'beneath' you. Things change."

Sesshoumaru tilted his chin up to regard her haughtily and gave a dignified snort, adjusting his rolled-up hakama pants. "It is beneath me."

Kagome rose a brow, fluttering one hand carelessly in a shooing motion, "go on then. Leave if it's so offensive," she sighed, trying and failing to hide her smile.

No.

His body flared alive at the thought, unsettled. Sesshoumaru bit back another prickling cough, settling for clearing his throat. "You should be the one to leave. This one was here first."

"Wha- no! I got to the river before you!"

"I was referring to age. Bratty mikos should listen to their elders."

Kagome burst out laughing, sitting up to lightly bat his shoulder. "That makes you sound ancient! You're such a dork. No one else knows how much of an absolute dork you are, do they? It's a crying shame."

Sesshoumaru did not know what a 'dork' was, but he assumed it to be something unflattering. He should've been annoyed by it, aggravated. Kagome's playful, happy scent made this notion impossible.

Thin lips twitched at the edges, dragging his heels through the cool current. He couldn't honestly put into words why exactly he'd shown up, following her scent. Logically, he knew he should leave her alone.

They fell into an amicable silence again, one that had been born from months of time spent together. Odd snatches of coincidental meetings had flourished into something more, and they'd begun seeking one another out for company whenever he visited the village. Sometimes she even paid him a visit the Western Stronghold. Any demons who complained about it were silenced by how… determined the miko was to make friends. A force of nature. It had amused him to no end watching ancients tripping over themselves to try to avoid her bad books.

He could also deeply understand those who had taken an immense liking to her.

Kagome was warm and teasing, a rare thing not wholly unwelcome. Her stories of the future were interesting, personality vibrant but down to earth and occasionally sassy. He enjoyed her more than he should, a quiet, snarky male by nature basking in her effortless glow.

"What's your favourite flower?"

He blinked, "this is a question belonging to Rin. I do not expect such fanciful notions from you."

Kagome huffed and flicked her hand to splash some water over his knee. "I can talk about flowers if I want to. Shinto asked me what mine were, so I got to thinking. I'd like to know what yours are too- or do pretty dog demons baring flower crests not have an opinion on them?"

He sniffed, bringing down one leg to create a splash that soaked her side. Kagome let out a yelp. "The Shiragiku flower. "

"Oh you can't be serious!" She giggled. "When I asked what your favourite colour was, you said 'white' of all things. White! That's the absence of colour!"

"This one is aware. You kept rabbiting on about it," he wiped some imaginary lint off one shoulder.

"But still! And now you tell me you like flowers that are infamously used for funerals," blue eyes rolled skyward, glittering with mirth. "Why am I not surprised, Mr Killing Perfection?"

Thin lips lifted into a sneer free of malice. "Very well, Shikon miko. What is your favoured flower?"

Kagome hummed. "Forget-Me-Nots."

Letting out a noise between a huff and a chuckle, he shot her an exasperated look. "And you give me grief over mine. Did you not say that blue was your favoured colour?"

"Hey, Forget-me-Nots can be pink, white or blue! I'm not as predictable in my tastes as some people."

That was most definitely true, he thought flatly. She had moved on from her first love, a Hanyou- only to bond with a Daiyoukai, and then…

And then…

Kagome stood, stretching both arms above her head. Sesshoumaru knew what she'd say before she even said it, wincing and bringing a hand absentmindedly to the base of his throat. It throbbed. Now the ache even seemed to seep lower.

What is this pain in my chest? He wondered. What is this strange sensation?

"I should go."

Sesshoumaru slid tired attention up to her and nodded silently. He would not wish her well.

"Shinto will wonder where I am," she needlessly elaborated.

"Indeed."

Kagome glanced at him and dropped her arms. "What's wrong?"

He thought to tell her, not for the first time. But it was silenced by everything else that had come before. Their history. Their species. Her lack of discernible interest, her new flame. A heavy weight pressed down upon his chest. His shoulder ached.

"Nothing. I am fine."

Dark brows pulled together. Sesshoumaru stood and nudged her away with a single palm on her back that lingered too long. "Go. I am… merely hungry."

"Oh!" a look of relief swept over her face. Kagome laughed, "okay, I'll leave you in peace. Happy hunting!"

Sesshoumaru felt his chest ache and constrict while his expression remained a blank mask. He covertly winced after she'd jogged away to a trail within the forest that would take her back to Kaede's village. She stopped to wave, and he quickly wiped his expression clean again, rendering it neutral.

Kagome smiled gently, her face full of friendly affection. Sesshoumaru regally inclined his head, eyes burning.

Do not go.

She left him alone, hurrying away to see her new flame in complete ignorance.

Sesshoumaru coughed and massaged the base of his throat as soon as she was gone, frowning.

Feeling something stuck to the roof of his mouth with his tongue, he curiously parted his lips and reached behind a sharp tooth to pluck the soft, small thing out.

Damp from saliva, a tiny, pretty blue petal caught his attention, clutched between forefinger and thumb. Sesshoumaru stared. A sense of creeping foreboding slipped into the back of his mind at the discovery.

This did not bode well.

---

His affliction made visits to the village difficult. It was easier in the beginning when he could hide a few coughs and tickles of the throat. Steadily, however, the discomfort increased. Sesshoumaru needed to pick out petals from his mouth every day, and the number of them only grew with frequency. He had to remove the irritating little things every hour now.

"Lord Sesshoumaru has been picking at his teeth a lot lately," he heard Rin whisper to Jaken, pausing mid-brush. She had been tasked with caring for the old miko's horse. "Is it a toothache?"

"Shh! Don't comment on such a thing so loudly, girl! If Lord Sesshoumaru wants to do some teeth maintenance, then he may do so!" Jaken squawked, frowning up at her.

Sesshoumaru cut golden eyes to the sky and turned away.

"Ah, I didn't mean to insult you, Lord Sesshoumaru!"

"You're STILL drawing attention to it!" Jaken griped.

Pointed ears twitched, blocking out their animated voices and tuning into a set of quick footsteps. Sesshoumaru inhaled, wincing as his lungs protested- the scent of citrus, summer and home comforts reaching him long before Kagome appeared from around the side of a hut. She beamed. His heart ached.

"Hey," she called, trotting over.

"Hello, Kagome!" the little girl waved enthusiastically, wobbling.

Steadying Rin atop her wooden perch as she continued brushing the tall horse, Kagome flashed him a knowing look. "You look tense. Is it from being near the stables?" she teased.

Rin gasped, "does Lord Sesshoumaru not like horses?"

"It's their smell, you nitwit!"

Kagome frowned at Jaken, before searching Sesshoumaru's face for answers. Obviously his silence and demeanour was starting to worry her. Taking a breath, he tried to ignore the petals stuck in the gaps of his teeth. He could feel more building, pooling in the back of his throat like thick mucus.

"They are skittish and afraid of this one. It is better to keep distance."

Predictably, Kagome gentled- but surprised him by easing closer. She seized his hand, tugging- and he was helpless to do anything but follow. Heat touched his cheeks.

Kagome walked backwards, maintaining eye contact like the femme fatale she wasn't, shifting her soft touch to grasp the back of his hand, lacing lithe fingers through his. She then forced the Daiyoukai's palm to rest against a warm neck. The horse shifted slightly, tail flicking, yet it did not startle. With Kagome's prompting, Sesshoumaru glided the flat of his calloused palm down the length of its powerful neck, the thin layer of brown fur tickling his skin.

"Maji isn't like other horses, he's calm around demons. He has to be if Kaede is gonna ride him to fight Youkai," her voice glided through his ear canals like melted honey. Kagome hummed, "though she said because of her age that he might be mine soon. Weird, huh? It's like she's prepping me to be the village miko more and more."

"It is not 'weird,' it is expected," he uttered, thrilled at the prolonged touch. How foolish. The heat of her palm felt exquisite, hand clasped intimately around his. "You will make an acceptable village miko."

Blue eyes flitted up to him, smiling. She gave his hand a squeeze. "Thanks, but… sometimes I wonder if-"

"Ah, so this is where you escaped to."

Sesshoumaru stiffened. Kagome ripped her fingers away- tearing open a gaping hole inside him. He quickly stifled a cough, but it was larger this time, throat clogged. His shoulders shook, sweat dotting his brow.

Kagome was busy being scooped up by Shinto, a large male. He dressed well, for a human, a jagged scar running over one eye. A momento from his mercenary days, he'd called it, though he was now reformed.

Kagome laughed and swatted his shoulder, demanding to be put down. Jaken piped up, yelling about indecency. All the while, Sesshoumaru fought not to let anything show. To not let the agony out. The jealousy. The consuming desire to act upon instinct and take what he ached for.

He couldn't stand it. Couldn't stand seeing the male's burly, meaty hands drag over her hips to settle at the base of her spine. Like they belonged there. Sesshoumaru coughed again, drawing away.

Kagome caught the action, turning to him. "Sesshoumaru?"

He hated the concern swimming in her gaze. It would be so much easier to despise her.

"I have lingered too long," he said quietly, trying to mask the rawness of his voice. "This one should be going."

Kagome nodded slowly, "do you want some honey to soothe your throat? It sounds a little-"

"No," he quietly snapped, starting to walk away. Confusion immediately curdled in her scent, and he regretted the lapse in control. Now she'd worry.

Foolishness.

"Lord Sesshoumaru!" Jaken hurriedly ran after him, following his Lord from the village. "Bah, those humans get more presumptuous every day. I don't blame you for leaving in such a hurry," he muttered, keeping up his tangent long after they'd met the treeline of Inuyasha's forest.

Sesshoumaru unexpectedly stopped, slamming claws into tree bark and causing it to splinter.

Jaken yelped, jumping and dropping his staff. "Mi-mi Lord?" bulbous eyes widened upon seeing him stoop over slightly, silver hair obscuring ashen features.

Sesshoumaru's shoulders shook, dry heaving sounds reaching Jaken's hearing. The retainer gasped, watching him cough, gasp and choke. Thick trails of dewy saliva pooled onto the ground. Rasping noises shuddered out from clenched teeth. Trembling claws reached inside his mouth, feeling something at the back of his throat. Grasping it, Sesshoumaru fought not to gag, coughing while removing the thing and looking at it with stinging eyes.

A Forget-me-not flower sat innocently between forefinger and thumb.

Both demons stared. Phlegm soaked petals rested at Sesshoumaru's feet. Jaken stood gravely silent for a while.

"Mi Lord…" he said thinly. "You have fallen prey to something very old…"

"You will not breathe a word about it to anyone," Sesshoumaru coughed, eyes stinging. He straightened and wiped his mouth, collecting himself. He threw the flower aside.

"But-"

"No one, Jaken," Sesshoumaru hissed, molten golden eyes burning. "Or I'll kill you."

Jaken yelped and quickly bowed several times, promising wholeheartedly not to interfere.

"I-I understand! However, if it's not too much trouble, perhaps you could hear out a suggestion?"

Sesshoumaru sneered and started walking again, his breathing slightly hoarse and rasping now, no longer quiet. His lips pressed together, trying to silence himself. It proved painful, and he quickly breathed through his mouth again.

Jaken tentatively continued; "your affliction is something ancient. I know little about it, but I do remember that it's possible to have it removed before it claims your life."

Sesshoumaru stopped, hands curling into fists. Claws scraped palms.

"That will not do, either," came his soft response.

"W-why ever not, milord?! This matter is potentially deadly to demons!"

Sesshoumaru stared ahead unseeingly. He knew of the affliction too. Had recognised what it was immediately. If he removed the flowering bud from within his chest, wiped away all evidence from her from his body, then he'd lose the very thing that had made him catch the illness in the first place.

His feelings for Kagome Higurashi.

"My reasons are my own," Sesshoumaru coughed behind his hand. "I will not die. Do not fuss over trivial matters, Jaken."

His retainer gaped, hurrying after him. Fierce worry painted his features. The infamous and deadly Hanahaki Curse could fell even the strongest of Daiyoukai.

---

It interfered with eating.

Sesshoumaru thankfully did not need to eat too often, but hunger inevitably gnawed its way into his gut. Transformed, he raced through the forest on all fours in a smaller version of his true form. Low-hanging branches lashed at his face. Forget-me-not flowers lodged in his throat conglomerated into a thick mass. They were practically a ball stuck at the back of his mouth. Sesshoumaru managed to ignore it just enough to track the scent of a deer- only to lose it and find a green pheasant within range.

Barely a snack, but it would do.

With a gurgling snarl, Sesshoumaru sprang at some bushes. Squawking with distress, the bird took flight- only to be caught in his jaws. Bringing sharp teeth down elicited a satisfying crunch. The taste of iron filled his parched mouth. Tilting his head back, Sesshoumaru had every intention of swallowing it whole. He'd done so before. The bird was small enough compared to his form. However, this quickly became impossible.

Red eyes widened. The flowers acted as a barrier, preventing food from travelling down his throat.

Spitting out the bird, Sesshoumaru tore into it. He tried again and again, breaking the kill into smaller pieces. He even tried drinking from the river to wash down the flowers. Nothing worked. No food could pass into his stomach.

With a low crooning noise that hissed out between his teeth, Sesshoumaru padded away from his uneaten kill with an agitated flick of his tail.

---

It affected his sleep next.

At his Stronghold in the Western lands, Sesshoumaru set aside his paperwork and retired to bed. Curling into a nest of furs, he stretched out long legs, sprawling on one side.

Only to feel a dull ache thrum from his ribs.

Wincing and setting a hand over the spot, Sesshoumaru frowned. He was unfamiliar with the sensation, however, Kagome had once whined and complained about 'pulling a muscle.' Perhaps the tight, clamping sensation echoed that pain. Deciding to roll over onto his opposite side- he abruptly burst into a coughing fit. The angle had upset his breathing, lungs protesting.

This vicious cycle continued long into the night. He tossed and turned, trying to get comfortable. Even laying still made him feel tense and pained. In the end, Sesshoumaru rose from his futon and began running.

Too tired to think, he transformed, relying on instinct to guide him. He whined softly; the ache spreading. He wheezed a little, breathing constrained despite being physically fit.

The inuyoukai sprinted to the outskirts of Kaede's village. Scenting the air, he caught a welcome fragrance on the breeze.

Mate.

Clearing the hillside with a single bound, Sesshoumaru shrank his form even further to that of a regular dog. Sniffing around the outside of a hut, fluffy ears perked. She was not home.

Where?

Following the invisible trail in the air, he padded around the village, passing by unseen by some villagers. Their lack of vigilance disgusted him. What lax security. Stopping at the Monk and Slayer's hut, he listened, hearing a soft humming from within. The sharp tang of blood, vomit, faeces and afterbirth caught his frayed attention.

The Slayer had been pregnant. From the sounds and smells of things, she had given birth and now slept while Kagome remained awake. He could pick up the faint fussing from a young babe.

Sesshoumaru stayed still, listening to the miko gently hum. Slowly, his body weakened, and the inuyoukai lay down outside the hut, resting a weary head atop large paws.

Something stirred from within, the rustle of covers. "Mn... are you alright? Want me to take over?"

"No, I'm fine," Kagome answered in a hushed tone. "He seems completely zonked out, little cutie-pie."

The Slayer paused, "your head. You said it was aching again earlier."

"Heh, Sango! You've just had another baby! Focus on yourself!" her lovely voice tinged with exasperation. "Really, everything is okay. It just hurts from time to time ever since that night with the boar youkai attack. It's no big deal."

"Prolonged headaches and amnesia does not fall under 'no big deal,' Kagome."

Laughing this off breezily, he could hear the shrug in her tone. "I just blank on a few things from the month prior to the attack. I'm sure it wasn't anything important."

Tired lids slid shut, and Sesshoumaru gained some sense of rest while imagining the woman within cradling a newborn pup instead of a gurgling infant. The two women talked some more, lulling him into a false sense of comfort even as his throat thrummed with continuous pain.

---

Breathing was a struggle.

Every inhale became a wheezing, quivering thing. Like crumpled paper that had been smoothed out and squashed too many times. Mucus constantly filled his mouth, senses clogged. His breathing ranged from laboured to a noisy, rasping thing.

He could no longer afford to visit the village. Sesshoumaru took to monitoring Rin from afar whenever he felt the need to check up on her. Needless to say, he avoided Kagome at all costs. The miko was an infamous busy body who would become a nightmare to deal with if she knew of his suffering.

Yes, that was the only reason.

However, on a random day he briefly let his guard down, the unthinkable happened.

Inuyasha found out.

If Sesshoumaru had comprised a list of all the beings he did NOT want to know about his affliction, Inuyasha would be right up there, along with his meddling mother.

Inuyasha stared, watching him with a complicated, horrified look on his gruff features. Shifting, Sesshoumaru stood from where he'd been knelt by a river.

Forget-me-nots floated downstream.

"... What the hell is wrong with you?" were the first words Inuyasha blurted out.

Sesshoumaru wiped his mouth, sneering. "I need not explain myself to you, whelp."

"Keh, if anything warrants a damn explanation, it's barfing up flowers."

He didn't need to hear anymore, turning with the intent to leave. No doubt the fool would talk nonsense, and he had no patience for such things with his current headache. His temples were pounding, throat parched.

"Why don't you just fucking tell her, you coward?"

That certainly caught his attention. Sesshoumaru halted. "What?" he croaked.

"Ya think I'm that ignorant, huh?" Inuyasha rolled his eyes, shoving both hands inside his sleeves. "I know."

"Know what, exactly," silken tones rasped. "You are but an ignorant pup. You were not raised within youkai circles, and so could not possibly understand."

"And whose fault is that?" shaking his head, Inuyasha huffed. "I dunno what crap you're yappin' on about, anyway. I'm talkin' about your secret relationship with Kagome that you had a couple of months ago."

Stiffening, Sesshoumaru felt his bones lock and throat inflame. He swallowed, wincing slightly. He flashed his teeth, "whatever you think you know, it is incorrect. A baseless assumption."

"Bullshit!"

Continuing to walk with every intention of escaping the pending conversation, he stopped dead the second Inuyasha opened his mouth; "I could smell you on her! But that all changed the second she hit her head. Did she forget you or something? You were happy to just abandon her after she stopped being useful for a good time?"

A deafening snarl upset his aching throat, ripping something inside. Blurring through the air impossibly fast, Sesshoumaru snatched up his sibling's throat and slammed him into a tree, causing the trunk to shudder.

"Silence," a blood-curdling rasp hissed out from clenched teeth like boiling steam. Crimson eyes glowed, claws itching to bury into the nuisance's windpipe.

Even while choking, Inuyasha managed to bark out a laugh, grasping a striped wrist. "You really do like her, huh? Never thought I'd see the day, bastard." White ears pulled back flat against his skull. "What's the deal? Just open your mouth and tell Kagome. Then I don't have to smell your pining ass all over the forest while you stalk her."

Burning embers were snuffed out. Sesshoumaru coughed, lifting a hand to his mouth. His shoulder thrummed, aching. "I cannot do that."

"Why not?"

"She does not remember," releasing him, the Daiyoukai stepped back. "The miko fell quite quickly for the male who rescued her that night. The fault lies with me that she sustained injury. If she is content with another, I cannot force her gaze to me."

It wasn't as though he hadn't tried. However, Kagome seemed happy with their relationship as friends. Guilt, stung pride and other such ugly emotions were all tied up with the incident.

Inuyasha blinked with disbelief, sizing him up. "When the fuck did you get so noble?" Sesshoumaru sneered, glancing away as his brother continued. "And anyway, what does that have to do with you coughing up flowers?"

Since he'd revealed more than intended as it was, Sesshoumaru felt no inclination to divulge extra information. He turned and this time; resolved not to stop walking. "Drop the subject, whelp."

"Maybe I'll tell Kagome about it."

Sesshoumaru did not falter, knowing the fool's game by now. "Do as you please," he dismissed in a wheezing, thin voice, stepping under the cool shade of weeping willow trees and leaving him behind.

---

He did not intend to revisit their old rendezvous point. Sesshoumaru had wanted to put it behind him, to let everything that had happened within the cave fade into obscurity.

The second he stepped foot within the mossy mouth of its opening, however, Kagome's lingering scent fanned over a striped cheek like a breathy exhale.

Long white lashes slid half shut. Hooded golden eyes became hazed. The memory of her salty, sweet taste wrapping around his tongue flooded his senses. Claws twitched, recalling the phantom sensation of full breasts falling into his palms as her back arched exquisitely. Her eyes had darkened into a lush, deep blue.

She'd been memorable, to say the least.

Walking further in, so that he stood fully submerged in their love-nest, Sesshoumaru basked in the illicit scents and breathy whispers he could remember caressing his hearing. It hadn't just been about sex. It never was with her.

Kagome had held his demonic hand without fear and stroked his cheek, murmuring ardently or giggling quietly. She told him things he hadn't thought he'd wanted to know before.

'You're nothing like your father' she'd said easily but with a conviction that made the ageless demon believe her. The notion should've been insulting. His sire had been unbeatable in strength, so of course he should wish to be like him.

Yet Sesshoumaru had never appreciated such compliments. He wished to be unique, bold, powerful, walking an entirely different path. Her words had been strangely welcome.

"And yet here I stand, Father," Sesshoumaru uttered to himself. In love with a mortal. Dying, because of a human woman of all things.

Just like you.

"Sesshoumaru?"

Golden eyes snapped wide open. A wave of elation, dread, guilt and longing washed over him. Every fibre of his being flared to life, muscles stiffening, heart racing. His lungs constricted.

Sesshoumaru swallowed a rasping breath, shifting to face the priestess.

Kagome crept closer, glancing around the cave curiously. "Was just in the forest to collect some things. I thought I sensed you close by. Looks like I was right. What are you doing in here?"

"Nothing," he said softly. His voice sounded fragile these days.

He could tell she was confused, radiating hurt. He hadn't visited in so long. No doubt she'd wondered why. The flowers buried within his windpipe felt heavier in her presence. He cleared his throat.

"Oh," Kagome scuffed a sandal over the dirt-covered floor. "Well... I'm glad I caught you-" she offered a tentative smile. "I've missed talking with you."

Sesshoumaru's insides screamed at him. The marks on his shoulder felt like blistering iron tongues being thrust into his flesh they wailed so loud.

Mate.

"I dunno what's kept you away," Kagome continued talking, making her way out of the cave. He followed, "but you haven't missed much. Rin is progressing nicely with her riding though. I'm not too shabby with that thin sword you gave me either, though Shinto says I need more practice."

That very sent icy needles piercing his skin. Stepping foot outside, Sesshoumaru couldn't stop the abrupt bite in his tone; "why are you here, miko?"

Kagome blinked and glanced at him over one shoulder. She then threaded her fingers behind her back, attention sliding away, voice unreadable.

"Shinto proposed to me."

Sesshoumaru stopped. A profound sense of loss rendered him breathless. He anticipated a coughing fit. Wheezing. Pain. But there was nothing, just him and Kagome standing alone in the silent woods. But she'd be beyond his reach for good soon.

He'd tried. He'd tried hard to forget, as she had. To push all the feelings and words right down from his throat into his chest. Maybe that was how the curse had started.

But he'd have kept the curse for good if it meant lingering in the 'almost' fantasy of them.

Now that illusion would shatter.

The very idea of her belonging to another felt like a wound somewhere inside him that he couldn't locate. The sensation of teeth on his shoulder thrummed, and he coughed, snuffing out the sound behind his hand.

"I didn't really know what to say," Kagome was muttering. "A part of me feels like it's too soon. I wanted to talk to you about it-"

"This one is needed elsewhere," he said in a clipped tone, turning on his heel.

He couldn't be her confidant anymore. Not about this.

"What?"

He began walking, trying to put distance between them. He should've known it wouldn't work as Kagome quickly caught up and planted herself firmly in his way, halting the demon.

"Okay, what is going on with you?" she demanded. "Is it the cough? Are you in so much pain that you can't talk to me?"

Sesshoumaru flashed his teeth in a faint sneer, throat protesting at the extended use of his vocal cords. "is it so unthinkable that for once, I may not have time for you, miko?"

"Yes," Kagome planted both hands on her hips. "Because this isn't an isolated thing. I've hardly seen you all month! And besides that, you're my friend, Sesshoumaru. Friends tell each other things. Remember how you talked about the court and how obnoxious General Kito was to deal with? Things like that. I need to talk to you about this- and clearly, you need to talk to someone about whatever's going on with you. I'm worried about you!"

His heart clenched, and Sesshoumaru bit back a hiss at the stab of pain it caused. Thin breathing rasped and rattled. He raised a hand, urging her aside via a gentle grasp on her shoulder to continue walking.

Kagome's grip was not so gentle as she latched onto his arm.

Frustration abruptly burst in his chest and Sesshoumaru snarled, whirling with the intent of spilling everything to her. Ruin their friendship. Burn everything they'd built and admit his failure to protect her-

-only to cough up a mouthful of blood onto her collarbone.

Kagome yelped in surprise, eyes wide. Touching the wet substance dazedly, horror paled her complexion. She looked up at him with palpable fear.

"S-Sesshoumaru?"

Humiliation stung white-hot and burning into his body. The visceral, blinding sensation of being exposed- of being seen- felt like too much. Too raw. As a demon unused to such things, his first instinct was to remove himself from the situation.

Sesshoumaru blurred away from her outstretched hands, putting the length of the clearing between them.

Kagome called his name again with alarm, asking him to wait, but he would not heed her call.

Taking to the skies, he flew fast and erratically, a wobbly figure. Coughing hard and feeling blood clog up his windpipe like mud, Sesshoumaru had no choice but to land not long after.

Within an overcast clearing upriver from Kagome, he steadied himself against a gnarled tree.

"Hah- hah-" he wheezed, doubling over and squeezing stinging eyes shut.

Something suddenly constricted tight around his lungs, around his very ribcage. Bones protested and ached. He gasped for breath, blood leaking from his open mouth to pool on the floor. Forget-me-nots mingled with it, petals stained red.

Jolting and snapping upright, Sesshoumaru arched his back, throwing back his head. A cry escaped him unlike any other. Loud, agonised and roaring in its ferocity tinged with pain.

Stems shot out from within his ribcage, tearing his chest asunder.

---

Her friends made noises of alarm at the sight of Kagome's bloodied clothes, but the miko ignored Sango and Miroku's questions, bypassing them in favour of finding and grabbing Jaken by the scruff of his robes.

"You're going to tell me in 10 words or less what the hell is going on with your lord," she demanded.

Jaken yelped and squinted, hanging from her hold. "Haven't the faintest idea of what you could be alluding to!" he sniffed.

Kagome snarled and bared her teeth, lifting him closer with a menacing expression and gesturing to the red substance marring her priestess robes. "This is HIS blood. He looked awful. Like- like he was dying, Jaken," her voice broke. "Please. I need to know what's happening. He won't tell me what's wrong and I'm scared."

Yellow eyes rounded wider, swallowing the imp's face. He appeared conflicted.

"Kagome!"

Releasing Jaken, Kagome shifted her attention to Inuyasha, who leapt towards her with alarm pinching his gruff features.

Dread dropped low in her stomach. That was never a good sign.

Distant snapping noises like wood being felled reached her ears. From behind the approaching Hanyou within the forest, large vines could be seen shifting and slithering over a portion of the trees.

"What is it?" Miroku gaped. "I sense a demonic aura, but it's distorted."

Kagome shuddered, feeling strange. She recognised that energy. Identified it as easy as breathing.

"Maybe a forest spirit has been disturbed?" Sango guessed, clutching her son a little more protectively.

"It ain't that," Inuyasha dropped from his jump, landing before them. He panted, white hair windswept. Of all people, his gaze landed upon the miko first. "It's Sesshoumaru."

----

Their way became blocked by a thick mass of vines crisscrossing through the forest. It created a wall, preventing any from entering.

"Lord Sesshoumaru must be further in," Miroku observed, leaning to inspect the leaves. "Beyond this 'barrier' I suppose you could call it."

"I wonder what could have happened," Kagome murmured, brows pulling together. "Sesshoumaru doesn't even have nature powers."

"Why on earth did you bring ME along for this?" a high pitched, nasally voice reached their ears. Sango and Inuyasha readily ignored it, while Kagome frowned down at the imp she held by the scruff of his robes.

"Because you're clearly hiding something, and until you come clean, I'm not letting you out of my sight."

His mouth thinned into a stubborn line, glancing away.

Kagome turned her attention back to the vines. Worry took root in her stomach. The memory of the Daiyoukai spitting up blood remained fresh in her mind, evidence of it staining her clothing and plastering it against her skin.

Handing Miroku their son, Sango went first. She swung Hiraikotsu with a seemingly effortless toss- the bone boomerang spiralling, cleaving trees in half but bouncing straight off the vine wall. It didn't so much as leave a dent.

Not wasting another moment, Inuyasha unsheathed Tetsusaiga. Everyone immediately gave him a wide berth, watching as he shook the sword out into a monstrous blade. He swung it back over one shoulder, feet planted far apart- delivering a swift blow downwards with a loud cry.

A burst of power shot out, heading straight for the vines. They made contact, and for a moment Kagome thought the consuming golden light might break through, only for it to fizzle out. The insurmountable wall remained intact.

Inuyasha tried again and again, using different techniques. None of them worked.

Nocking an arrow in her bow, Kagome took aim. Pale pink reiki split forth, coating the arrow while glowing ever more blinding until she set it free.

She held out hope as it shot through the vines, managing to burst through the dense foliage- which repaired itself almost immediately, covering up the hole.

"Nothing appears to be working," Miroku muttered, turning his friends. "Perhaps we should seek advice elsewhere first before trying to continue."

Her friend's voices faded into background noise as Kagome approached the vines. Frowning slightly, she stretched out her senses, using her aura to touch and brush against the barrier. It felt like him.

If that were the case, the wall was of Sesshoumaru's own making, whether he'd consciously chosen to hide away or not. Perhaps they were going about things the wrong way.

Thinking back to Maji and how carefully they'd run their linked hands down his neck, she raised a palm. Gradually easing closer, Kagome set it down gently onto the vines, stroking downwards.

Hearing outcries of alarm as the greenery parted, only for swirling stems to curl about her shoulders- Kagome quickly grabbed Jaken.

"It's okay, guys. Just find a way to follow me in later," she met their startled gazes. "I feel like I need to reach him quickly."

"Kagome, wait!"

Ignoring their protests, Kagome lept into the fray. She welcomed the green vines that wrapped around her, enclosing the miko and wailing kappa securely behind its wall.

---

Mercifully the winding tendrils of vines that moved as though infused with a will of their own allowed her freedom of movement. Kagome climbed through their moving, twisting stems, occasionally losing her footing and having to grasp hold of some.

"Again, I ask; WHY ARE YOU BRINGING ME ALONG WITH YOU?!" Jaken shrieked, clinging to her back and looking around fretfully.

"You know the answer to that. Tell me what you know about Sesshoumaru's situation and I'll let you go," Kagome hummed, shielding her eyes and looking up at sprawling branches above where sunlight streamed through. Maybe she could punt him over the treetops.

"I have sworn not to break my vow of silence on the matter!"

Grinding her teeth, Kagome stopped and reached over her shoulder, tearing him from her back to frown at him. "If your silence ends up hurting him, is it even worth it? Which means more to you; Sesshoumaru's trust or his life?"

Jaken clamped up, thinking about this for a moment. His eyes abruptly filled with tears, "fine! But you had best save me from his wrath once this is over."

Kagome grinned and patted him on the head, continuing to walk. "I promise."

He huffed, "Lord Sesshoumaru is suffering from a curse."

Blue eyes widened, and Kagome set Jaken over her shoulder like she would Shippo. He did not appreciate the gesture as the kit would while she minded swirling vines aside from their path and ducked through. "What kind of curse?"

"How much do you know about youkai mates, foolish mortal?"

At that, she tilted her head, noticing a blue flowering bud among the vines and gently touching it in passing. "Very little. I know they're like married couples. They, uh... make love and bite each other instead of having a wedding ceremony and stuff. That about sum it up?"

"Insolent girl!" Jaken griped, noticing the bud she touched opening up into a flower behind them. "It is far more than that! Their energies synchronise, aura's linking. However, it's quite imperative they both bite one another."

"Or else the mating is incomplete? What's so bad about that?"

"The partner that was bitten will consider them mated and suffer a one-sided attachment. This isn't so terrible if they have the bite mark healed and lose their troublesome feelings towards their mate," he continued with a self-important air. Kagome didn't mind it if it meant getting answers. "But... if they choose to linger in longing and are prevented from completing the mating, then their energies become distorted! Their youki takes on a life of its own as flowers."

"That's what these vines are," Kagome mused. She shifted, a strange, unsettled feeling churning in her gut. "You're implying someone bit Sesshoumaru? He'd never allow someone to do that if he didn't want it- let alone not reciprocate. Besides, if he could remove it, he'd have surely done so."

"I agree this situation is unprecedented! Unthinkable! Besides that, ANY partner resisting Lord Sesshoumaru's advances is unworthy of being his mate! AH-!"

Kagome jolted, feeling a weight lift from her back. Glancing over her shoulder, she gaped and strained to reach Jaken. Vines had wrapped tight around his mid-section, lifting him away.

"Hang on!" she shimmied her bow off her arm, quickly taking aim. Releasing the arrow, she watched as it hit the mark, sailing through a vine and breaking it in two. Jaken yelped, falling, only to be caught by another vine that continued dragging him back the way they'd come.

"J-just leave me!" he wailed. "Go save Lord Sesshoumaru!"

Kagome blinked, strangely touched. Nodding with conviction, she turned and hurriedly continued to make her way through the dense foliage.

---

Her breath caught the second she caught sight of the flowers.

Forget-me-nots littered the area, becoming more frequent the further in she ventured. Soon she practically waded through a sea of blue petals. They hugged trees, peppering logs, the ground beneath her feet, even climbing above to hang from branches. The vast mass of familiar flowers eventually opened out into a huge clearing packed full of them.

And there, at the centre of it all, Kagome finally saw him.

Vines had burst his chest open, putting quivering lungs on full display. To her horror, she witnessed them expanding and deflating with each struggling, wheezing breath. His ribcage had been repurposed for a vase of flowers. Vibrant blue forget-me-nots poked out between his ribs, green stems tightly wrapped around his bones, constricting.

Sesshoumaru's body lay tilted back, face turned upwards to the sky. Glassy eyes were vacant, blood caking his chin. His armour and hankimono lay shattered and torn on the ground. Around him, the stems that had spilt forth from his gut propped up his lifeless form, clearly part of the mass of greenery that had hindered her approach. Kagome covered her mouth, hand shaking. Tears pricked her eyes. Blue veins visibly spread over his flesh, causing her to wonder if the stems had buried beneath his very skin.

This was not Sesshoumaru. It couldn't be.

Choking on nothing, Kagome hurried closer with a thin noise. Reaching his motionless form, her hands hovered uselessly over his decimated chest. She didn't know where to start. How could she even help him?

"Who did this to you?" her voice wobbled. Stinging eyes misted over, running over his body. He looked like a corpse that had been picked clean by crows. His moving lungs moving were the only indication he was even alive.

"Sesshoumaru- I don't know if you can hear me," Kagome tried, reaching out and touching his cheek. It shocked her skin, icy to the touch. "But please- let go of the person who caused this," she said, locating what she assumed was the mating mark upon his shoulder. "No one is worth dying over. You could start over with your mate. Ask them out- anything!" she shuddered, looking at the flowers poking out from his ribs.

"Just don't die! This isn't like you!" Kagome snapped, tears rolling hotly down her cheeks to slide free from her chin. "Fight this! Keep living. T-there's still so much I want to talk to you about."

The tears landed upon pretty blue petals.

Leaning against him slightly, Kagome sobbed. She wondered if she could just reach out and rip the awful things free from inside his chest.

Why Forget-me-nots, anyway? Why not another flower-

The mating mark halted her hand, fingers brushing the stems. It didn't look like an animal bite, nor did it belong to a demon.

Kagome's eyes slowly widened. She had a distinct tooth at the back of her mouth.

The tooth marks looked like a perfect mould of her teeth.

"Was it...me?" she breathed, glancing up at Sesshoumaru's features dazedly. "Those blank spots in my memory. Was I... with you?"

The puzzle pieces slotted into place perfectly. Kagome stared, feeling like a fool for having not noticed. She'd just thought, assumed- he would never look at her like that.

But if the miko cast her memory back and pictured Sesshoumaru's lovely features, his honeyed gaze resting upon her face, half-lidded, lips quirked, face soft and drinking her in- maybe he had been looking at her 'like that' the whole time.

Kagome shook her head, feeling frantic. She latched onto his shoulders.

"I-I'm so sorry. I'm sorry! I never meant for this to happen. Why didn't you bite me? Why didn't you TELL me, you stupid demon!" she snapped, cheeks reddening as a fresh wave of tears stung her eyes. "All that time we spent together goofing off and talking- and you were suffering in silence? You're so stupid, Sesshoumaru!"

His anguished face did not stir. Kagome mindlessly wiped away the dried blood from his chin with shaky fingers.

"There's no taking this back now," she said quietly, glancing at the bite mark. "So... I guess there's only one thing for it."

It sounded terrible, but Shinto was far from her mind as she lay a hand over her mating mark and began concentrating. When resolving to save someone, Kagome became bullheaded. Sesshoumaru was all she could see as her aura rose out from her body, seeping into his bloodstream via the bite marks.

"You need to wake up," she mumbled, using her free hand to adjust the parting of her white kosode. Sliding it off one shoulder to bare her flesh, Kagome remained heedless of the vines growing and curling around them. They seeped into her ebony hair, twining into the long locks like a lover's hands.

Kagome straddled the Daiyoukai, shuddering a little at being so close to his bare bones. She couldn't have sex with him, obviously, but she suspected it wasn't truly needed to complete the bond. Feeding her energy into his body, she bit her bottom lip. Sweat beaded on her brow.

She began to mumble and pray under her breath.

When her spiritual energy had spread through most his system, Kagome grit her teeth and hoped he'd forgive her. Laying one hand atop his rib-cage directly over his heart, she raised her voice.

"Wake up!"

A pulse of reiki shot out through her palm.

Sesshoumaru jerked beneath her. A ghastly, chocking noise escaped him. His head lolled to the side as he looked at her unseeingly, a trickle of blood welling from the corner of his pale mouth. Kagome quickly wrapped an arm around him, guiding his head to her shoulder.

"Bite down, Sesshoumaru," Kagome whispered fiercely into his ear.

Sharp canines brushed her skin, causing a shiver. Wet flecks of blood accompanied it as he coughed. Whimpering with desperation, the miko curled trembling fingers into silver hair. She pressed a kiss against his cheek.

"Please- I want this." She'd do anything to save him. Besides that, a small, buried part of her felt strangely at peace with the action and its meaning. "Bite down!"

A blood-curdling snarl vibrated out from his open chest. Fangs sank deep into her shoulder. At once, dark, dominating youki burst through her system like a shot of adrenaline. Kagome gasped, back arching. It turned her heart into a burning star. Sesshoumaru's presence filled her until she practically burst at the seams. She distantly understood why youkai had sex before biting each other, reeling from it. The orgasm probably softened the intensity. Completion was something the mind could fathom, a release, the pooling of cum inside her.

This felt overwhelming. He was everywhere. His energy burned and licked, igniting and soothing her body like burning whisky.

Kagome felt the pinpricks of fresh tears in her eyes, overcome with a hurricane of emotions she couldn't quite name. She could feel his weakness. His exhaustion. The part of him tethered to her became a lifeline between them, feeding him the energy he'd lost.

Sesshoumaru's mouth peeled back from her flesh. He panted, sinking back. Kagome caught him about the shoulders, cradling him close.

A wave of tiredness sent her sinking down against him, lashes falling shut as dizziness spun her vision.

The last thing she saw before surrendering to the lure of unconsciousness was a canopy of Forget-me-nots surrounding their weary bodies.

----

Drowsy lids slowly cracked open- wincing at the setting sun's harsh orange light peeking out from between the trees. Golden eyes averted and Sesshoumaru stirred with a dusty rumble.

Something heavy lay over his bare chest. He lifted his head.

Kagome rested against his shoulder, dark hair spilling everywhere. Sesshoumaru stared, feeling he must be dreaming. They were laying within a clearing together, which looked clear, quiet and picturesque.

Squinting, he sat up, adjusting the woman against him. Kagome sank against his side, revealing a gaping hole in his flesh, exposing his rib-cage.

Ah, that's right.

The flowers. The vines spilling forth from his chest as blood asphyxiated him, making breathing impossible.

And Kagome...

The miko had come for him. Saved him.

Sesshoumaru ghosted stiff fingers over his mouth, dragging clawed nails down to the fresh bite mark branding his shoulder. He then shifted Kagome, running an aristocratic nose to similar marks adorning her shoulder- a tongue sliding out to drag over bloodied flesh. She tasted wonderful.

Kagome groaned and wrapped her arms around him tighter, burying her face in the juncture between his neck and shoulder.

Closing his eyes, Sesshoumaru held her close and revelled in the sensation. However, he soon picked up on the far off shimmer of his barrier enclosing them within their mini safe space. He could sense Inuyasha waiting outside, along with Jaken.

Deciding to lower it, Sesshoumaru rested his lips against the crown of Kagome's head before drawing himself up to stand unsteadily, lifting her into his arms.

When Inuyasha burst into the clearing, leaves scattering and clinging to his thick white hair, he brandished Tetsusaiga, only to lower it with a raised brow.

Sesshoumaru stood clad in his hakama pants, arching a regal brow in return. He approached the hanyou and passed Kagome over wordlessly, ignoring his noise of surprise at the sight of his ribcage.

"It is healing," the demon dismissed.

"Uh, alright," Inuyasha grunted, supporting Kagome. "Should I even ask what the hell happened?"

Sesshoumaru ignored him in favour of looking at the miko. His shoulder ached, and when he drew back his heel with the intention to leave- a fresh wave of discomfort elicited a wince.

Kagome stirred, blue eyes blinking open. She then drew a hand out towards him, "where are you going?"

"This one is..." he trailed off. "I must..."

"No, you don't," she murmured. Patting Inuyasha's shoulder to prompt him to set her down, Kagome flashed her friend a smile. "Thanks for coming for me, but I need to stay with this impossible guy to make sure he heals alright."

Inuyasha eyed the bite mark on her shoulder, nostrils flaring. "You sure?"

Kagome nodded firmly.

"What do ya want me to tell Shinto if he asks where ya are?"

Guilt passed over her face, and blue eyes flicked away, before finding him again. "Just say I'm visiting another village. I need to tell him the truth myself."

Relenting, Inuyasha stepped away, shooting Sesshoumaru a warning look before reluctantly leaving them be again, feeling like the wind had been thoroughly knocked out of his sails.

The Daiyoukai watched her, stunned.

"It's crazy you're even up and walking around in your condition," Kagome rubbed at her forehead, reaching out and seizing frozen fingers. "Come on, let's find a cave to take shelter in for the night."

----

The demon lord stopped and slid unrelenting attention down to her once they reached the mouth of a cave. "What made you choose this place?"

"I dunno, it wasn't far away and it felt familiar," Kagome hummed, meeting his gaze. "Have we... used it before? In the past?"

Golden eyes cracked wider. "You remember?" he asked in a quiet, brittle tone.

She shook her head, "not at all. I just figured it out. Would've been nice if you'd told me," releasing his hand, she wandered inside, finding a bed of furs awaiting them further in, cracks of sunlight streaming in through holes in the rock ceiling. Her cheeks reddened a little, imagination running wild.

"You really scared me back there," she murmured, back turned to him. "I thought you were going to die."

"That is why you completed the mating," Sesshoumaru uttered. To save him, and for no other reason.

A part of him had hoped she'd remembered, but another had immediately recognised the sacrifice she'd made. Kagome was a selfless individual in the face of danger. If Inuyasha were dying, or any of her other friends, he wondered if she'd mate them if it meant saving their lives.

With a benevolence he did not truly feel, Sesshoumaru forced himself to prioritise her comfort. "If this is not something you wish for- there are ways of severing the bond."

"Stop," she grit out, whirling to face him. Flinty blue eyes took his breath away. "Stop lying all the time. I remember valuing your company and opinion because you were always so blunt with me. You never held back your opinions."

"I am not lying, there is a way to sever it."

"But that's not what you want! Damn it- you nearly died because you couldn't open your mouth! Just be honest for once and tell me how you're feeling, Sesshoumaru. What do YOU want?"

Energy lashed at the air, kicking up a breeze that caused dark hair to fly back. Hands closed over the back of her neck, cradling her skull. Lips were shoved against hers, smothering startled breath.

"You," Sesshoumaru breathed in a brief parting, kissing her fiercely again. His mouth slanted ardently over hers, the hint of a fang brushing her lips. "Is it not obvious I cannot abide anything but having you? Foolish woman, it is for your sake I held back. Once you submit, there is no escaping me."

Kagome gaped, unable to keep up with the sheer amount of heated kisses. Her hands settled over his arms, heat igniting her cheeks. She'd never received a kiss like it before and tentatively returned it. A small gasp and accompanying noise from him only confirmed to her how much he wanted it. She could feel the tension in his frame. He was holding back even now.

When he pulled away, she panted, thumb dragging over magenta cheek stripes. "Didn't that feel so much better than burying everything?" she teased weakly. "Even if I'd rejected you, surely that would've been better than regret- than nearly dying."

Sesshoumaru's gaze slid away. He then released a long sigh, clawed hands curling in her hair. "You seemed happy with the mercenary."

"Ex-mercenary," she corrected out of habit, leaning into his touch. "And I was. I like him. But..." Kagome looked at him. Really looked, and somehow it clicked that his face was the only one she wanted to wake up to in the mornings to follow. When had things gotten to that point? Had she wanted this while lazing on the riverbank with him so long ago? Things would've been so much more simple if she'd identified it sooner. If he'd said something.

How foolish they both were.

Stepping closer, she blushed and tilting her head back in order to ghost her lips over a firm jaw. "I like you more."

Power sparked her insides at the ensuing shudder he gave. "Mating entails more than 'liking' one another, miko. Can you deal with my extended company? Being mine?"

Kagome pretended to consider this. "For how long?"

His lips quirked. "Centuries. Possibly thousands of years."

"That's a long time," her eyes danced. "I guess I'm okay with that if you work on your communication skills."

He inclined his head gravely, dipping his nose into her hair and inhaling a lungful. It felt so good to have clear airways again.

"Sesshoumaru, there is something I want to ask you about; Why didn't you bite me? And what happened during that night I lost my memories?"

"I intended to, miko," he said with dark promise. Displeasure curled his lip. "You managed to bite me during climax. I do not think you understood the ramifications of it at the time. I would have reciprocated nonetheless. Unfortunately, my senses- brilliant as they are- sensed a disturbance in the forest. A herd of boar youkai were bolting towards your precious village."

He could scowl all he wanted about it, but Kagome knew of his attachment to Rin. No doubt they'd both wasted no further time in lovemaking and quickly made for the village.

"We fought them, tried to redirect them. You asked me to save a boy that had fallen during the village's impromptu evacuation. Naturally, I did so- but it meant leaving you alone."

Kagome winced. Her hand found the back of her head, remembering waking to a sizable bump and stitches. "They got me, huh?"

"One struck you down," Sesshoumaru uttered with a weary tone. "I did not know where you were, as we had become separated in the chaos. When I eventually found you... the mercenary was nursing your wounds."

"I remember," she said gently. A stab of sympathy clenched her heart. Stroking a hand down his bicep, she sighed. "That must've been awful, to lose me so soon after almost completing the mating. I didn't realise, didn't recall our relationship. I greeted you so casually and didn't get why you were lingering around in his hut."

"The fault is not yours," Sesshoumaru rested large hands possessively on her hips.

Kagome glanced at him, squinting. "Neither is it yours," she pressed her fingers to his lips when he opened his mouth. "Nope! Not yours. I wouldn't have wanted you to prioritise guarding me that night. If you had, that boy you saved might've lost his life. Besides, I can usually take care of myself. They caught me on a bad day."

The two fell into silence. Sesshoumaru closed his eyes, resting thin lips against the crown of her head while Kagome leaned carefully against him.

"I find it weird that we've had a whole conversation while you have a massive hole in your chest. At least I can't see your whole ribcage like before. Seems like the skin and muscle are repairing," she mumbled.

"It will heal quickly," he dismissed, palms gliding over her back.

Kagome made a soft noise, basking in his warmth. "It's also weird that this feels so natural to me," she lifted her head, catching his eye. "I might not remember us. Ever. So just... promise me you won't search for my past self in me. I've been through that before."

He swept her down into the furs, covering her form with his own. "Hn, we will live in the present."

Heat flushed her cheeks as she sank into the soft, comforting furs. Her heart fluttered, stomach jumping. "Thank you."

A silver curtain of hair blocked out their surroundings as Kagome pulled him closer, both mindful of his injury. She smiled, searching his gaze and slowly delivering a sweet kiss to his lips.

Sesshoumaru let out a long sigh of relief, their foreheads meeting.

"Hey, on the bright side..." Kagome gave him a cheeky grin. "I get to experience my 'first time' with you again."

Astonishment painted his features. A simmering, darkly satisfied look soon replaced it, transforming his face into something more raw and honest. Kagome accepted his anticipation, his hunger, not dissuading him from it. She endeavoured to encourage even more displays of emotion from him.

"You don't need to hold back," she murmured, accepting his searing kiss. "Tell me everything you've wanted to say to me since losing my memory. I don't mind."

Their energies twined once more, and the miko hooked her leg over his hip to anchor him against her without any seductive intentions. She merely wanted him close, and Sesshoumaru did not argue, burying closer to her the second he healed. Skin met skin, noses brushing.

In the hush that followed, Sesshoumaru took his lips to her ear and began talking.

End

#Sesskag #Sesshoumaru x Kagome #sesskag fanfiction #Inuyasha #Kagome Higurashi #Sesshoumaru

147 notes · View notes

one-boring-person · 3 years

Note

i love your works sm!! do you still take terminator requests? if so, i had in mind one where the reader had like, a bad day and the T-800 comforts them c:

Thank you! I'm really glad you like my stuff!And I do take Terminator requests; you're my first!😅 I hope you like this!

No Problemo.

T-800 x reader

Warnings: none

Masterlist

The door slams loudly behind me as I enter the house, my bag colliding violently with the wall as I throw it there, a scowl etched into my features. My coat soon joins the bag, left behind as I stalk further into the house, heading towards the kitchen, intent on grabbing something to eat or drink before going upstairs to wallow in my room, shoulders aching from my tense posture, clenched jaw equally as painful from the hours of biting back sharp replies. There are low noises coming from the lounge, but I ignore them, not quite in the mood to interact with the other members of the household.

Entering the kitchen, I flick on the light and go over to the fridge, yanking it open to check its contents. A groan of frustration leaves me as I realise we're low on food (again), the cool shelves deserted after a week of feeding the four of us living here. Mentally, I make a note in my head to go to the store tomorrow and pick up some more stuff, knowing full well neither Sarah nor John will go, and Bob is unlikely to take the initiative by himself. Sighing, I close the fridge again and go to the cupboard, opening it to find the shelves yet again void of any edible substance. In their place, I find a few loose scraps of metal and some empty containers, some old spices pushed to the back of the space, the sight of which makes me roll my eyes.

"You have returned."

The monotone voice behind me makes me jump, the owner of said baritone having managed to sneak up on me despite his generally massive size. Spinning on my heel, I come to face Uncle Bob, the T-800 regarding me quietly, expression mostly blank. Swallowing to calm myself again, I reach for a cup and go to the tap, filling it with cool water as I go to reply.

"Yeah. Finally." I respond dryly, downing the glass of water with a sharp jerk of my head.

The cyborg's brow creases a little, the terminator still learning to express human emotion as others do, his head cocking to the side, evidently scanning me.

"Your stress levels are very high and your muscles are unnaturally tensed. What is wrong?" Bob questions, coming further into the room, watching as I refill the glass.

Pulling a face at his automated observance, I shoot him a look from my position by the sink.

"Bad day." I eventually answer, pushing off the counter and going to move past him, heading up to my room.

I frown as I hear him follow after me, his heavy boots thudding on the stairs behind me. Paying him no mind, I simply walk to my room, pushing open the door and going in, starting to pull at the smarter clothes I'm forced to wear for my job. My fingers fumble with the buttons of my shirt, frustration clouding my mind as I struggle to undo them. From the corner of my eye, I can see Bob loitering in the doorway, watching me carefully, before he suddenly pushes into the room, coming over to me. Confused, I stare at him, backing up a little until his eyes meet mine, somehow managing to reassure me with his carefully crafted mimicry of human reassurance.

Hesitantly, I let him come closer, tensing when he instantly goes to start unbuttoning my shirt, his passive gaze staying focused on the task, even as he starts to speak, his large frame hunched over me.

"What has solicited your negative assessment of the day?" The cyborg queries, easily loosening each button in turn.

Clenching my jaw again, I watch him work, feeling somewhat soothed by his calm actions, enjoying his closeness and unwavering stociness.

"It's just been a long, difficult day. Nothing went right, my boss is making things harder for me, and none of the things I needed to get done actually got done." I sigh, trying to relax, "I have a ridiculous amount of work due tomorrow, and I've had no way of doing it today. I didn't eat lunch because I had no time, so now I'm hungry, and tired, and just want to go to bed."

Having told him these things, I start to feel a little better, but not by much, having been reminded of the exact reasons why I'm like this in the first place.

"I see." The T-800 recites one of his newly-learned phrases, glancing up at me, "It is recommended that you obtain food and take rest for optimum recovery."

His diagnostic advice comes quickly, a hard contrast to the more human way of speaking we've been trying to teach him, the sound of which almost brings a small smile to my face.

"I plan to do that." I mutter, batting his hands away as he finally finishes his task, turning away from him as I strip myself of my shirt and trousers, pulling on some more comfortable clothes.

"Good." He nods in approval, moving over to me again as I go to sit on my bed.

Quietly, he eyes me, seemingly running through some line of data on his HUD, before he leans down and easily scoops me into his arms. Squeaking in surprise, I wrap my arms around his neck, only to let go when he places me down against my pillows, taking care to make sure I'm comfortable, removing everything that may be considered uncomfortable from the bed.

"What are you doing?" I ask him, curiously, watching as he neatly folds a shirt and places it on my desk.

"Helping you recover." He states simply, glancing at me, "Stay where you are."

Frowning at his command, I stare after him as he leaves the room, unsure of what he is doing but not adverse to it. It feels nice to be looked after, for a change, instead of looking after others, even if it is by the surly cyborg sent to protect my best friend. He's always been stumped as to how John and I came to be friends, given the large age gap between us, somehow not quite understanding the concept that I had worked at the arcade the teen used to frequent and had come to know he and his friend very well. Eventually, I got roped into a situation that changed my life, and now here I am, living with the Connors, doing a terrible job to keep myself busy, trying to forget that the life I now lead is far from normal.

After a moment, the T-800 walks in again, a plate in one hand a mug in the other. As he comes closer, I realise there are a couple of slices of pizza on the plate, which confuses me.

"Where'd you get the pizza from? The fridge is empty." I ask him, sitting up to take the plate and mug from him as he offers them to me.

"Sarah and John ordered takeout. There was some spare." He fills me in, handing me the items.

Nodding, I place the plate in my lap, cupping the mug between my palms as I sniff it, glad to recognise a tea of some sorts, unaware that we had any. In doing so, I don't quite register that the T-800 has slipped onto the bed with me until his hands are suddenly on my waist, lifting me into his lap. Eyes widening in shock, I tense up, unused to the feeling of his huge, muscular body against mine, though he says nothing, only starting to rub my arms and legs gently.

"What're you doing?" I ask him again, still unsure, though I can slowly feel myself give in to his touch, the gentle sensations highly comforting to me.

"My files state that physical contact between two people can induce relaxation and a lessening of stress." Bob replies, pulling me back to lean against his chest, sitting back against the headboard as he does so.

"Right. Well, thank you." I say to him, hesitantly starting to relax into him, enjoying the feeling of his hands tracing my arms, the scent of motorcycle fuel, metal and the cheap cologne John bought him flooding my nostrils as I start to eat.

"No problemo." He replies, holding my mug still as I continue to eat.

Instantly, I feel my tensions starting to drain away, my hunger soon satiated, my exhaustion taking over as I settle back into Bob's chest, my eyelids starting to droop closed.

"It is recommended now that you sleep to regain your energy." The T-800 states, much quieter than usual, his arms wrapping around me properly after removing the plate and mug from the bed, keeping me against him as he gently manoeuvres himself to lie down with me on his chest.

Turning in his arms, I look up at him, smiling contentedly as I rest my head on his collarbone, nodding at the cyborg.

"Yeah, I will. Thank you." I murmur, closing my eyes properly, totally relaxed in his hold.

He doesn't reply, only tightening his grip on me, a kiss suddenly pressed to my forehead, leaving me smiling like an idiot in my sleep.

#terminator judgement day #terminator #terminator 2 #terminator imagine #arnold schwarzenegger

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i-will-physically-fight-you · 4 years

Text

Faith, Trust and a Little Bit of Pixie Dust

Title: Faith, Trust and a Little Bit of Pixie Dust

Summary: It’s cold in the cellar, but then if it isn’t cold it’d defeat the whole purpose of a cellar. This coldness had been fine at first, but the longer Logan and his little brother Virgil stay, the more it worsens. Logan just hopes his mother’s temper wears off soon or else the cold could get fatal.

The last thing Logan expects is for his father, who he hasn’t seen in years, to show up through golden portal (a magic portal, which should be impossible!) to save the day as if he hadn’t abandoned them to this fate by leaving all those years ago.

Pairings: Brotherly Analogical, Parental Loceit

Word-Count: 3.3k

Warnings: Magic, Child Abuse, Physical & Emotional Abuse, Unhealthy Romantic Relationship, Hypothermia, Alcohol, Death Mention, Morally Grey Janus, Crying, Angst With a Happy Ending

This fic was at times both frustrating and fun to write. I have no plans to continue this fic, but you can ask me questions regarding the ‘verse and I’ll answer them. Janus has good intentions in this fic he’s just bad at expressing them and we’re also seeing this from Logan’s pov.

It was cold in the cellar. Then again, it would be rather alarming were it the opposite case. Cellars were historically used to store perishable items such as vegetables and meats in a time before refrigerators existed. Still prolonged exposure to such an absence of heat wasn’t good for any human being. Not without proper clothing or heating methods. Something both Logan and his young brother unfortunately lacked.

At first with just a t-shirt and jeans it’d been fine. A bit chilly but fine. What Logan hadn’t accounted for was a cold front to settle in unexpectedly. Within an hour, it dropped by forty degrees. His little brother Virgil wasn’t fond of physical touch. Yet the young child clung to Logan for warmth. It wasn’t enough. His skinny frame still trembled, his lips turning blue. Logan himself felt the effects of his body trying uselessly to warm the cold environment around them. Still his bit his lips from shivering, desperate to attempt staying strong for Virgil.

“I-I-I’m s-s-scared.” Virgil cried, digging his head into Logan’s shirt.

I...I know.” Logan said, stroking his brother’s hair gently, “Things are...things will be alright.”

Logan had repeated this statement many times already to Virgil. Each time he grew less sure of it. However, he knew he had to remain strong for his brother’s sake. Ever since his brother was a baby, Logan had to grow up faster. Much faster than even before. Sometimes he resented this fact, but never for long. It was simply the way things were.

“C-c-c-can you tell me a story?” Virgil asked, and of course Logan obliged. For he knew the unspoken words in that request: I’m still scared. Can you make it less scary?

A story, for both the listener and teller, would be a beneficial distraction. Even though Logan was not a good storyteller. Once he did a short story assignment in middle school and received a C. His heart metaphorically sank at the sight of it and he dreaded going home that day. Virgil always seemed to appreciate his stories. Although praise from a kindergartener wasn’t worth much in the literary world.

Through frozen lips, he told a meandering story to his little brother. Sometimes his brother would ask questions or offer suggestions, abruptly changing the direction of the story. Logan himself barely remembered what it was about. It was as if someone else spoke through him as his mind drifted to other ideas.

It’d been dark for a long, long while. Usually his mother would’ve unlocked the door by now. She’d insist he’d make dinner while complaining of a terrible headache.

It was an unending cycle. His mother would do her best to stay sober and function as an adult for a few weeks. Then her mood would increasingly sour, little things piling up into an avalanche. It was hard to tell at times what would be the trigger. The one thing that made her slam open the alcohol cabinet and drown a whole bottle of vodka.

She wasn’t a nice person when drunk; hence the whole being-locked-in-the-cellar. Eventually after a few days of heavy drinking, his mother would come to her senses. She’d lock the alcohol cabinet and claim she’d never drink again. A lie nobody believed but herself.

Perhaps the lie was done in good intentions. His mother always insisted she cared for her children, in ways their father never could.

“He’s a snake, Logan,” She hissed once, banging her beer heavily onto a coaster, “A dirty, no-good deceiving snake.”

Logan said nothing. He had only a few memories of the man. Once, when Logan was nine years old, he showed up on their doorstep. He held a bouquet of roses for Mother and a much belated birthday present for Logan. It’d been one of the happiest he’d seen Mother. He stayed with them for a few days. He listened to Logan, complimenting him on his extensive knowledge about dinosaurs. The three of them went to a carnival together. For a fleeting moment, Logan had what the others kids at his school had; a family.

Then it ended with tears, arguing, door slams. Mother yanking him by the arm and leaving everything behind. Nine months later, Virgil was born. His father wasn’t there. Nor did he ever show his face again. A bitter, festering part of Logan despised him for that.

Mother acted like she cared at times. She’d purchase Virgil and Logan expensive gifts. Things she couldn’t afford without a credit card. She treated them to ice cream and insisted on giving them hugs. She never understood that Virgil found tactical touch without permission distressing. She’d brush it off, making remarks he simply needed to get used to it.

At times Logan allowed himself to pretend these niceties would last. He pretended his mother was a flawed human being who mostly did good by her children. He pretended the slapping and hair-pulling didn’t exist, that the cellar was just a cellar and not a place to fear. It was hard to pretend these things were true, when the reality became increasingly harder to ignore.

Virgil fell asleep in the midst of this. Logan hadn’t realized this at first. His tired mind plunged on, continuing the nonsensical story.

“Then Batsy the Bat escaped the Witch’s dungeon. He flew as fast he could, to warn his friends...ah. Virgil what do you think their names should be?” Logan squinted, the dim light making it hard to see if his brother’s eyes were closed or not, “Virgil?”

His brother slumped against him, his breaths long and labored. Logan frowned, shaking his shoulder, “Virgil?!”

Virgil made a grumbling noise, “What?”

“You need to stay awake. You--you can’t fall asleep right now.”

“I’m tireeeed,” Virgil complained.

“I--I know, but please. It--it isn’t good to sleep right now.”

“Why?”

Logan’s throat constricted, “Be--because well. I haven’t finished the story yet.”

It was a lie. The truth was that sleeping could be a dangerous thing for a hypothermia victim. Sleeping could lead to death. He couldn’t tell his brother that. He refused to let Virgil experience more fright than he already had in his short life.

“Okaaay.” Virgil said.

Logan continued with the story, pulling all his concentration into it. Yet it wasn’t enough to keep Virgil awake. He kept drifting off, unable to keep his eyes open. At one point his brother down crying.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” He sobbed, repeating the words over and over.

“It’s alright, you’re okay, everything is gonna be--gonna be,” Logan stammered, struggling to force the word out, “okay.”

It was then that Logan knew they couldn’t remain in the cellar any longer. He’d have to overcome his one true fear for the sake of their safety and survival. What he feared even more than his mother, was losing Virgil. Logan was smart. He knew the odds of a kindergartener and a high school sophomore staying together in the foster system was slim.

He had been selfish to allow his mother to continue tormenting Virgil. It was wrong. Now both him and his brother were paying for it.

Logan could fix this. He just had to pull out his phone and call emergency services. He had to call and resist his foolish fears of his mother and separation from his brother. With one arm still tucked around his brother, he pulled the phone out of his pocket. A battered, beaten thing he’d purchased with his first paycheck. His mother was completely unaware of its existence.

He pressed the power button on as he gathered up the courage to call. Except the screen remained completely blank. He pressed it again, this time harder, hoping it’d been a fluke. It wasn’t. Again and again, he kept pressing the button, irrationally hoping for a different result.

“No,” Logan swallowed heavily, “no, no, no this cannot be happening--” “Logey?” Virgil hiccuped, his big glassy eyes staring up as his older brother with concern.

“It’s okay, Virgil,” Logan murmured, “It’s okay, It’ll be okay--”

He couldn’t say the words any longer. Not when a sob wracked his throat, his vision turning hazy with tears. He couldn’t be strong any longer. He was weak. His heart beat faster, the chasm in his stomach deepening. His little brother said something, but he couldn’t hear it. All he heard was his mind mocking his failure. Shrill and scorching like his mother.

StUpID DiD yOU ThINK ThAT wAS GOING TO WORK?

You and your little brother are going to die and it’s all yOUR FAuLt

UsEleSS

Not EVEn YoUR OwN FATHER WAntED YOU--

“Hello? Whoever is contacting me at this hour better not have a good reason.”

Logan’s thoughts jolted to a halt. What? He glanced down at his phone, but it was still battered and dead. Virgil looked just as confused and lost as he felt. He hid his face in Logan’s shirt, whimpering softly.

“Who...are you?” Logan croaked, doing a poor disguise of covering up his breakdown moments before.

“I think that is perhaps a question I should be asking you.” The strange voice replied. It was definitely emanating from the phone, but how Logan had no clue. It made no logical sense.

“I--I don’t know.”

“You don’t know your name?”

“No! I mean of course I know my name! I mean, you can’t be real--I must be hallucinating.”

“Oh?” The voice responded with a touch of some unidentifiable emotion, “this must be your first time then.”

“First time what?” Logan snapped, a headache starting to take form. He regretted raising his voice when Virgil let out a cry. He murmured a soft apology to him, attempting to ignore how cold his brother felt.

“Is there someone else with you?”

“No,” Logan said, before hesitating, “I mean perhaps.”

“Perhaps?”

“You still haven’t responded to my question from before.”

“Let me broker a deal then. I’ll answer your question, if you tell me who you and your companion are.”

“Okay,” Logan shakes his head, wanting to laugh hysterically. What in Newton’s three laws of gravity was going on? Surely, he died. He died and this was some last minutes of brain activity occurring. Scientists after all, know very little what happens in one’s last moments of life. Nothing could quite prepare him for the answer the voice gave him, however.

“Well then, to quote a popular misguided piece of media, ‘you’re a wizard, Harry!’” The voice said, the verbal jazz hands evident in the voice’s dripping, dry wit. Something about it was painfully familiar.

“What.”

“You asked, I answered,” The voice chuckled, “now it’s your turn.”

“My--my name is Logan,” He said, blinking rapidly, “and my little brother..ahhh...oh! Vi-Virgil is here with me.”

“Logan, that’s your name? You’re sure?”

Logan frowned at that. Of course he was sure. Or was he? It was getting rather harder to focus. Or to breathe even. The crisp cold air hurt his lungs. Virgil slumped heavily against him, complete dead weight in his unconsciousness. Oh. That was bad. He knew that was bad.

“Logan?!” The voice yelled. Hmm, it sounded like they’ve been yelling at him for awhile now. He should acknowledge them. He nodded before pausing. Wait. He needed to respond verbally.

“Y-yes?”

“Finally. You seem like you’re doing absolutely fantastic,” The voice told him.

“Do I?” Logan asked, “I do not think I’m doing ‘fantastic’.”

“Where are you?”

Logan rattled off the address. Then he very casually added, “We’re locked in the cellar.”

“WHAT?!”

“It’s-s-s-s a punishment,” Logan shivered, his eyelids drooping against his will, “it’sssokay.”

“Yes, because all parenting books recommend disciplining your children by locking them in a cellar.” Maybe it was just Logan, but he got the impression the voice was being sarcastic.

“I need to cut the invocation call. I’ll be there soon.”

“Wh--how-hy?” Logan said, trying to speak three words at once. The voice didn’t respond. He tried shaking his battered phone as if that would do anything. It did not do anything.

The air frizzled in front of Logan. A golden spark appeared, expanding until it was one big golden shimmery oval. Logan stared at it, blinking rapidly. This was absurd. He most definitely had to be hallucinating. The golden oval ripples as a black fedora emerged from it, followed by a face and then a whole body.

“F--father?” Logan managed.

The man before him was older and dressed in strange clothing. Slivers of silver hair poked out from his hat, nestled among the chestnut hair. An unfamiliar gruesome scar ran alongside the left side of his face. But he recognized those hazel eyes anywhere. He stared at them at the mirror every morning.

He didn’t respond to Logan. He took a few steps before collapsing beside the huddled forms of Logan and Virgil. His gloved hands reached out, but he did not touch them. His mouth opened, but no sound came out of him. Then his gloves covered his face as he inhaled deeply. He removed them from his face, his expression carefully blank.

“I’m here.” He told Logan, extending a hand towards him, “and I won’t leave you or your brother this time.”

Logan stared at the yellow gloved hand before sluggishly panning his gaze up at his father. He didn’t know if he could trust him, let alone if he could trust that this was reality. But god, he wanted it to be real.

So cradling Virgil close to his chest with one arm, he took hold of his father’s hand. And then, with a bright flash of light, the cellar was empty.

Logan felt warm. A drizzling, dribbling, dripping like maple syrup down a fresh stack of buttermilk pancakes type of warmth. He should be alarmed by this for some reason, but he couldn’t find it in himself to be. Instead he made a contented noise, shifting closer to it. Someone chuckled, running a calloused hand through his hair. Logan stilled at the touch, the warmth evaporating from his veins. He waited for the fingers to grow taunt around a tuft of hair. For the harsh cacophony of his mother’s voice to rain down on him like hail. Nothing.

“Are you asleep, Little Tesla?”

The air in his lungs evaporated. Only one person had called him that and it certainly wasn’t his mother. As much as she expected him to receive good grades, she hadn’t been one to nurture his interests in 20th century scientists.

“Father?” Logan whispered.

“I’m here, I didn’t leave, just like I said I would.”

He opened his eyes to find his father was indeed there. Sitting on a wooden chair with sunken eyes as if he’d been awake for hours. Logan laid on a bed with silky sheets and an impossibly warm comforter. He had just barely enough to cover him--most of the blankets had been stolen by another small figure. Virgil. His little baby brother was with him, asleep and curled up in a small ball.

“Wha--” Logan started to say, until everything hit him. The cellar. The strange bodiless voice. The gleaming gold portal. Father. Darkness.

“Yes, yes, I know it’s not at all a lot to take in, but you have magic. And you found me again, just like I’d hope you would.”

“Found you?” Logan asked, a hardness to his tone, “Assuming this isn’t a hallucination, you left me with h-her, you never came back and suddenly because I possess magic, I’m what? Worth something?”

“Yes, no!” His father cried out with a frustrated growl, “Listen, Logan. My relationship with your mother was extremely healthy, as I’m sure you can agree. Not unhealthy in the slightest. When it ended, your mother left a lovely parting gift.”

Here, he rubs a hand against the facial scar almost absent-mindedly, “I wanted to find you, I searched everywhere, but your mother is smart and covers her tracks well. I’m...sorry I couldn’t find you or your brother sooner. You’re important to me, magic or no magic.”

“How can I trust you?” Logan asked, “How can I trust that you’re not anything like her?”

He expected his father to be upset by the accusation, but instead he just smirked.

“You’re good to be suspicious. It’s a good trait, don’t ever lose it,” He said, adjusting his gloves, “I can tell you, that I will not harm you or your brother. I can say I will teach you magic, if you desire. I can let you know that I will let you walk out the door with your brother, and you won’t ever have to see me or your mother again. But you have no true way of trusting a man that has, from what you know, abandoned you completely until just now.

“You have two options. Either accept you cannot completely trust what I say is true and proceed with caution, or you can leave with your brother, find a way to support the two of you. You’re smart, Logan. I trust you could figure it out.”

Logan swallowed. He was indeed smart--or knowledgeable enough to know there was little choice in the matter. He was just fifteen. He can’t support Virgil and him--not legally anyway. It’d be difficult to cover it up. Child Protection Services would be on them in a matter of weeks, if not days.

Good case scenario, they stayed together in the foster system. Bad case scenario, they ended up separated. Worst case scenario? They ended up back at their mother’s, because they don’t believe either of Logan’s or Virgil’s claims and the cycle continues without end.

So, his father. He was the only option, and he knew it. As much bitterness as Logan held for the man, there’s also yearning in equal spades. He used to spend nights crying for him with his mother yelling at him to shut up. Sometimes she’d beat him for it, telling him his father was never coming back. Then he’d snap back that she was wrong and he’d prove Logan right by coming back. Until little by little, he stopped.

He couldn’t trust his father, the man even admitted it. He just had to hope it’d be better, even though apparently the man believed in magic. Logan was doing his best at the moment to deny it existed. It couldn’t exist, last night had to be a fluke of some sort and even if it wasn’t, it was too much for him to focus on at the moment.

“As long as I have your word that you won’t intentionally hurt Virgil and I, we will stay with you.” Logan says, before offering his hand towards his father.

Father took a look at the extended hand, eyes softening, before clasping it, “You have my word, Logan, that I will not harm you or Virgil as long as you remain in my care.”

They shook on it. Logan let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding in and then--and then, his vision blurred. A sob and then another erupted until he clenched his teeth, holding the rest back. For the second time within twenty-four hours he had shown weakness. First to his brother and now, now to his father who above all he should show no signs to. But like that creative writing assignment in the 8th grade, he completely failed.

Somehow halfway the handshake got turned into an embrace. His father hugged him, a calloused hand softly carding through his hair once more.

“Shh, Logan, you’ve been so strong, stronger than most. You won’t have to be strong alone any longer. Let it all out.”

Logan didn’t know what to think of his father’s words. It wasn’t like a set of logical propositions or a step-by-step formula for science. He couldn’t know for certain if they were genuine. But in this moment, he was but a little boy with his father back. So he dug his head into his father’s chest and finally cried. His father, in turn, did not berate or beat him for it. Instead, he held onto his son as he whispered reassurances all the while.

#thomas sanders #sanders sides #logan sanders #janus sanders #virgil sanders #kat writes

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jimlingss · 4 years

Text

Sugar and Coffee [7]

Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 7.5 OR Chapter 8

➜ Words: 2.7k

➜ Genres: 99.5% Fluff, 0.5% Angst, Pâtisserie school!AU

➜ Summary: It isn't hard to be a pâtisserie chef, but it's not a piece of cake either. It seems like for you in particular, life keeps throwing in one wrench after another. It always finds ways to make your sweets bitter. The cherry on top is Jeon Jungkook — a rival with a sensitive sweet tooth who always finds ways to complain about you.

cr.

You thought about it over Winter break. While baking and laying around your dorm room, you’ve come to a self-revelation. You spent only a week in Jungkook’s hometown before coming back for the other two, not wanting to intrude on his family too much, and during that time, you’ve re-discovered a strengthened will. You’ve decided to abandon your unproductive heartache in favour of nurturing a new ambition, a new eagerness to flourish and thrive, and make the most out of your time here. And Jungkook is surprised to see this fresh enthusiasm. “You’re here early.” He steps into the kitchen to see you crouched over the counter with notebooks and textbooks sprawled out, already studying at the beginning of the semester. “I know.” You lift your head to grin at him. “Just thought I’d get a head start. Don’t slack just cause we’re in the same class, Jeon. I won’t always give you notes when you skip.” He approaches with a small smile. “I’m guessing the rest of your Winter break was good.” “It was alright. It’s nice to sleep in. How was yours?” “Lia and Eunbi kept crying when you left. I swear my family likes you more than they like me.” “Naturally,” you taunt while batting your lashes. “I’m just so likable.” “Uh-huh.” But that still doesn’t explain why you’re humming and smiling to yourself. It’s only eight in the morning and he wonders where the usual Little Miss Cranky went. “Did something good happen?” “What do you mean?” “You’re giggling to yourself.” “I’m not giggling.” You feign a glare. “I’ve just...found new motivation to work harder. I thought about it a lot and….” “And?” “I’m going to get back with Seokjin,” you declare. Jungkook’s eyes are wide and you smile. “I’m going to catch up and become someone worthy of him. Someone he won’t be able to let go. I’m going to work my hardest, so he can be proud of me.” “Huh.” The boy nods. “Well, good for you.” “Psh, what’s with the bland response. Listen, you better look out, Jeon. I’m going to make the best portfolio ever to submit at the end of the semester.” He grins. “Okay.” You return to your work, finishing up reading the section while humming to yourself. Jungkook glad you found a new vigour to strive and do your best — but he can’t help feeling unsure of your reasoning. He’s pretty sure that this isn’t it. // The lectures and hands-on workshops at the very start of the semester are always the blandest. Introductions are done, course outlines are looked at, and the professor drones on and on about the course’s expectations and what the assignments and examinations will look like. Jungkook isn’t exactly enthused to hear what he’ll have to get done in the coming weeks. And it’s in this very boredom that he knows he doesn’t need to say anything about your new-found determination. Eventually class will wear you down like it does for everyone, and you’ll become indifferent again. You’ll come to your senses one way or another. But to his surprise, you’re still very much jolly after classes. “It hasn’t been one day and classes are already fucking me in the ass,” Taehyung groans. “Hey, guys!” You plop down with Jungkook beside you. “I missed you. How was Christmas break?” “It was good.” Hoseok looks up, appearing utterly exhausted with dark circles lining the area beneath his eyes. Yoongi actively glares at you. “You’re chirpy.” Much to his dismay, you laugh. If Yoongi was a dog, he’d probably bite you. Jimin smiles. “Did something good happen, Y/N?” “Actually, yeah. I just realized some things over the break and I just have more motivation to work hard, you know?” “Can you give me some of that motivation?” Taehyung groans. “What does it take?” “A fear of flunking and getting kicked out should be more than enough motivation,” Yoongi deadpans. “What’s your motivation, Y/N?” Hoseok asks, the corner of his mouth curling. “I…” You glance at Jungkook, not sure if you should tell them the truth. But after a moment of hesitation, you go for it. There’s nothing to hide. “I’m going to try to get back together with Jin.” At once, you receive mixed reaction — Jimin goes blank, Taehyung lifts his head off to the table and Hoseok’s brows are raised, lips tight. He’s the one who breaks the silence. “Wow, that’s great, Y/N.” You grin. “I know, right?” “How are you going to do that?” Taehyung looks at you. “If I can ask…” “I’m going to improve myself and become someone he wants, someone worth him.” “But is it really up for you to decide?” Yoongi asks out of the blue, piping up as he chews some chicken in his cheek. The black-haired man looks at you lazily. “It takes two.” “Yeah, but I can try, right?” You shrug your shoulders, wearing a small smile. But Yoongi doesn’t accept what he hears, not in the way you want him to. “He dumped you, didn’t he? What makes you think he’ll want you back?” “I—” Taehyung steps in before the situation can escalate. “Yoongi.” But the tired man ignores him, his eyes piercing, even if he gazes at you languidly. “You think you can change him or change what happened?” “I love him.” Your eyes are glossy and there’s an overwhelming urge to block out your ears. Yet Yoongi scoffs. “Okay. So what? Who says you won’t be dumped again?” “Yoongi, chill it, dude,” Taehyung intervenes and Hoseok is also alert, trying to change the topic to no avail. In the meanwhile, Jimin is caught in the conflict and rendered speechless, but what hurts most is that Jungkook doesn’t defend you. He doesn’t utter a single word of support. “Is it so bad to want him back?” “Yeah. If he doesn’t want you back.” He shrugs. “It would be more productive if you get on with your life, got better and showed him what he missed out on. Trying to get back together with him makes you look desperate.” “I never asked for your opinion, Yoongi.” “Fair, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t hear what I have to say. Plus, I’m just asking you questions and as of yet, I haven’t heard any answers, Y/N,” Yoongi bites back. It’s not like the friendly banter that you have with Jungkook. What Yoongi says is painful to hear, heavy on your heart. It’s argumentative with intentions to prove himself right, confrontational in a way you’ve always avoided. “Why are you setting yourself up to be hurt again? Don’t you think you deserve better than that?” The group falls into strained silence. The tension wraps itself around your throat, robbing your breath from your lungs. Nothing is spoken, no one utters a word. They stare at you as if they’re waiting for a response, for your justifications. But they don’t need to hear it — it’ll sound like a broken record. They’ll never don’t get it — how much you love Seokjin. How much you miss him. How much you want him back in your life. Someone who used to be your best friend, who was your entire world, your person, and how he’s turned into a complete stranger. “Alright, guys. Let’s just agree to disagree, okay?” Taehyung laughs stiffly, trying to dial it back. But you abruptly stand, grabbing your tray of food. “Y/N.” Jungkook grabs your arm before you can walk away. You don’t face him. “I have some stuff to do. Catch you guys later.” After dumping the tray, you walk out of the building before they can see the tears in your eyes. And they watch your backside until you’ve disappeared from the dining center. “You’ve really done it now,” Hoseok chides Yoongi. The male shrugs. “Was I wrong? She needed to hear it from someone and apparently I’m the only one willing to be the bad guy.” // You continue to march across campus with no destination in mind, merely attempting to find some peace and quiet. You tear open the door to the west wing, sniffling as your breath heaves, and at your hasty pace, you fail to notice another person walking in the opposite direction until your shoulders collide with one another. “S-Sorry.” The rounded, short girl regards you with bright eyes, wearing a white apron and jeans. “It’s okay—oh, Y/N, right?” “Do I….know you?” “I’m Yoo Aeri. We met each other on orientation day, remember?” “Oh my god.” It was four months ago, but you can vaguely recall the first person you befriended. You were so happy that you met someone friendly that you told Seokjin right away, even if you forgot to exchange contact information. “I remember now. I’m so sorry I forgot, my mind lately is just…” She laughs. “Don’t worry about it. I actually switched into the culinary program recently.” “Oh, really? That’s super cool. I heard it was hard.” “It is a little, but the Baking and Pastry Arts program is a lot more competitive. I just found it wasn’t for me.” “I know what you mean. I can get pretty tough.” Aeri smiles and you realize she’s holding a plastic wrapped plate when she thrusts it towards you. “I’m actually walking around right now to see if someone wants to eat this — It’s seared salmon I made in class, but I made too much. As usual. Do you want to have lunch with me?” You’ve never had such a proposition before. “I’d love to.” // 8:12 pm. Jungkook: is the plan still on? Every so often when Jungkook’s sick of you complaining about the vile food at the dining hall, the both of you go out to grab a bite to eat off-campus. His wallet cries but he has to admit that it’s fun. Tonight though, you haven’t knocked on his dorm room yet and he hasn’t been in contact with you since lunch. Jungkook wonders passingly if you’ve permanently ghosted him — if so, he doesn’t know why he’s being punished for Yoongi’s actions. 8:14 pm. Y/N: oh yeah sorry 8:14 pm. Y/N: not tonight The moment he gets the message, his brows shoot to his hairline. Jungkook audibly groans. You should’ve told him sooner. He can’t get a good meal in the dining center when it closes in just fifteen minutes. But Jungkook wonders if you’re underneath your covers crying, if you’re really that weak willed to be broken down so easily by a few words from Yoongi, but then— 8:16 pm. Y/N: made a new friend Wow. So you ditched his ass for someone else — now Jungkook has zero sympathy for you. With the annoyance of a lifetime, he grabs his coat and decides to go out anyways. He doesn’t need you. He can enjoy a perfectly good meal off-campus by himself. It takes Jungkook fifteen minutes by bus to get to the bustling street. He enters the cozy pizza restaurant down the block that you’ve both gone to a few times and orders takeout. He waits at the front playing a game on his phone to pass the time, hoping he can get home soon and enjoy the food in the comfort of his own bed. But Jungkook’s ears perk when it catches loud voices that draw his attention. He naturally lifts his head. It’s a mistake. He can’t even act that he doesn’t know them, that he didn’t see them, not when his eyes connect directly with Jin’s and they look at each other. Yet, to Jungkook’s surprise, the older man stops with a smile. “Hey!” The best way to describe his relationship with Seokjin was that they are acquaintances — similar to how he would’ve called you, excluding the recent months. Jungkook knows Jin from high school, saw him in the halls but they seldom spoke to each other. They hear things about one another but that’s the furthest extent of their interactions. Until now. “Are you here alone?” “Yeah I’m just grabbing some takeout.” Jungkook awkwardly hitches a thumb over his shoulder. Seokjin nods, plump lips naturally pouted. “Were you in the area?” “Not really. I came from school.” “Oh, that’s actually pretty far. I’m surprised you didn’t just do delivery.” Jungkook’s doe eyes double. He feels like an idiot. “Oh shit, actually?! I didn’t know they had delivery!” He could’ve saved himself half an hour. Seokjin grins. “Yeah, but it costs an extra two dollars.” “Guess I’m saving money then.” He feels bitter. Sincerely, you are the curse of his life. Jungkook would’ve never been in this situation if he didn’t feel a need to imaginarily prove you wrong in his mind. “Jin!” One of his male friends calls out, signaling him over as the waitress shows the rest of his friends to a table. “I’ll be there in a minute.” Jungkook can kind of understand the sad state you were in after the breakup. Aside from Seokjin’s handsomeness that even renders Jungkook speechless at some angles, it’s evident that Jin has a good personality. He’s friendly and warm, despite being an acquaintance. And Jin never once treated him poorly even back when he had his feud with you. “Want to step outside for a minute?” Jungkook asks. “It’s kind of loud in here.” “Sure.” The two of them exit the restaurant and become enveloped in the chilly air. It is quiet out here, almost too quiet. They can finally hear each other properly but Jungkook finds his thoughts are deafeningly loud. “So, what did you end up ordering?” “Three sausage and two pepperoni.” Jungkook’s fond of the way you always call him a meathead as he stuffs his face with it. “It’s my favourite.” “Oh really? I’m more of a pineapple man, myself.” “I’ll admit, I hated pineapple myself until Y/N changed my mind.” Seokjin grins. “She did for me too. How is she, by the way?” “She’s...fine. Enough to drive me crazy.” Jungkook sighs with the force of his entire being and Jin nods with the corner of his mouth quirked. “I'll admit, I was pretty surprised when I heard through the grapevine that you guys became friends. But I’m glad she has someone with her.” “We’re not like that.” Jin hums. “Doesn’t change the fact that she has someone to support her.” There’s a pause. “Can I ask you something?” It’s the reason Jungkook went out of his way to ask him to come outside. He’s curious and maybe it’s not his place to be, but he’s always felt more involved than he should be. Jungkook wants to understand, to clear his confusion, to hear the other side of the story. “Depends on what it is.” Seokjin smiles. “Why did you break up with Y/N?” You had never really told him the reasoning, and he’ll admit it was bizarre when the two of you split. Jungkook always thought you were one of those irritating high-school sweetheart couples that would eventually get married and settle down with one another. The kind of couple that would get their love story posted in the newspaper after their seventy year anniversary. A picture-perfect happily ever after. Seokjin sighs, a cloud of condensation emitted through his parted lips. He leans against the brick wall and looks up at the night sky. “Sometimes...there doesn’t need to be a bad reason or a red flag or some kind of deal breaker.” “Then why?” Seokjin shrugs. “I always felt like Y/N loved me a lot more than I loved her. Always.” “Sometimes, it felt like she put me on a pedestal. Other times, I think I made her feel inadequate. But she was always willing to give up everything for me.” Their eyes connect, Jin’s sheepish and soft. “And for me, I constantly felt like I had to play the part of a good boyfriend, rather than be one because it came naturally. It made me feel guilty. She didn’t do anything wrong. I think I just realized sooner that we weren’t the ones for each other.” A disconnect. Jin liked you — he adored you — but you loved him wholeheartedly with your entire soul. Even now you still earnestly love Jin. Jungkook isn’t sure what to do with the new information. But he suddenly feels bad for you. More than he ever has.

#bts fanfic #bts scenario #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fluff #jungkook scenario #bts fluff #bts fanfiction #jungkook reader insert #jungkook x reader #y'all this is a shorter chapter than usual #but last chapter was also a lot longer than usual #ANYWAYS I hope this gives you the answers you were looking for lol

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cherripeach · 3 years

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Chapter 6

Little Match Maker

Summary: Your life motto is “I have the power of god and anime on my side, don’t mess with me,” and you stand by that with your life. No human, magician, or random creature could ever stop your firm belief in it.

However, getting transported to this world that seemed to turn your already bad luck worse was not what you wanted to be in your life story, but you made the most of it.Making friends, enemies, and disasters, you were in your prime in this world, and so you decided to help as many people as you could flourish, at least what you believed to be.

Prologue 11-13: we all die: you either kill yourself or get killed

Chapter Summary: You thought high schoolers in your world had a terrible IQ, but somehow these three don’t even have one.

Warning: Jokes about assault, curse words, and maybe jokes about death

Words: 2.2k

Relationships: developing but future twstxreader

The end of the school day came, and the only reason you could tell is by the excess of students gathered in different areas of the schools to just lounge around and do work. You only paid attention to that because you bumped into a taller male with green hair and a clove on his cheek with two others standing next to him: one was a short red head but darker than the dude you saw at the beginning of today and another was a taller male with curly orange hair whose eyes were blasted open once taking a peek at you in your amazing outfit.

You ended up finishing your work a while back and decided to look around a little since you already got lost once. You found how to get back to the well from main street and even a better way to get to your dorm, but that’s all. You also found an odd tree in the middle of the forest with green leaves and bright, shiny red apples

After you ran into that group, the two of you-you and your stupid cat- headed back to the cafeteria from the outside: so you went back to the well, went to the cafeteria windows, and jumped back in.

No one was in there at the time, so you thought that you could sit down and relax your feet for a while. Grim took to scurrying on the table to see if anyone left any food.

He soon came back with a piece of break and sat in front of you on the table, “I’m already beat from cleaning all day.. Now we have to wash a hundred windows, too…” He bit off a piece of the bread.

You could only shake your head, “You could have not fought a kid with magic, but I digress.”

He looked openly offended at your comment, but then, he looked around the room, noticing something, “That Ace guy is sure taking his sweet time. Who does he think he is, making me wait! I'm ticked off!”

“Give him a bit. The kid can’t take that long, and who knows he might be lost. He is a first year,” You were trying to give the kid the benefit of the doubt.

Grim just huffed and ripped another piece of the bread off with his mouth. It seems like today was not his day either.

Grim finished the bread and maybe five minutes had passed and the cat gained a furrowed brow and crossed arms.

Twenty minutes had passed and the cat had begun to tap his tail vigorously against the table.

About half an hour had passed by the time Grim jumped up and began to stomp on the table and pull on your coat.

“... I don't care what happened, there is no way he's this late!” He pointed at the door for a second then a lightbulb went off in his head, “Wait, he wouldn't just skip out, right?”

He sprinted out of the room out of the large doors yelling, “I'm not gonna let him get away with putting all the punishment on us! Let's go henchmen! We're gonna catch Ace and make him do all the window washing!”

You slapped your forehead and casually jogged after the cat.

You two ended up heading down the hallway and up a set of stairs into a classroom. Problem was that the classroom was empty, and Grim was still upset.

You were not having this, “Grim let’s just go back and clean the windows and tell the Headmaster. I’d rather not fight him for him to just not listen.” Your social battery was almost out, and you did not want to go through another confrontation.

Grim could never listen to you, “Orraaaa! Where's Ace! We're not gonna let you hide away! .....Ah, there's nobody here!?” He finally realized the obvious.

At least until a voice came out of nowhere, “No, I’m here.”

Grim jumped behind you and latched onto your cloak, “Fffgyyyaaaaaaaaa!!!! The picture talked!!” His hand trembled while pointing to a picture of the wall of the classroom.

The painting on the wall looked offended at the cat’s statement, “What now? It's not uncommon for paintings to talk at this school.The Wall Lady over there, the Wall Gentleman over here, everyone can speak. Portraits can speak because they have a mouth. That's normal, you know?”

“How high am I today?” You announced to both the cat and the painting.

The painting ignored your remark and continued his story, “Rather than restlessly floating in the air, I've been sitting still on this wall perfectly for more than fifty years. Your 'normal' and my 'normal' differ in regards to our quirks. Isn't that true. That aside, who are you looking for?”

You, then, noticed that out one of the long windows there was a figure flashing in the side of your vision. The figure seemed to scurry out of view once you turned around, so you assumed that they were watching you beforehand. You could not think of anyone in this school who you would have charmed as much for them to follow you and stalk you, but there always is that possibility. You continued to stare out the window waiting for a sign that something had changed until Grim vigorously tugged on your cloak in the direction of the door to the classroom. You assumed his conversation with the painting went well for once he got your attention, he was off.

Down the hall and out the window of the cafeteria again, Grim ran out of school and even asked a couple (one with green hair and odd eye brows yelled at you to not bother his job and another was the pair of twins you met this morning who glared at you two when you walked too close) while you patiently walked behind him where this ‘East building’ was. Finally, he arrived while you were behind him out of breath with a hand on your chest .

This building had to have been the most wack building you have ever seen: there were seven large mirror entrance things with weird accessories all around them. One of them looked broken, one had bat wings on them, and one even had sand surrounding it. All of this was from a movie or book, and it was incredibly obvious.

In front of the main entrance to this odd entrance area, you stood with your hands on your knees and your breath gone.

Then, in front of you a male with red orange hair stood, and you knew that he was your target.

“No way I’m washing a 100 windows. Gonna head home…” The target crossed his arms and shrunk his shoulders.

Grim decided that sneaking up on him was off the table, “Heeeeeeey yoooouuuuu!!!” The male swiveled around locking eyes with your dumb cat and then yourself before yelling, “Geh! Found me!” and running away

Grim was having none of it and ran after him. Both of them began to yell at each other while running around the place.

You, however, found the perfect person to help you: another male with dark blue hair in the same uniform as Ace or whatever. You judged that he was the perfect person to catch him as the target was running in his direction. So you screamed and pointed to the red head, “Catch that idiot!” because what else would people listen to.

The blue haired male panicked and started glancing around the room to figure out what to do while mumbling something-Grim even responding once- until he finally cried out, “Anything is fine, so come on! Something heavy!”

The ‘something heavy’ ended up sending the target into a pancake, causing you to laugh and miss some of the next exchange of shouts between the three.

Once you turned back around to face them you caught the end of a phrase said by your target directed at you, you assumed, as his eyes were locked on yours, “Those 100 windows should be clean in a flash.”

“Okay, dude, I don’t think you know how to count because 5 windows lasts me three songs on my playlist,” How hard is this college if this dude can’t even count? “Besides, how big are these windows. I was told nothing besides cafeteria, after school, and clean a hundred windows.”

The red head scoffed at your answer and rolled his eyes at you. The blue head’s eyes widened after he whipped his head in your direction, and he opened his mouth only to close it again and ask a question, “Washing 100 windows as punishment... What in the world did you all do?”

The target voiced his opinion on the situation, “I got into it a bit with the furball, and we might have charred the Queen of Hearts' statue a bit.”

The blue head began shouting at the target about how “people would get angry with” and “on the first day.”

The red head yelled back at him, but you were distracted because the mention of Grim gave you an odd feeling in your stomach like he was going to do something wrong. You surveyed the area, seeing if he was even present, and to you absolutely surprise, he was not.

Missing both of the boy’s introductions, you called out, “Grim yeeted himself out of here, dudes.”

Both males blanked for a second before their faces darted to you and then to where the cat was to find him with a call from Ace of, “Ah! The furball’s gone!”

There was then a conversation between the two while you quickly got to work searching for the direction he went in until the redhead pulled you by both of your shoulders to motion to you while keeping eye contact with the other guy, “This deadweight can’t use magic so they don’t count! Let’s go!”

And you were off, chasing after a cat that would never listen to you with two idiots who were arguing in each other’s faces.

You all ran through hallways to find him and even peeked in classrooms to search for him, but you were empty handed. However, once you got to the cafeteria, the cat was already present and scurrying around on all four of his legs.

Red head bolted after him only to end up face first into a wall, “Darn it! He’s darting around everywhere!”

Grim let out a snicker watching the read head’s fail, “Catch me if you can suckers!” He mocked all of you by blowing raspberries and sticking out his tongue.

You tried to predict Grim’s general direction and walked to that area missing out on the red-blue combo’s discussion, but with their brains they could never completely destroy anything.

So you were wrong. They managed to decimate an old ginormous chandelier that looked to be something on the top 10 richest people in the world could pay for. The red-blue combo had the combined IQ of 2 because blue decided that since Grim managed to climb onto the chandelier, they can try too.

And you breathed once and strolled over to them with a smile on your face, making the three of them turn around and stare at your state, “How dumb can you be? I was positive that you were older than three, but now I’m not sure.” You smacked your forehead and kept your hand there, “Really. I could deal with the fight because this is an all boys school and testosterone runs high, but ruining such an expensive chandelier that even if I became one of the richest people in this world I would not be able to pay back is not what is ‘acceptable’ to me.”

Grim drunkenly scurried to you and grabbed onto your cloak to keep him standing, "Pleasee, pleaseee, help us!” He fell to the floor and you picked him right up and placed him on your hip.

The blue haired male started pulling on his hair, “I-I screwed up! I didn't think about the landing!”

Ace swiveled to him almost tripping over his foot and began his statement with utmost calmness, “Are you... AN IDIOT!? We caught Grim but if the Headmaster finds out we busted the chandelier..”

You locked eyes with him and smiled even brighter, “There was just a big crash in one of the largest rooms in this school, meaning that any loud noise in this room is going to bounce off all the walls, but let’s not forget we also left the doors open. Of course, the headmaster knows!” You threw your hands up in the air trying not to punch this kid in the face because you did not want another crime of assault added to your list of damaged public property twice.

A cough was heard located near the front of the cafeteria, causing all four of you to circle your heads in that direction only to find the very bane of your existence there.

The headmaster.

“If I... find out?” He stuttered out clearly trying to calm all of the anger in his body because this was the first day of school and no one needed this.

This began a very long conversation between the headmaster and the two kids who had an total IQ of 2. Grim was stuck on your hip for all of the speech while the blue haired kid basically begged the headmaster for a way to both fix the chandelier and stay in the school.

The headmaster could only reply to the boy’s question with, “There is no normal chandelier. This is a magical chandelier that uses candles that will burn for eternity. It is a masterpiece made by a legendary maester of magical tools. It has been entrusted to the school since its very foundation...Taking into consideration to its historical value, it would cost no less than a billion Madol.” He gazed down at the boy with his hands across his chest, “Can you pay for those damages?”

The kid was busy panicking to himself while the kid who you fought this morning let out a confused “But, Teacher, can't you just fix it up with magic…”

The headmaster could only shake his head, “Magic is not all powerful. More importantly, the magic crystal, what we call the Heart of any magical tool was shattered. No two magic crystals are the same. The chandelier will never be lit again.”

The two males had to look down and mumble to themselves because they could not argue against him.

However, once the headmaster brought up that the crystal that powered the chandelier (whatever that was) was located in the Dwarf’s mine the blue head seemed stuck on going as to not get expelled. You all had to deliver the crystal before tomorrow morning, not giving you much time.

You could only hope that you still could have a roof over your head if you got this crystal, so you followed after the blue head’s sprint out of the cafeteria with Grim attached to you. You breathed in again and realized that you have gotten no sleep for around 24 hours, but there’s nothing you can do besides going on this adventure.

Here’s to adventuring.

Grim had managed to miss a huge portion of what just happened as he passed out after blue threw red onto the chandelier, but now Grim has wide eyes directed to you when you told him that, “Yeah, you should have stayed asleep because we might be getting thrown out of our only home.”

Red pulled on his hair complaining, “Aaaah.. Why did it turn into something like this? Today is really not my day..”

Blue was quiet for once, suspiciously, and glared at red, “Now isn't the time for mumbling! Let's go!” You three had finally made it to the mirror chamber and while you might normally gaze in awe at the floating coffins and mirror, this is not the time for that.

Blue turned to face the mirror and began, “Mirror, mirror on the wall! Light our way to Dwarf’s mine!”

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twst x reader #ace trappola #deuce spade #twst grim #twst x you #twst x mc

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samingtonwilson · 4 years

Text

Apartment 8C - Chapter 2

Finding Your Independence

SERIES MASTERLIST // PREVIOUS PART

Summary: college au. you and bucky are the closest of friends, the most functional of roommates, and… exes. but just because it didn’t work out romantically doesn’t mean he has to move out! it’s not like he’s so deeply in love that he can barely breathe. totally not in love. at all. not even a little. maybe.

Pairing: bucky x reader

Warnings: language

A/N: the chapter title is ironic because this chapter is about how dependent these two are on each other.

A scream startles you from accidental sleep. Deep, broken, and utterly terrified.

It’s half-past six. Your room is bathed in gold. Fading sunlight and emerging city lights leak through the thin drapes over your windows. You set your chin onto an open textbook.

Your eyes open narrowly. You need to listen carefully. You could have dreamt the scream.

A slow second passes, your eyes nearly shut, and then—

Another scream. This time of your name. Your eyes snap back open.

You flip the pen you fell asleep holding, gripping it as a weapon while groggily— but with great haste, of course— climbing out of bed.

Heartbeat in your ears, you sigh and kick away the thick purple blanket your feet are tangled in, throwing your door open to an empty living room.

The front door is shut, your television hasn’t been ripped from the wall, everything is in its place. Even Bucky’s laptop sits undisturbed on the coffee table next to an almost totally flat bag of Doritos.

You tilt your head.

From behind the bathroom door, your name is screamed again. And a whimper punctuates it.

In all your time of knowing Bucky, you’ve never once heard him so terrified.

You swallow over the tension tightening your throat and pick up the first semi-threatening object you see: the penis-shaped vase Bucky had “unintentionally” made in ceramics during the semester he’d devoted to discovering his artistic side.

You toss the pink peonies it houses aside and grip the vase tightly, pen poised in your other hand. You use your elbow to open the door, eyes narrowed and teeth gritted in an attempt to look tough. Objects held above your head, you’re about to strike when—

When you see Bucky standing on top of the toilet. Towel wrapped haphazardly around his waist, chestnut hair dripping, his blue eyes wild. He’s also pale as a ghost, but his fearful expression takes only seconds to shift into one of confusion.

One which matches yours. “You’re not being murdered?”

“No!” he shouts back to meet your volume. He points at the glass wall enclosing the shower, finger shaking. “There’s a fucking spider in there!”

Your teeth grit again. But this time in anger. “You shrieked like someone was beheading you over a spider?”

Seconds later, you gasp dramatically as you ask, “You woke me up from a nap over a spider?”

He at least has the decency to be sheepish. “S’a big spider.”

“You’re six-feet tall and have, like, 185 pounds on that spider.”

“Size doesn’t matter. I raise you the poisonous spiders of Australia.”

Nodding, you hold out your forearm to help Bucky off the toilet seat. You grunt at the weight of him.

Maybe 185 is a stingy estimation.

“Okay, I see your poisonous spiders of Australia and raise you ‘we’re in New fucking York, Bucky.’”

Standing on the floor now, he winces when you use the back of your hand to slap his bicep. “There are poisonous spiders in New York, too, okay? We’re all afraid of something.”

Silence as you regard him, a sigh as you concede. “Okay.” You ignore his victorious smile. “I’ll take care of it. Can you just turn the water off, please?”

“And get close to that thing again?” he demands, outrage clear in his voice. He tries to keep his towel in place with one hand as he gesticulates with the other. “No! You do it.”

“My clothes will get wet and I’m not in the mood to strip for you right now.”

He smiles at that. “S’not like I haven’t seen it all before.”

“Yeah? You wanna make ‘we’ve fucked before’ jokes right now? When the fate of you ever using this bathroom again is in my hands?”

An almost pathetic whimper and he relents with hands held up in surrender. He approaches the shower slowly and, with a scowl, reaches for the knob once, twice, three times before finally gripping it and turning it to the left.

Once the steady stream of water is reduced to mere drops, Bucky stands back and sends you a glare. “Happy?”

“Elated.” You set your weapons on the counter and rip off two sheets of paper towel.

“Kill it quickly.”

“I’m not gonna kill it.”

He snorts as he stands leant against the doorframe. “What, are you gonna adopt it as the apartment pet?”

“No, funny guy. I’m gonna let it go on the balcony.”

“What if it comes back in?”

“Then we’ll get the Five Families together and let the Mafia handle it.”

When you finally spot the thick, quarter-sized spider, you inhale through your nose and step into the shower stall slowly. You brace yourself with one hand wrapped around the edge of the glass wall. Your features are pinched.

Bucky grins at the sight. “You scared, baby?”

A sarcastic bark of laughter, and you crack one eye open. You almost convince him. “Please.”

It takes little coaxing for the brown spider to crawl onto the paper towel and you immediately fold each side of it closed. There’s a soft scratch of the spider’s legs against the paper walls, more felt than heard, and you forcefully choke back vomit.

You bump into Bucky as you race out of the bathroom, his towel very nearly slipping from his fingers, and don’t slow your steps until you’re across the living room and have pushed the balcony doors open.

Carefully, you unfold one side of the makeshift cocoon and squeal quietly to yourself as the spider stumbles into a flower box attached to the metal rail. It quickly scurries behind a wilting tulip and you make a mental note to water the plants more.

“You were coming to protect me with this?”

Bucky, now dressed in a t-shirt and a pair of navy blue sweatpants, is holding the penis vase when you turn. He stands at a safe distance, shielded by the door, and has the nerve to wear a shit-eating grin. “You know there’s a baseball bat behind the couch, right?”

“Now I do.”

“I also gave you pepper spray when you enrolled in that nine PM lecture,” he adds as you walk through the door and right past him. He places the vase back on its shelf and nods his head toward the kitchen. “There are knives right there, too.”

You pick up the bag of Doritos, confirm that it is indeed empty, and frown. “Disgusting. I’d never stab someone.”

“Even if they were murdering me like you thought?” He takes the bag from you and balls it up to throw in the trash. He wants to open the refrigerator but knows the groceries he forgot to buy won’t magically appear on the shelves.

“Knives are such a cliché, everyone uses knives. He’d see it coming.” You grin at Bucky through the explanation from your favorite corner of the couch and he stills behind the kitchen counter. “The key is throwing him off his rhythm. Penis vase serves that purpose.”

He laughs, albeit a bit oddly, rolling his eyes as he opens the Notes app on his phone. And he draws a blank. “What, uh— What foods do you like?”

“Excuse me?”

“Do you have any favorite foods?”

He’s met with silence.

He decides to explain. Sort of. “Like, what do you want to eat most of the time? What is it that you crave? Food-wise,” he adds with a cocked eyebrow. “What is it you know how to make that you enjoy eating? Are you acting out of lunacy again and dieting for no fuckin’ reason?”

Seconds go by and you have yet to answer. He looks up from his phone and answers the question over your features with, “Just out of curiosity.”

“Not because you have zero idea what to buy from the store?”

“Can’t a guy wonder what his friend, ex-girlfriend, and roommate is eating these days? Just for fun? To bond?”

Your eyes narrow into a glare. “Not when that guy is you and it’s your turn to go grocery shopping. I thought I gave you a list a few days ago.”

“You yell random items at me on your way out the door for class and I’m expected to remember it all?”

“You yelled your feelings at me constantly and I was expected to remember it all,” you return as you rise from the couch and draw closer to him only to sit in one of the barstools at the counter. You watch as he opens his Notes application again and stare as he struggles to come up with anything. “Green apples, white peaches, red bell peppers, yellow onions. Don’t look at me like that. The colors are important.”

“Yeah, yeah. What are you doing for dinner? Might take me some time to decipher colors at the store.”

Chin propped up on your palm, you slide his phone over and ignore his expression of protest to add eggs, sourdough bread, avocados, pre-cut mushrooms, celery, hummus, whatever pasta is shaped like a spiral, tortilla chips, oat milk, any flavor of microwave popcorn Wanda won’t finish, and for God’s sake, you fucking wreck, buy your own gum for once to the grocery list.

“S’okay. I’m not really hungry anyway.”

“You’re always hungry.”

You gasp in offense with a small, contradictory smile. “How dare you? That’s not something you say to a lady.”

He smiles sarcastically before rolling his eyes. “If you need me to rush so you can make something, I will.”

“Too tired to make anything. Also just too untalented to.”

“Come with me, then. We can stop somewhere on the way back.” He sees you begin to refuse and cuts you off with a quick, “I’ll pay.”

“If you think you paying for my food is incentive enough for me to put on human pants and walk out that door,” you begin, pointing at the door, “then you’re absolutely correct. Give me a second to put jeans on.”

You hear Bucky’s chuckle as you walk into your room, tossing away that pair of fleece pants your mother had begged you to burn to ash the last time you’d seen her and replacing them with a pair of jeans your mother had also begged you to burn to ash. “How do you feel about Sam and Nat?”

“About Sam, negatively. About Tasha, positively.” He’s patting the pockets of his sweats and tossing couch cushions every which way to look under them, hair in disarray, when you hop into the room with only your right boot on. In a mumbled, barely present voice, he adds, “So I guess that balances out to feeling neutral about them together.”

Slipping on and zipping up your left boot, you cock an eyebrow at the elephant throw pillow which is sent smacking against your ankles. “Have you lost something?”

He doesn’t look up from the sofa as he replies, “Keys. Where the shit are my fucking keys?”

“D’you check the cabinet closest to the fridge?”

“Why the fuck—”

You sigh and begin to set the cushions back where they belong, placing the elephant gingerly at the center of the couch. “Just check.”

Bucky’s grumbles as he passes by, his scoffs of disbelief, and sighs of annoyance are ignored until you hear his every noise abruptly end as he stares at the cabinet he is now standing before.

“Find ‘em?”

There are equal parts shock, fear, and exasperation over his features. He slams the cabinet shut. “You’re a witch, aren’t you? Some kind of freaky, all knowing witch?”

“Yes. Do you have your wallet?”

A pat on each of his pockets, then one against his ass— despite not having a pocket there. He bares his teeth for a moment. “You wanna tell me where that is, too?”

“Can I get three guesses this time?”

“Two,” he states, leaning against the counter. “Impress me.”

“First of all, I couldn’t give half a shit about impressing you.” Bucky snorts at that. “It’s either in the freezer—”

He opens the freezer and the next thing you hear is a loud, “Ha! Whoo! You’re wrong!”

“I have another guess.”

He visibly deflates, smug smile wiped clean. “Yeah, yeah. Go on.”

“Counter of your bathroom, in the pocket of whatever jeans you wore to class.”

You run a few steps behind his long strides to the bathroom and stand in the doorway as he fishes through the pile of dirty clothes beside the sink.

He thinks he might hate the smile you’re wearing when he pulls his wallet from the depths of denim, but he can’t bring himself to hate it— he feels quite the opposite about it, actually. It’s worth the inevitable gloating and the crazy accurate interpretation of a celebratory dance you saw a football player you can’t remember the name of do after a touchdown.

You’re laughing when he brushes past you to walk to the door and grin as you pass him so he can lock it behind you. “What would you do without me, Buck?”

He honestly doesn’t know.

—

Your laughter captures Bucky’s attention. Delighted, excited, and entirely too loud.

He’s been nursing a red Solo cup of lukewarm supermarket-brand cola for about two hours now.

It’s disgusting. Watered-down now that the ice has melted, but still too sweet and a little flat. He would’ve liked to cut it with the bitterness of anything alcoholic, but he can’t.

He’s designated driver tonight, after all. The miserable result of a miserable coin toss.

He’d suggested thumb wrestling— but you weren’t having it. Something about his thumb being far larger than yours, giving him an unfair advantage. Almost as if you’d known he’d chosen thumb wrestling for that precise reason.

So he’s spent the night pouting.

Complaining.

Glowering at anyone that dares to make conversation with him.

Because he hates the cheap soda Steve buys. He hates the sticky counters Sam waits hours to wipe down. And he hates hearing underclassmen talk about how hot you are when your ping pong ball skates over the rim of one of Natasha’s cups.

But he smiles at the sound of your laughter. At the way you grin, all smug and victorious. It lights up otherwise glossy eyes, drunken giggles growing clumsy as Natasha frowns down at a cup matching his.

“You gotta drink it down, babe!” You lean your hip against the plastic table set up in the kitchen and purse your lips when Natasha fishes the beer-soaked ball from her cup to toss at your shoulder. “Poor sportsmanship is unbecoming on you.”

Natasha rolls green eyes over the top of the cup, chugging its contents easily. “Just like cockiness is on you.”

“Let’s not lie to ourselves, Nat.” Natasha is already struggling against a smile. “We all know cockiness is dead sexy on me.”

Beside Bucky, Sam laughs. He raises his hands in innocence and surrender when Natasha shoots him a glare. “Not pickin’ sides, that was just funny.”

“You’re not picking your girlfriend’s side automatically?” is Bucky’s question asked in a voice exaggeratedly naïve. He grins lopsidedly as he takes a sip of soda only to retch as it goes down. “That’s brave.”

You watch as Natasha pitches her next shot over the rim of one of four remaining cups. You send Bucky a smile as you retrieve it. “Bucky was always on my side when we were together.”

His devious smile is like a secret between the two of you. He hums in agreement. “Blindly.”

“Loyally.” You hold the cup at your lips, stomach and cheeks warm from three hours of generous beer and mixed drink helpings. Your next swallow goes down with a shudder.

“I’d root against myself for her.”

“S’more pathetic than loyal,” Sam snorts only to earn a squeak of indignation and an empty cup to the chest in response. Despite purported offense, he chuckles at your delighted laughter and quickly sobers to point a stern finger. “Makin’ a mess of my kitchen like this. Rogers’ll kill you.”

In challenge, you cock an eyebrow. “He’ll kill you first when he sees all the candy missing from his secret stash.”

“Barnes ate all that.”

Bucky’s stomach flips at the way you tilt your head and narrow your eyes, at the soft flutter of your eyelashes, the promise in your voice when you say, “Blind loyalty, Sammy. That isn’t the story I’ll tell Steve.”

“You aren’t even dating anymore.”

You wave a dismissive hand. “I’ll always be on Bucky’s side. Plus if I go down, I’m taking you with me.”

Pointedly at a glowering Sam, Bucky tears the wrapper of a fun-size Twix bar and takes as big a bite as the small bar will allow.

There’s caramel in his teeth and smug satisfaction in his eyes as he stuffs the gold foil into the pocket of Sam’s bomber jacket, laughing when the latter slaps his hand away.

What feels like a lifetime passes and Bucky waits until you’ve completed a second game— this time defeated by a furious and candy-less Steve— to Irish goodbye.

It’s his signature.

He hasn’t said a proper goodbye to anyone in years.

Your drunkenness, however, foils his plan. You insist on pressing kisses to the forehead of each of your friends— lingering a bit longer for Sam just to earn a snort from Natasha— and you tap the fishbowl housing a temperamental turquoise Betta fish named Marcel twice as you couldn’t just exclude Marcel and hurt his feelings. You even leave them with an ominous, “I hope we will all meet again.”

He lets you climb onto his back when you stumble out of his car to your building, tripping over the four-inch block heel of your boots, and soon the elevator stall is filled with your humming. Unintelligible, entirely out of tune. And you swing your legs. Dysrhythmic, offbeat.

He smiles when you set your chin upon the crown of his head, his hold on you tightening as the metallic doors slide open on the eighth floor. He feels the deep breath you take against his back, his attention drawn away from the short walk down the hall when your feather-like fingertips trace his jaw.

Nails skimming over the bristly hairs of his stubbly beard to the hidden divot in his chin, you— already flush against him— attempt to push yourself even closer. And huff in disappointment when you’re unable to.

You feel him come to a stop. “Sweetheart?”

A short hum, this time in question.

“I gotta unlock the door.”

You open your eyes slowly, blink away some of the drowsiness. You think offhandedly that the pale yellow door could use a fresh coat of paint. “I’ll do it.” You hold out a hand and wiggle your fingers. “Keys?”

“In my left pocket.” He chuckles when your right hand slides down the incorrect side. “Other left.”

You heave a deep sigh, your other hand slipping into his left pocket to feel around. The jingle of keys is muted by your triumphant shout, fingers sorting through the bundle of steel to find the one semi-coated in bright pink nail polish. You decide that should be repainted first lest the two of you mix up your keys again.

Bucky watches as you attempt to stretch enough to reach the doorknob, jolting each time you urge yourself forward. He grins when you whimper pathetically. “You can ask me to move closer.”

The arm still wrapped around his neck tightens a bit and you press your cheek to the roughness of his. You strain toward the door once more in stubborn perseverance, then knock your heels against the side of his thighs. He laughs at the growl in his ear.

“Ask me verbally. I’m not a horse.”

“Got the name of one,” you mumble, crossing your ankles at his waist as he grips you harder. “Longer you stand there refusing to move, the longer you have-ta hold me up.”

“Been lifting with Steve. I’m content to stand here all night.”

“What, trying to get that post-breakup revenge body?”

“Gotta do something to fill all my new free time.”

A hiccup punctuates your giggles and Bucky feels you straighten before leaning back ever so slightly.

Suddenly, you jerk forward with all of your might, sending Bucky lurching to the door. He has to remove a hand from your legs to steady himself against the wall, breath shallow and heart in his ears when he notices he’s only centimeters from smashing into the wood. “Hey!”

You, still holding on, shush him as you slip the key into the brass latch, whispering, “Our neighbors are sleeping.”

Once you’re able to throw the door open and Bucky walks inside, you detangle your ankles and leap to the floor as the lights flicker on. You laugh when your knees very nearly buckle, fingers gripping the edge of the kitchen counter under a wave of lightheadedness. Your stomach flips and every trace of humor fades. “Yikes.”

Bucky, halfway through removing the leather jacket he’d worn over a black hoodie, watches as you lay your torso across the counter. He smiles when you press your cheek to the cool marble, his laughter mingling with the groans that leave your lips.

Your muffled grumble sounds vaguely like, “Oh, shut up.”

His steps are slow and quiet. He offers you an apologetic smile when you startle at his touch, brushing stray strands of hair from your shut eyes. He wrinkles his nose at your answering scowl, watching as glassy eyes still filled with such potent brightness narrow in an attempt at intimidation. “Need a lift to your bathroom?”

You shake your head. Propping yourself up onto your forearms, you nod toward your room. “It’ll be too shaky. Maybe just guide me there?”

His fingers lace through yours and he tugs you upright. He doesn’t mind supporting the weight of you, doesn’t care that he has to dodge the books and shoes you’ve left littered over your bedroom floor.

Your bathroom light is switched on and you pull away from Bucky to take quick, stuttering steps to the toilet. He winces to himself when you fall to your knees, your trembling hands clamoring to push the seat cover up.

As you feel that maybe your stomach has turned itself inside out, Bucky gathers your hair in one hand and holds you close to his chest with the other— just in case you need the support. Until then, though, he rubs comforting circles which warm you even through the satin fabric of your shirt.

“Twix and beer are a horrible combination coming up,” you remark, voice rough, minutes later. You’re seated against him once you’ve thoroughly emptied your system, head falling back onto his shoulder. “That last game of beer pong was a mistake.”

He feels your breath wash over his skin and, despite how perfectly okay he would be with sitting there for hours, turns his head away. “Sweetheart, I want to be here for you but— but I can’t when your breath smells like that.”

Stunned pause, and you burst into laughter. Tired hands are used as leverage and you stand, boots long ago removed and thrown aside. You send him a smile over your shoulder and roll your eyes but face the sink as he grins dopily back. “You’re weak, Barnes.”

He meets your playful gaze in the mirror and, at the sight of pooled dried mascara underlining your eyes and the thin layer of sweat spread over the bridge of your nose, he forces himself to take a steadying breath. “You have no idea. Hungry?”

Loading your toothbrush with translucent paste, you shrug. “Maybe.”

“Grilled cheese or pancakes?”

“If I say both, will you judge me?”

“I just held your hair back while you threw up a keg’s worth of beer and you’re afraid I’ll start to judge you now?”

You smile as you scrub your teeth in rapid strokes. “There was some vodka in there, too.”

Shoulder leant against the doorframe, his eyes are alight. “My mistake. Anything else you’d like while I’m at it?”

“Some ibuprofen?” you ask after spitting the foam from your mouth. “I’m all out here.”

A frown of consideration, and he nods. “Will that be all?”

“Yes, I believe it will be.” Before he can walk out, you call his name. “What would I do without you?”

He honestly hopes you’ll never have to find out.

CHAPTER 3: GETTING BACK IN THE GAME

#bucky #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes college au #a8c

703 notes · View notes

awhitehead17 · 4 years

Text

Memory Matters

Tim & Ra’s, Tim & Dick & Jason, Amnesia, Amnesiac Tim, Angst, confusion, Suspicions, Small bit of manipulation.

Summary: When Tim wakes up with no memory of his life, he has no idea on what to do or think until a man greets him and offers some guidance. From that very first meeting Tim knew something was off about him and he comes to learn that everything is not what it seems.

A/N: This is done for 'amnesia' on my Batfam bingo card and also developed from an ask I got a few weeks ago. This is part 1 of 2.

Enjoy! :D

Waking up was strange.

He tried processing some of his thoughts as he takes in the unfamiliar ceiling above him and finds that nothing comes to mind. There were no thoughts but only the ones he’s thinking now. What was going on? What happened?

Initial panic starts spiralling inside of him once he realises that he can’t remember what happened. The panic gets worse when he realises he couldn’t remember anything. What was going on? Where was he? What happened?

He could feel his heart pounding inside of his chest and his breathing becoming quicker with each passing second. Why was it hard to breathe? What was going on? He couldn’t he breathe, why can’t he breathe?

In the back of his mind some thoughts filter through, ones that didn’t feel like his own. Control your breathing, in through the nose and out through the mouth. You need to calm down. Those thoughts seemed to be controlled and not panicked. They didn’t help much though because he kept panicking. He was now beginning to become light-headed, his heart was pounding and his chest felt tight. Why couldn’t he remember anything? What was going on?

In through the nose and out through the mouth.

That thought came in his mind again and not knowing what else to do he listened to it. Breathing in through the nose and out through the mouth like it instructed. After a while he becomes thankful that he listened to the odd thought in his mind because soon enough he could breathe again, the tightness in his chest eases and his heart also slows down as his head clears.

Once he seemed to be in control, he pushes himself up into a sitting position and surveys his surroundings. He was currently on a plush bed with a thin blanket over him. In front of him was a wide rectangular room. A desk and chair were pushed against the adjacent wall where a small window was above it, a door was on the opposite side and on the wall opposite to the bed there was another door.

There wasn’t much else to take in, the walls were a cream yellow, the furniture was brown, and the bedding was a deep red colour. While sat on the bed he felt out of place, he was somewhere he couldn’t remember and surrounded by things he didn’t know. It felt wrong. He felt wrong and he couldn’t describe why. Though it wasn’t hard to guess that his memory problem was having an impact on his feelings.

He needs to find out more. He needs answers.

Staying on the bed wasn’t getting him anywhere so he decides to get up. Once on his feet he finds that he’s dressed in simple clothes, a plain red shirt and loose black pants with nothing on his feet. He moves gingerly about the room, peering at the furniture trying to pick up on anything that would tell him more. There were no pictures hung up in the room and there seemed to be nothing personal lying about which could give him some clues.

However, just as he was about to enter the door opposite the bed, the door to his right opens. It reveals a man in a long green and gold robe who strides into the room like he owns it. As the unknown man walks in he feels all of his hair stand on end and not knowing what else to do he quickly creates distance between them by standing on the opposite side of the bed.

A tense atmosphere develops within the room as they stare at one another, both silently observing the other. He can’t help but notice that no good feelings come from seeing this man. He felt like he knew him but again, it didn’t feel right, it felt wrong like something was off. He simply couldn’t remember what or why to justify those feelings.

“Nice to see you finally awake. How do you feel?” The man asks.

He swallows, “Where am I?”

The stranger doesn’t seem surprised by the question or his bluntness. “I understand that you may be confused, please allow me to explain.” He starts to slowly pace the room, sending glances at him with every few steps. “You were involved in an accident. There were… bad people after you, ones that wanted to hurt you. They nearly did but luckily I was nearby and got you away, unfortunately not without damage. From the accident you lost your memories. You’re here because it’s safe and because I want to help you.”

He blinks at the man as he explains. He’s lost his memories. Something bad happened and now he can’t remember anything because of it. What was so bad to cause something like that to happen? Who was after him and why? He had so many questions he wanted to ask but he found he couldn’t voice any of them. The man opposite him seems to understand his silence.

“It’s going to take time to recover. It’s undetermined if you’ll ever get your memories back, but know this: you are safe here. No one can hurt you anymore, I promise.”

He doesn’t know why, but those words send chills down his spine.

Somehow he finds his voice. “What’s my name?” He asks in the end. While he certainly wants to know the major stuff he also needs to know the little stuff, all the little details he no longer knows but feels like he really should. He can work his way up to the big stuff.

The man’s gaze pierces him, “Your name is Timothy Drake and I am Ra’s al Ghul.” He pauses and heads back towards the door he originally walked through. “Now come with me. We can talk and start getting you up to speed with things you would like to know.”

He hesitates, going with this man doesn’t sit right with him but what other choice does he have? He can’t remember anything and if this man can tell him the answers he needs, then why not?

In the end he cautiously walks towards him, his bare feet stepping on the thin carpet on the floor until he reaches the door, then together they exit the room and head down a corridor he unsurprisingly doesn’t know.

Time seems to blend together after waking up with no memories for the first time. Tim plods through each day, trying to keep himself busy but most of all trying to learn who he was. Despite his amnesia he still remembers a lot of things, he still has those basic functions where he can read, write and name things. The only thing he seems to be missing is information about himself, his family, friends, basically his life.

It frustrates him that he can’t remember them, he really wants to but his mind is blank every time he tries to think about them. Ra’s doesn’t help in that regards either. The man doesn’t offer information to Tim about his personal life before the accident. He does, however, help Tim everywhere else he can. Ra’s teaches Tim about the world which he had forgotten, teaches him some history, how to cook, what types of nature there was, he even teaches him some self-defence and how to fight.

Even though the man comes across as friendly and helps him, Tim still gets an uneasy feeling every time he’s near Ra’s. Even though it’s been weeks since he first woke up, the feeling hasn’t gone away. It also doesn’t help that there’s a voice in the back of his mind telling him he should be getting out of there, that he should get as far away from Ra’s as far as possible.

Tim’s never listened to that voice because where would he go? He’s living in a place that’s in the middle of nowhere surrounded by nothing but vast emptiness. If he did leave he would be on his own with no hopes of having shelter, food, transport or anything! Also, if he did leave how would he start finding his family? How would he know where to go? He’s sure there was a way somehow but until he works out the solution, he’s stuck where he was for now.

It’s now, weeks after Tim first woke up, that something major happens. He and Ra’s were in what resembles a living room playing a game of chess when the window suddenly explodes into thousands of tiny pieces.

Tim startles so badly he actually falls off the sofa. There in front of him were two men, one was dressed like a bat who had a cowl over his head and the other wore black and blue spandex with a mask over half of his face. Next to him Ra’s stands up straight, whips out a sword from somewhere and stands defensively against the two attackers.

“Enough is enough Ra’s, let him go!” The black and blue man snarls. He bares his teeth and gets into a defensive position opposite them.

Ra’s looks over his shoulder and down at Tim, “Timothy, remember when you first woke and I told you that bad people wanted to hurt you?”

All Tim could do was nod in answer. His voice was caught in his throat as he stares at the two men in front of them. There was an unfamiliar tugging happening inside of him, there was something about them but Tim couldn’t put his finger on what it was. They seemed familiar but he doesn’t know how.

Ra’s authoritative voice breaks his thoughts, “It was these exact people who wanted you harm you. Go to your room and do not come out until I come and get you. Understand?”

Tim numbly nods again, still staring at the other two men with wide eyes. Before he could react further the black and blue man was shouting and rushing towards them, Ra’s meets him halfway and in a blink they were engaged in a fight. The man dressed like a bat soon joins them fighting.

Not knowing what else to do Tim flees and heads towards his bedroom, doing exactly what Ra’s told him to do. As he runs through the corridors the tugging feeling doesn’t go away, it only seems to intensify.

He knows those people, somehow he knows them, but Ra’s said they wanted to hurt him. Did he know them because they had been after him before he had amnesia? In the back of his mind something was screaming at him, telling hm to go back and fight, this is a chance to get free and to get away from Ra’s.

He ignores it and runs into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him as he passes through it. After shutting it, Tim slumps against the door with a heavy sigh. Who were those people and why did they seem familiar? That tugging feeling was still inside of him and it’s like an itch he can’t scratch, they mean something to him but what?

Tim doesn’t get to dwell on his thoughts for very long because suddenly there was a bang on the other side of the door. Tim yelps in surprise and darts away from the door just in time as it gets flung open. A different guy from the other two men enters his room. This man was dressed in a leather jacket, body armour, gun holsters, the guns he happened to be carrying and a red helmet. The third stranger looks around the room as if searching for something and pauses when he finds Tim standing a couple feet away staring at him.

Tim has no idea what to expect, but it certainly wasn’t the way the guy relaxes and puts his guns away. “Thank god. Right, we don’t have much time but the planes out back so let’s go.”

Before he could react, the helmet guy was turning around and exiting the room. Tim doesn’t follow as he’s completely frozen in place. A few moments later he reappears at the doorway, like he realised that Tim wasn’t following him.

“What the fuck Tim? Come on, let’s go, now’s not really the time to get lazy.”

Tim blinks at the man in bewilderment. He knows Tim’s name and just like with the other two, that tugging feeling inside of him was there. He knows this guy too but once again he can’t place who he was or why he felt familiar. Then again he may know his name because he was after him for bad reasons.

Tim’s lack of response seems to agitate the man because suddenly he was storming towards Tim and grabbing his wrist. “Alright replacement, let’s go. Enough of this shit.”

By the time Tim gets over himself he was being dragged down the hallway. After a few stumbling steps, Tim starts to fight back. “Hey! Let me go asshole!” He starts hitting the man’s wrist to try and loosen his grip, he kicks out towards his legs in hopes of gaining some advantage. The guy was huge in comparison to him, so Tim would have to get sneaky in order to break free.

“Ow hey! What the fuck? Tim!”

Tim twists out of the grip and uses some of the moves Ra’s had taught him to get away. Once free of the man’s grip he jumps backwards and creates some space between them. “Leave me alone, I have no idea who you are but I’m not going anywhere with you!”

The man falters at his words, “What? What the hell do you mean Tim?”

Tim goes to respond but doesn’t get the chance to. The man before him was speaking up again, muttering “oh shit” before turning around and running down the corridor.

“Timothy, are you alright.”

Tim looks over his shoulder to find Ra’s walking towards him with a concerned look on his face.

“I’m fine. I didn’t get hurt.”

His wrist was a little red from being grabbed but apart from that he was fine physically. Mentally, however, was another story.

Ra’s refuses to give the answers he want. It’s been a couple days since the attack and Ra’s wouldn’t tell him anything. It was grating on Tim’s nerves. Not only was Ra’s suddenly being very secretive but the tugging feeling inside of him has not disappeared since those masked men attacked. Tim can’t explain how or why, but he knows those men somehow.

It doesn’t help that Ra’s is being secretive about the whole thing. He wouldn’t tell Tim anything about them or even why they attacked other than ‘they wanted to take you and harm you’. Ra’s had been secretive prior to the attack anyway, there were things he refused to tell Tim about regarding his memories (particularly anything personal such as family and friends) but now the man just seems on edge all the time and would not communicate with Tim like he had been before.

Tim had been wary of Ra’s before the attack, but now he was just downright suspicious of the man. Something was going on and it was something to do with those masked people Ra’s refused to tell him anything about.

Another few days had gone by by the time Ra’s finally approaches him. He was sat in his bedroom, minding his own business by thinking about the life he couldn’t remember, when the man walks in. Whilst he doesn’t say anything against the actions, Tim hates it when Ra’s walks in without an invitation, it makes him feel like he’s trapped in the one place he feels the most secure.

“Timothy,” Ra’s greets him.

Tim sits up straighter on his bed but doesn’t move to get up. “Ra’s. What can I do for you?”

“There are matters I need to attend to, which means I will be leaving for a few days.” The man informs him. “I have security surrounding the area just in case another attack occurs while I am away to help you feel safe, however once I return we will be leaving and staying at another residence. Please be prepared to leave as soon as I return.”

Before Tim could say anything the man leaves the room. Tim blinks at the now empty space feeling annoyed, so what, he doesn’t get a say in the matter? He’s just expected to drop everything and go with Ra’s? Of course he doesn’t have a lot to begin with but that wasn’t the point.

The way he treats Tim seems to be more like a prisoner or a slave that’s supposed to be nothing but obedient. He doesn’t know how long this behaviour had been going on for before he recognised it but it certainly adds to the list of reasons why he’s more suspicious of Ra’s than before.

Ra’s leaves that night and for the first time Tim finds that he’s on his own. Well he wasn’t technically on his own, there were others about but Tim wouldn’t interact with them so he may as well be on his own anyway. Instead of going to bed like he normally would Tim decides to explore.

With Ra’s away it means he has more leeway to explore the place he’s been living in since he woke up with amnesia. There were rooms which Ra’s wouldn’t allow him in, at first Tim had respected that, understood that it wasn’t his place but now he doesn’t give a fuck. These locked rooms just mean more secrets and Tim wants to know them.

He goes to one of the rooms and picks the lock with some tweezers he had found, this was something he didn’t even realise he could do but yet it felt so natural to do it. Tim walks into the room and closes the door behind him.

He surveys the room in curiosity, finding that there were multiple safes scattered around the room attached to the walls all at different heights, there was a large set of draws pushed into one corner of the room and finally in the centre of the room was a long metal table. Tim has no idea what this room could be used for. It was clean and not dusty but there wasn’t anything that stood out to him.

He goes over to the draws and experimentally tugs one and blinks in surprise when it opens up. Tim couldn’t help but snort, even without his memories he knows that this is just poor security. Whoever made this, probably Ra’s, didn’t think very hard about how to keep unwanted hands from wondering where they shouldn’t be. Either that, or he was too confident in his ability to stop something from entering.

The first draw has nothing in it. The second has several metal pieces in it, they were what Tim would call ninja stars but these were in the shape of a bat. He picks one up gently and weighs it in his hand, as he does a strange feeling washes over him. The metal pieces felt familiar, like he knows what they are and where they came from, though once again he just can’t remember the details. He puts it back and moves on.

The third draw has more of a variety of items which all seems to be communication gear. There were a few different earpieces, a walkie-talkie and a headset of sorts. What catches Tim’s eye was the little black box that was sat there. There were a couple different buttons on the side, it has a screen on the front which was dark but apart from it didn’t seem anything special. Tim pockets it, deciding that he can play with it later on.

Having had enough of the room, Tim closes the draw and exits the room, making sure to shut the door behind him. He can come back another time to try and work out a way into the safes around the room. He locks the door and moves onto the next room he’s not allowed in.

After searching through three rooms he’s not allowed in, Tim calls it a night. Even though Ra’s is gone and will be for a couple of days, Tim doesn’t want to push his luck. He can explore the rest tomorrow after some sleep.

Once he’s locked the third door he heads back to his bedroom. When he gets there he flops down onto the bed prepared to fall asleep in that position. Tim doesn’t though, because a couple seconds later he remembers the device he had pocketed from the first room.

He brings it back out and studies it. The device wasn’t much bigger than his palm, there were no obvious marks on it to say what it was nor where there any labels saying what the buttons were. Tim fiddles with it, clicks a couple buttons and tries to turn it on.

Tim spends five minutes trying to get it to work. When it doesn’t do anything he huffs in frustration, “Well this is just stupid. Unless it’s out of charge or something.”

Unknowing to him at the time, his voice is the thing that turns it on. Tim almost drops the device when the screen suddenly lights up, seconds later there was a symbol appearing on the screen in the shape of a bat. Tim frowns, what was it with all the bat shaped stuff? Was all this from that man dressed as a bat who attacked him days ago? Why did Ra’s have his stuff?

Tim fiddles with the device further but doesn’t get anywhere with it. All that happens was the bat symbol stays on the screen. In the end he gives up and decides to actually go to bed, deciding he can work out what it is in the morning.

When Tim wakes up the next morning the first thing he does is check the device. He’s a little disappointed to find that the same bat symbol as before was still on the screen. He puts it down and starts making a mental plan of what he’s going to do for that day as he gets ready.

His mental plan soon goes out the window 10 minutes later as he’s having breakfast. He was in the middle of eating his toast when he could hear commotion going on around the house. In an instant Tim’s alert. Could it be those masked men from the other day again? Could it be someone else? Hopefully the security Ra’s had set up do their job and stops them from getting to him.

Just in case, Tim grabs the nearest thing to him that he could use as a weapon which happened to be a butter knife. Not the most dangerous thing in the world but for now it’ll do.

Tim stays standing in the kitchen trying his hardest to listen to what was going on outside. There were shouts and what seemed to be gunfire but then it all suddenly stops and everything goes silent. Tim wasn’t sure what he was expecting but the front door opening and a familiar voice shouting in was not something he thought about.

“Tim? Tim you in here?” It shouts. As Tim hears the door close he moves from his spot and tucks himself behind the kitchen door in attempts to hide himself. Despite the voice seeming familiar he had no idea who it was.

“Timmy, come on buddy, we’re here.” Another voice speaks out. It was another voice that seemed so familiar yet Tim still couldn’t work out who it belonged to.

“Right, I’ll check the top floor and you scout down here. Yell if you find him, who knows what else has happened to him.”

Tim stops breathing as he hears footsteps heading towards the kitchen. He listens as the person moves about the living room before entering the kitchen to where Tim was hiding. He tightens his grip on the knife getting ready to attack when the person finally comes to view.

It was the black and blue man from the other day. It was the same attackers after all. The figure sweeps the room but as he turns around to leave his eyes catch Tim half hidden by the door. He freezes in place and holds his hands up, “Tim, I know your probably confused kiddo, but I promise I won’t hurt you.”

Tim swallows thickly. There were a mixture of things screaming at him right now, telling him to trust this figure in front of him, that he knows this person, how his words were the truth.

Not moving from his spot Tim glares at him, “What do you want? Who are you?”

“You sent an alert to us last night. Do you remember that? We were nearby ready to come and get you out of here. We’re sorry we didn’t the other day but Ra’s isn’t here right now meaning this is a perfect opportunity for us to go.”

Tim thinks about this, how did he send an alert? The only thing that would have…. his eyes go wide at the realisation. That device with the bat on it was some sort of signal.

He thinks over everything that’s recently happened. How secretive Ra’s has been since these people attacked the first time, how he wouldn’t tell Tim anything about his personal life or who his family were, how the device and bat shaped things were locked up.

“We know each other don’t we?” Tim asks tentatively. When the man smiles and nods Tim carries on. “You’re not going to hurt me then?”

The guy shakes his head, “Absolutely not. Tim… we’re family okay. I’m your brother and so is the other one who’s here with me. We’ve come to take you home.”

Despite Tim not knowing him, even he could pick out the hope in this man’s voice. This was his brother, he does have a family.

But what if he’s lying? He could just be saying that to get Tim to go with him.

“Tim, I know it’s hard to believe but please trust me here. Not only that, but back home we may have a way for you to get your memories back.”

Now that has certainly got Tim’s attention. If there was one thing Ra’s has not offered or even spoken about was getting Tim’s memories back. He just pushed the subject to the side, stating that it’ll only be a matter of time on whether he gets them back or not.

“If I go with you, what’s going to happen?” Tim questions him. There was no way he was going to go with them without not knowing what was going on. Even if the man tells him a load of bullshit, at least it’ll be something.

“We’ll take you home, get you looked at and try to get your memories back. From there I can’t say, it depends on the outcome of whether you get your memories back or not. But the most important thing is that you’ll be home.”

“And I’ll be away from Ra’s?”

“100% away from him.”

Tim swallows thickly and makes a decision. He loosens his grip on the knife and steps out from his hiding place. “Fine.”

If something goes wrong, which is highly likely, Tim will try and get out as soon as he can.

Things become a blur of events from there. They meet with another man, the one with the red helmet who was carrying a bag over his shoulder. The two masks have a quick quiet word while Tim gathers up some of his belongings. Afterwards they leave the house and drive a good 20 minutes away until they come across the plane.

Not having seen anything like this before (from what he can remember), Tim stares at everything. It felt so familiar yet so foreign. In the end he straps into one of the chairs and tries to ignore the looks the two men keep sending his way. Tim still didn’t know whether he could trust them or not, but all he could do now was wait as there was no turning back once they lift off into the air.

When they arrive at their destination Tim is hurried out of the plane and into some sort of cave. There were many floors to the place all with different equipment on them. Workout stuff, computers and monitors, vehicles, costumes, lots of different items… and was that a giant penny?

Tim gapes at everything, hating that again it all feels familiar but yet he doesn’t remember any of it.

“Well?”

The voice snaps Tim out of his staring. He looks ahead to find two men coming towards the trio. The black and blue man instantly steps forwards and addresses them, “We’ve got him and just as predicted Ra’s wasn’t there. The only problem is that he’s still amnesic. He didn’t recognise me and I had to convince him to come.”

The two new men look at him and Tim stares back, fighting the urge to shrink under their gazes. They were both large men who easily tower over him. One had black hair, was wearing a white button up and slacks, the other was green and wearing a blue cape. In the back of his mind Tim knew who these people were but unsurprisingly couldn’t place their names.

The black-haired man addresses him. “Tim, thank you for coming. I understand that it must be confusing but hopefully we can sort everything out.” He raises a hand to his friend, “This is J’onn. He may be able to help you recover your memories if you let him.”

Tim looks him over sceptically. He has a feeling there’s more to it and how he’s not going to like it, however if he wants his memories then he needs to do whatever it takes to get them back.

“How?” Tim questions. He still wants to know the details of course.

“I will have to enter your mind, young one. I can hopefully work out what has been the cause of your amnesia, whether it was a natural cause or forced. To do that, I need permission from you to enter your mind.”

Tim glances at everyone else to see them staring at him. He looks back at J’onn. “If you find the cause would you be able to fix it?”

He gives Tim an earnest look, “I will not lie to you but I cannot promise anything. If I can, I will do my best to fix the problem, however there is a possibility I will not be able to. I cannot say until I have look.”

Tim swallows. He doesn’t like the idea of someone poking around his mind, except he wants his memories back. He needs them back and if this is an opportunity to do so then he has to take it.

“Okay. I give you permission, do whatever you need to if it means getting my memory back.”

After that they make Tim lie down on a bed they have in a medical bay, J’onn stands at one end near his head while the others gather at his feet. Tim blinks up at the ceiling which was soon replaced with J’onn’s face. “I need you to relax and let me in. I will not do anything other than search through your mind for the cause of your memory loss.”

Tim nods his understanding, he takes a breath and lets it out, forcing himself to relax as J’onn places his hands by the sides of his head. Once he touches Tim’s head, Tim’s world goes dark.

#Tim Drake #Ras Al Ghul #dick grayson #Jason Todd #bruce wayne #j'onn j'onzz #amnesia #Amnesiac Tim #confusion #angst #small bit of manipulation #fanfiction #part one of two #batfam bingo 2019

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lexosaurus · 5 years

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Everything Was White - Part 3

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 4 / read on ao3

His chest hurt. His legs shook. Just one foot in front of the other. He had to. He had been through worse than this, hadn’t he? He squeezed his eyes shut. He could handle this. But his breathing was starting to get ragged and...

Ugh. His legs...couldn’t...

No…

“You’re doing so good, Danny.” A kind female voice broke through his clouded brain. “Just a little further…”

“Hurts,” he grunted.

“Ok, let’s sit down, then,” the woman said.

He felt something tap the back of his legs and found himself all but collapsing in the wheelchair.

Danny pressed his lips together, glaring into his open palms like they were the hands that messed him up beyond repair. After a tense moment of silence, he opened his mouth. “I don’t understand. I should be fine by now.”

“Danny, you’re healing at an incredible rate given the amount of stress your body has undergone. Don’t sell yourself short.”

“I know.” He closed his eyes and steeled himself to stand back up. “I just...I need to do this. I can’t spend my life in a wheelchair. I need to get better. I have to.”

“And you will.” The physical therapist made her way around the chair. She stood in front of Danny, arms crossed and an inquisitive look on her freckled face. Danny studied her face, noting her thin eyebrows and expressive green eyes. She’d introduced herself to him on the first day they’d met, and he had also heard her name from several other people after that. But no matter how hard he dug in his mind for her name, his brain was blank.

The doctors told him—well, actually, they told his parents, but he’d been in the room anyway—that he had minor brain damage. It, like everything else, would get better with time. They’d reassured his parents. His parents had cried, but Danny lay in his hospital bed unmoving. He didn’t need a doctor to tell him that. He knew what was wrong. What was missing.

Forgetting bits of conversation, forgetting what he ate for breakfast, forgetting what day it was—those had been the obvious signs. The signs that he couldn’t hide from his parents or his sister, who regarded him with sad eyes every time he repeated a question or asked yet again what time it was.

But there was another, more subtle sign of the damage to his mind. One that he didn’t notice at first, one that only made itself more apparent as time went on. One that frustrated him to his core and that he tried desperately to hide from the world.

Names.

No matter how many times someone told him their name, no matter how many times he heard it in passing conversation, he couldn’t commit it to memory. He noticed it first with his nurses, who he saw every day. They were amazing, caring people who treated him with as much dignity and respect as they would treat each other. And for that, he was grateful. But every time he would try to put a name to their face…his brain would draw a blank. He couldn’t do it.

His therapist, his doctor, his physical therapist, even the patients that he ate lunch with every day, he had nothing to call them by.

And that killed him.

The physical therapist shifted, putting most of her weight on one of her legs. “But right now you need to sit. Your chest isn’t completely healed yet, and if we stress your body out too much, you’ll only end up hurting yourself. We need to take this slow, Danny. Slower than you’d like, but it’s the only way to do this. Anyway, most people in your position wouldn’t be out of the chair for months, if not years.”

“Most people in my position would be dead,” said Danny stiffly.

The physical therapist shrugged, her eyes darting up to the ceiling. “Yeah, well. Small blessings, I guess.”

Danny clutched his chest. “I’m gonna get those one hundred feet before I go back to Casper High.”

“That’s only one week away,” she remarked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah. But I can do it.”

The physical therapist stared at him for a moment before she shook her head and sighed. “Danny, I—”

“Clarice?” a deep voice sounded from the entryway.

Danny tensed, his fight or flight senses activating out of nowhere. Calm down, Fenturd, he tried telling himself. You’re safe. You’re at your PT appointment. Nothing’s going to happen.

“Can I borrow you for a second? This form isn’t right,” the man said, his voice just inches behind Danny. It reminded him of...it almost sounded like...

The blood drained from his face and ragged breath escaped his lips. His hands gripped the armrests of his chair as his eyes stared unseeing in front of him. The white, fluorescent lights were suddenly blinding. Stop shaking, stop shaking.

The physical therapist’s eyes widened as they flickered down to Danny’s trembling form. “Uh, Michael—”

“Oh!” the man exclaimed, turning to face Danny. Except it wasn’t the male physical therapist. It was the glaring image of Operative O.

He sneered down at Danny and wiped a fleck of ectoplasm from his otherwise pristine white suit. “Ectoplasm is a stain on humanity,” he growled, his deep voice digging into Danny like a hot knife. “I will rid the world of it, dog.”

It’s not him. He’s not here.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize—”

“If you had just behaved, ghost, I might have let you keep your legs,” Operative O said, his voice dripping with slime. “We tried to be nice. You brought this on yourself.”

Danny was on the tiled floor. It was cold. Damp from his ectoplasm. They’d kicked him over so he was lying on his stomach at some point, presumably bored of beating his face and chest. His head was turned to the side, mouth open like a fish as he tried to suck in any air he could through ragged breaths. Ectoplasm dripped out of his mouth, forming a small puddle on the floor.

He was shaking, sweating, his body racked with pain. No! No! Please don’t. Please don’t, he wanted to say. But he couldn’t speak.

In the distance, he heard the muffled voice of his physical therapist. “It’s okay. Can you go get a nurse for me?”

Operative O leaned down, his eyes gleaming. He held up a metal baseball bat. “You’ve left me no choice, dog.”

SNAP!

“NO!”

“Danny?” a face appeared in his fogged vision. “Danny, what’s going on?”

Danny’s eyes latched onto the blurry face of his physical therapist, blinking until she came into focus. Her red eyebrows were raised high into her freckled forehead. Her green eyes pierced into his. “Danny?” she repeated.

“I—” He coughed, as if trying to expel the phantom pain that flared in his back. He gasped out, “My back!”

A look of alarm spread across her face. “What about your back, Danny?”

His knit his eyebrows together, trying to piece together his broken memories. “They—it’s...it’s broken...they broke it…”

To his utter confusion, she relaxed. “Yes, Danny. You’re at PT right now because we’re trying to help fix this.”

“I’m—I what?” Danny’s hands shot to grip his hair as he searched his brain, grasping at...something...something to remember. Wisps of “T-12 level break” and “paraplegia” flickered through his mind. His panicked expression morphed into a look of horror as his eyes shot down to his legs. He lifted a hand off his head and let it hover over the numb limbs and froze. Snapping out of his stupor, he yanked his arm back up to his chest, curling the fingers in protectively. No...he wasn’t...was he?

“You’re getting so much better though. You’re walking now and everything, Danny.”

“Yeah,” he said through a shaky breath. “Incomplete.”

“That’s right.” The physical therapist bobbed her head, the light reflecting off of her soft cheekbones. “The break was incomplete, so that’s why you’re here learning to walk again. You have enough motor function in your legs to essentially retrain your body.”

“Oh.”

“Hey Danny, what’s going on?” came the voice of an older woman. Danny looked over to see the kind expression of one of the more senior nurses still working at the hospital. Her light brown hair, speckled with gray, was cut in a short style that accentuated her curls. He searched through his brain for her name...he must’ve known it, right? He saw her all the time. He was sure he’d heard it before….

But nothing came to him.

She peered at Danny through her round glasses. “Bad day, huh?”

The physical therapist craned her head up to look at the nurse. “Michael didn’t realize Danny was here. He came over to ask a question.”

The nurse hummed in response. “Sorry about that, Danny. Michael can be pretty unobservant sometimes. You doing okay?”

“I...yeah…” Danny said, swallowing thickly.

“I think he’s just a little shaken up is all. He should be okay soon.” The physical therapist glanced at her watch. “Our time is almost over anyway. Can you get Danny to his room? He probably wants to get ready before school starts.”

“Yeah,” Danny breathed out, relieved at these words. On a typical day, he went straight from physical therapy to the inpatient academic classes in the morning. But today, as if the physical therapist could hear his thoughts, he desperately needed a few moments to collect himself.

He didn’t understand what went wrong. Until now, he had been having a good day. He slept soundly last night, he socialized a little at breakfast, his chest hadn’t been acting up at all, and he walked far at PT.

So what went wrong? Why did everything suddenly go to shit?

No...that was too easy to answer. It was because his stupid brain couldn’t handle things going well for too long. He was broken, a mess, a joke of a functioning human. He couldn’t even handle being in the same room as someone with a deeper voice without his brain imploding on itself. All because of stupid Operative O with his stupid bald head and his stupid white suit.

Danny hadn’t realized the nurse was wheeling him back to the inpatient wing until she pressed her keycard to the locked double doors. They were a disgusting shade of teal. Nothing like Jazz’s headband, which was brightly colored and radiated exorbitant amounts of Jazz energy. These doors were bleak in comparison, reflecting far more grays than blues. It reminded Danny of a swamp.

The doors opened, and she pushed Danny into the teen inpatient sector. “Welcome back,” he muttered to himself.

The entire ward was relatively small, which made sense in Danny’s mind. After all, a bunch of mentally unstable teenagers in a maze sounded like a terrible idea. Danny glanced to his left to the arts corner. It was nothing special, just a few round tables with art supplies in plastic buckets along the walls. To his right was the lounge area. That was nothing special there either, just a rug, a few long benches, and board games. Beyond that was the cafeteria.

The nurse pushed him straight across the hallway that separated the two open rooms. A few lazy eyes flickered Danny’s way, but most people paid him no mind. It was no secret that Danny Phantom got cut up by the government and had to attend physical therapy sessions at the hospital outside of the inpatient facility. It was not uncommon for Danny to be pushed in a wheelchair by some nurse, even if he was becoming more and more independent by the day. And it wasn’t unusual for Danny to appear with that ever-present dazed look in his eyes.

The nurse pushed the accessible button, opening a second set of gross teal doors to reveal a small hallway. Blue tiles covered the floor, and in the back of his mind, he recalled one of Jazz’s long-winded speeches about the psychology of colors. Blue was...calming? Danny needed to talk to the idiot who thought of that. The Box Ghost’s skin was blue, and that guy had caused Danny nothing but irritation.

“What number are you?” the nurse asked, interrupting his inner ranting.

Danny lifted his arm and waved it at a door to his right. “That one. Four doors down.”

“Alrighty!” she said brightly as she pushed him through the open door of his room. “Are you alright here on your own now?”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice soft.

“Okay. We’re leaving for school in ten minutes, so be outside when you’re ready.”

He turned, offering her a small smile. “Thanks.”

He stared into his plain room. The room was designed for two occupants—two beds, two dressers, two desks—but the second set of furniture remained unused. Danny had asked about the vacancy once, purposefully keeping his tone light as he did, but the response he received was lackluster. Disappointing. A dismissive wave of the hand along with some ill-devised excuse about there just being an open space, and he never brought it up again. Through his three-and-a-half week stay in the facility, he’d seen other people cycle through new roommates as nameless faces came and left the hospital. Hell, the redhead even had two roommates at once when he first moved in, and yet it seemed Danny’s own room was destined to remain bare.

It shouldn’t have bothered him the way it did. After all, wasn’t it nicer to have a room to himself? Wouldn’t he have wanted to be alone anyway? But, for some reason, it did bother him. Maybe it was that final reminder, the final twist to the knife in his gut, that even to the people who preached how equal and deserving of human rights he was, he wasn’t human enough to have a roommate. He was a flight risk, a safety hazard. What sane parent would allow their child to room with a ghost anyway? He stared down at his paper thin arms, their color so pale that he could make out the veins underneath. Disgusting, that’s what he was.

He shouldn’t exist.

He deserved to be alone.

After all, he brought it on himself when he went into the portal the day of his accident. And then later when he decided to be a hero for Amity Park instead of slinking into the shadows like most other ghosts. And then again, when he was too slow, too weak, and got himself revealed on national television. Of course he was the Guys in White’s golden prize. If he wasn’t such a narcissist and just kept to himself like Vlad warned him to do...

“Stop whining,” he hissed as he heaved himself from his chair, leaning on his walker. He took a moment, allowing his body to balance, before walking over to his dresser and grabbing a red Casper High hoodie.

He slowly made his way over to his bed and sank down on the hard mattress. He ran his hand through the red fabric, noting the missing strings on the sweatshirt. His mother had ripped out all the strings on his hoodies the day he was admitted to inpatient. Something about the hospital code and strings being dangerous to teens. The now undecorated garment perfectly matched his new velcro sneakers.

God, if Dash could only see him now. Wearing velcro sneakers like he was a preschooler again.

Danny would never admit this to anyone, but he was almost glad for the hospital’s strict clothing policy. The shoes were so simple to get on and off, a small blessing in disguise for someone who was only just relearning how to dress himself in the morning. Even though the hospital’s no-laced-shoes policy prevented him from trying, he couldn’t imagine being able to lace sneakers in his current state. Doing the velcro straps already took far longer than it should. As tacky as it looked, Danny would take whatever break he could get from life.

He pulled the red hoodie over his head and turned his attention back to his walker. He had been too mentally drained when they first introduced him to it to be appalled by the fact that he needed a walker. And while he didn’t exactly love hobbling around in a walker in front of the other patients, wheeling around in front of them was equally as embarrassing in his mind. Here was the great Danny Phantom reduced to…

This.

He pushed himself off his bed and walked back over to his wheelchair. He slid down into the cushioned seat, undid the breaks, and left his room. Through the windows in the hallway doors, he saw the other teens congregated in the lounge area, looking thoroughly miserable as they waited to be brought down to the classroom area. He pressed the accessible button on the doors and silently prayed to any god that may exist that he wasn’t the last person to arrive to the lounge.

As fate would have it, he heard a distinct “There he is! Okay, that’s everyone” as soon as he came through the doors.

“Took you long enough,” a tall redhead commented as soon as Danny drew near. He was one of the few people who willingly sat with Danny at lunch. Maybe it was because they had both been in the facility for so long, or maybe it was because the redhead was a slight fanboy of Phantom. Danny didn’t really care. As long as the kid was friendly, Danny was fine with him.

“What, no PT today?” the guy asked.

What was his name? Kevin? Calvin?

Danny fell beside him as the group turned to leave. “No. I, uh, got out early. So I went back to my room to change.”

“Gotcha. I was confused when the nurses said you’d be walking over with us today.”

“Yeah, well. Surprise, I guess.” Danny shrugged.

Jerry? Chase?

“Charlie!” came the higher timbre of the Hispanic boy who’d arrived earlier in the week. “Sit at my table today, yeah?”

Now that the brunette had been in inpatient for a few days, he was starting to open up more. He was also one of the few people Danny liked, despite being new to the facility. He was quiet, nerdy. The boy had told Danny during free time that he used to play Dungeons and Dragons with two of his friends in middle school and asked if Danny played the game at all. Danny hadn’t, much to Tucker’s despair. The brunette had offered him a shy smile at this, the first smile Danny had seen from him since the boy’s arrival, and said “We’ll have to play it some time. You know, if you’re interested.”

He was a sweet kid, truly. Danny could only wonder what happened for him to end up in a place like this.

“Of course,” the redhead said. He glanced down at Danny. “You’re joining us too, right?”

“Where?” Danny asked.

“Uh, at our table today?”

“Okay,” Danny said, swiveling around a corner in the hallway. He tried to ignore the way the hallways looked, always a pure white. A spotless, immaculate white. The tiles, shiny and pure. Untainted with his ectoplasm.

“Disgusting,” Operative O hissed, pinching a white coat splatter-painted green. The darkness of the cell framed Operative O’s face, creeping up his cheekbones and stopping just before his eyes. “Look what you did. Ectoplasm stains, ghost. I’ll need a new jacket now.”

It always struck Danny as odd how, no matter how bloodied he’d get the hallways as they dragged his lifeless Phantom form down it, the floors in the government facility were always back to their pristine white state the next morning.

“Ectoplasm stains, ghost.”

It was as if someone hit a reset button on the facility at midnight. Every speck of ectoplasm was gone. The smell of burnt citrus and that hint of lime were replaced with the smell of Clorox. The walls glittered like snow, and the floors reflected the fluorescent ceiling lights with a purity Danny didn’t know existed.

“Ectoplasm stains.”

Too bad the reset button didn’t spread its magic to his cell.

“Danny, you need some help there?” a voice asked, breaking Danny from his thoughts. Looking around, he noticed he was falling behind the group.

“No, I’m alright,” Danny said, glancing up at the redhead. “Thanks.”

Danny huffed, putting more force into moving his chair only for his chest to suddenly flare up in pain. “ Shit, ” he exclaimed, ripping his hands off the wheels as if they emitted an electric shock. He sat erect, eyes wide and mouth open. He tried to choke down some oxygen, but his breathing was choppy, disjointed, and oh god what was going on why couldn’t he BREATHE.

“Danny?” His two companions turned around in alarm.

“I—” I’m fine, Danny tried to say.

A nursing assistant was on him in an instant. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know,” the redhead said. “He was fine a minute ago, but he just suddenly stopped. It’s probably his chest again.”

“Yeah.” The nursing assistant bent down to Danny’s level. She looked at him with steady eyes. “Danny I’m going to stand you up, okay?”

He nodded. Or, he hoped he nodded. He wasn’t sure. Everything hurt. The shallow breaths weren’t enough for him. He was starting to get light headed. The walls were so bright here. He knew he wasn’t at the government facility, so why did the walls have to be so bright?

“His chest?” Danny heard the brunette whisper.

“Yeah, he gets these flare-ups now. From...you know…”

He felt the nursing assistant grip his arms and hoist him from the chair. It was almost depressing how easily she managed to lift him up. He was on a diet plan at the hospital to help him regain what he’d lost at the government facility, but still...

“Take a few steps for me,” she commanded.

He managed to nod this time as he shakily took a few steps forward. Already, the hot pain in his chest was receding. The tight muscles in his chest unwound slightly, allowing him to breathe. He closed his eyes, gulping at the air. Tugging his arms out of her grip, he placed his palms over his face and focused on staying on his feet.

The perfect distraction from the dull pain that was beginning to flood his chest.

“Danny?” she said.

He let his arms fall to his sides. Cracking open his eyes, he noticed the other teens had stopped in their tracks. They stared at him apprehensively, their previous chatter replaced with silence.

“Sorry,” he said, lowering his gaze.

“Don’t sweat it,” the redhead said. “Here, let me help you.”

“No, I’m—”

“Danny,” the nursing assistant said, her tone even. “Sit down. Let us help you.”

Danny breathed in, fully prepared to launch the reflexive ‘no’ from his lips when he stopped. He surveyed the group of teens in front of him. They looked uncomfortable, tense, as if they were waiting for him to snap, to dig out the chip in his neck with his bare fingers, power up an ectoblast, and launch them through the walls of the hospital.

His eyes wandered away from the group of teens to the two boys— what were their names again? Craig and Mikey? —who stared at him with a mix of earnest and concerned expressions. The tall redhead offered him a small smile, his hand on the side of Danny’s wheelchair as if to say, “I’m ready whenever you are!”

Without warning, a wave of everything came crashing down on Danny’s shoulders. He felt like shit. His only two friends in this hospital were here to support him, but he didn’t even have the decency to remember their names? Not to mention, their mental health issues were almost certainly more pressing than Danny’s. They were here because they tried to take their own lives, whereas Danny was admitted because he felt sad. And Danny was really going to fall apart in front of them? Force them to comfort him ? All because his chest hurt a little bit?

How selfish could he be? Wasn’t he supposed to be the strong one? The hero? The one struggling kids and teens could look up to as their real-life superhero they could rely on to protect them from all the bad in the world?

And now look at him.

Utterly despicable.

Feeling more disgusted with himself than ever, he sat down in his chair and tried not to let his face heat up as the redhead gently pushed him forward. He tried not to notice the pitying side glance the brunette gave him. He tried.

Some hero, he thought miserably.

“Man,” the brunette said after a few moments of tense silence. “I didn’t realize I’d still have to come to school here. That’s so dumb.”

“I feel you, Miguel,” the redhead said, catching onto the shift in topic. “It’s only for three hours, though, so it could be worse. After tomorrow, I’ll be back to the regular school day, so that’s gonna suck.”

Well, that certainly piqued Danny’s interest. Before he could help himself, he asked, “You’re leaving tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” the redhead said, his voice odd. “I, uh, mentioned it yesterday at lunch. Finally got the okay from my psychologist. So that’s good. Except then I have to go back to school and explain why I was out for three weeks…”

“Oh,” he said, feeling a bit stupid for forgetting such an important detail his own friend told him. Embarrassment flooded through him as he was reminded yet again how different his situation was from the average teen. Danny was fairly certain everyone in his school knew exactly where he was. After all, his final breakdown had been an embarrassingly public event inside Casper High complete with jocks trying to calm him down, Mr. Lancer calling Jazz over the loudspeakers to his office, both of his parents rushing to school, and an agonizing discussion the Fenton family had been avoiding like the plague. So yes, even though Danny was positive his sister would never divulge where he was to his classmates—save Sam and Tucker—without his permission, he knew his peers were smart enough to put two and two together.

But the redhead was a different story. His suffering had been a silent affair. His brain had torn itself to pieces, leaving only an apathetic teen who drifted through his day-to-day life without experiencing it. Eventually, the war inside him bubbled to the surface in the form of coming out to his father, which ended with screaming, tears, and the heartbreaking “Don’t come back until you’ve sorted your shit out!” That, combined with the rejection from his classmates, had been the final straw for the redhead. A pit stop at a Walmart on the way home from school one day, and he had everything he needed to take himself out.

He was lucky his mom came home from work early that day.

To his classmates, the redhead simply disappeared. He wasn’t dead or else they would have heard about it in an obituary. Maybe he contracted mono. Maybe he was recovering from an emergency appendix removal. Maybe he had moved in with his dad. Maybe his grandfather in Florida died and he had to fly halfway across the country to be with his family.

Nobody knew, and nobody could contact him while he was in inpatient. They were all certain to have questions when he got back. Questions that, judging by the redhead’s somber tone, Danny couldn’t imagine he would answer honestly.

“What are you gonna say?” the brunette asked.

“I dunno,” the redhead said.

“Tonsil surgery has a two-week recovery period,” Danny blurted out. He remembered Jazz’s. It was her first time taking heavy pain medication, and that’s when they found out that her body couldn’t handle the pills on an empty stomach. She was violently ill and ended up back in the hospital with an IV in her arm. “But if you have a—a...complication, then you could probably get away with...uh...more time.”

“Oh,” the redhead said. “Thanks. I might use that actually.”

“Same, if you don’t mind,” the brunette said sheepishly. “Since I’m only here for two weeks.”

“It’s not like we go to the same school,” the redhead responded.

“Yeah, yeah. I know.”

Danny looked up at them confused. “We’re all going to the same school.”

“What do you mean, Danny?” the redhead asked.

“Right now...aren’t we? We all go to the same school?” He brought a hand up to his head.

The redhead paused before answering in a patient tone, “You’re right. Right now, we all go to the same school, yes. But after tomorrow, I’ll be going back home, and I’ll be going to a different school. And soon you and Miguel will also go home and go back to your own schools, too. Since we live in different towns.”

“Oh,” Danny said. He wasn’t sure if he understood that or not, he kept it to himself.

“Though, speaking of hell…” the redhead muttered, pushing Danny through a wide doorway to reveal the hospital classroom. It was rather average-looking, with a blue rug covering the floor and light pouring in from the large windows. Aside from the this-room-was-recently-renovated look the classroom had, the only real difference between this room and a typical classroom at Casper High was the use of dark wooden tables rather than individual desks. Apparently, it was to promote collaboration during completion of assignments. The therapists wanted the teens to work together and learn to ask each other for help with their math problems. Danny didn’t really see a point, but he didn’t voice this opinion to any of the psychologists. Even for him, a C-average student, these assignments were rather easy.

Not that he was complaining. If the hospital wanted to give them algebra review, short poems to analyze, and easy science articles to read for three hours a day to meet the public school attendance policy, that was fine by him.

The redhead steered Danny over to the table closest to the windows and parked Danny alongside the table. The brunette went to remove one of the wooden chairs to make room for Danny’s wheelchair.

“Wait,” Danny said, gripping the wooden table. “Leave it. I’m fine.”

The brunette glanced around nervously. “Uh, are you sure? You—the nursing assistant—”

“Don’t worry, Miguel,” the redhead said, waving the black-haired boy off. “He’s fine.”

Danny felt a small swell of warmth at the redhead’s assurance. He stood, leaning on the table for support, and shuffled over to his wooden chair. He spared a glance over at the brunette— Miguel, right? Or did they say Michael?— who regarded him with an odd, pained expression. Self-consciousness overtook Danny, and he made a special effort to sit down in his seat as fluidly as possible.

“Alright, class,” the teacher said. The awkward tension at Danny’s table dissipated immediately as their attention was pulled to the whiteboard. With neat blue letters, she printed something at the top of the board. Mrs. Reyes. Recognition sparked in Danny’s brain as he read her name. And for the third week in a row, he tried to commit it to memory. Mrs. Reyes.

“Today’s math lesson is going to be review for most of you. We’re going to be doing some geometry today! Specifically, we’re going to be working with triangles. I’m going to pass out your worksheet, and then we’ll do the first few problems on the board before you guys finish the worksheet at your table.”

The class collectively groaned as the teacher— Mrs. Reyes —passed out the math worksheet. Danny picked up his worksheet, glancing at it. It didn’t look too bad. Pythagorean theorem, some work with fractions, and a few problems centered around angles. All in all, not terrible. And thankfully things he’d already seen in Casper High’s math class, as absent as he’d been his freshman year.

Regardless, he tried to pay attention to his teacher . Everything he did—or didn’t do, for that matter—was reported to his psychologist. If he was unable to pay attention in school, they may push back his release date. As it stood, he was set to be released after four weeks in the program. But if he regressed…

Well, Danny could kiss his dreams of freedom goodbye.

The te— Mrs. Reyes —drew a small box around the last example solution on the board. “Okay, students! Now I want you to work with your table to finish the worksheet. I’ll be floating around the room, so wave me over if you need me!”

Danny stared at her for a moment. How could she be so happy in a place like this? Working with depressive, angry teenagers all day?

“Hey, why do you think she’s here instead of a regular school?” Danny found himself asking.

The redhead looked taken aback by the unprompted question. “I dunno. Maybe she’s just a nice person. Why did you dress up in a jumpsuit and fight ghosts from attacking people every day?”

Danny froze, his gaze locked into the redhead’s strong eyes. This was a test, he realized. A test that had a rather simple answer.

Danny could just say it was his ghost obsession. Obsessions were fairly public knowledge, anyway, even if a small yet loud group of critics liked to say otherwise online. And it didn’t take too long of an observation to figure out what a ghost’s obsession was, even a halfa like Danny. Even if his obsession wasn’t necessarily as strong as a normal ghost, it was still everything that made his identity as Phantom. The silly “hero voice” he used to calm down children, the quirky personality, even the lame puns he made while fighting ghosts. They were all tactics he used to protect.

But… “I don’t know,” Danny said, shrugging. “It just seemed like...the right thing to do.”

But obsessions were personal. Private. Ghosts, as in-your-face as they were about their own obsessions, were also equally as sensitive about them.

It was a paradox. Truly. One Danny couldn’t fully put into words. At least, not in an attempt to explain it to a random human. It was one of those instinctual, unspoken laws that governed the ghost zone. Sure, The Box Ghost quite literally had the word box in his name, and he did carry boxes with him almost 24/7, but Danny would never think to say the words, “You’re obsessed with boxes.” At least, not to his face.

Obsessions were unspoken. Understood, but never told. Sam and Tucker once made the mistake of insinuating what his was, and Danny reacted by tossing his lunch in the trash and hiding invisible in the library for the rest of the lunch period. He apologized later—his face red with embarrassment—and they did too, but the topic was never brought up again. And neither was his reaction. Danny truly didn’t know why ghosts were sensitive about this discussion or any discussion related to their death or personal identity, but they just were.

And, judging by the intrigued looks from the two other teenagers sitting at his table, this conversation seemed to be headed towards a dangerous discussion.

“Are you gonna go back to being Phantom when you leave?” the brunette asked.

Danny winced.

Yup, he was right.

“I...don’t know.” Danny responded quietly. “I guess, you know, if I can. Probably. So, I’m looking at this problem, and it uses fractions and I—I’m just not sure how to...to divide fractions. I, uh wasn’t really paying atten—”

“Wait, does that mean you’ll be able to get out of the wheelchair eventually?” The brunette leaned closer to Danny.

Danny leaned back subconsciously and glanced nervously around the room. A boy in the table next to theirs was sending nonchalant glances their way. The teacher was on the other side, helping the table nearest to the door with a problem.

Damn, he couldn’t rely on her to make them focus.

“That’s the goal,” he said.

“Is it because of your ghost powers?” The boy from the table in front of theirs had turned around. He was tall, well over six feet, with mussed-up brown hair and thick eyebrows. His eyes burned with curiosity. “I heard ghosts can heal fast. Does this mean your spine’s gonna re-fuse or something?”

“I don’t know,” Danny said, claustrophobia beginning to creep into the corners of his mind. He fought to keep the panic out of his voice. “I don’t know.”

The guy in front of him grinned. “Man, I remember watching Phantom—er, you —on TV. It was so cool, dude. You beat the shit out of everyone! ”

“Yeah, it was pretty cool,” the teen at the table next to him said. He propped his elbow on the table and rested his sharp chin in his hand. “How did you even get ghost powers anyways? Cuz you’re not even dead. So how does that work?”

A shaky hand went up to grip his hair. His chest was suddenly tight, and his breathing was beginning to get ragged. Through his glassy vision, he saw the redhead quirk an eyebrow at him from across the table.

“Or did you die and come back to life? Is that what happened?” the teen next to him continued, seemingly unaware of Danny’s rapidly declining state. “Were you, like, going to turn into a ghost and then they brought you back at the last second?”

Air. Danny needed air. His hand tightened its hold on his hair as his other hand tugged on his shirt. He felt like he was sucking air through a straw. Nausea rolled through him like a wave. White spots danced in his eyes. He needed...he needed…

The higher pitched voice of the redhead pierced through his panic. “Hey, dude, stop. I don’t think Danny’s—”

“What’s going on over here?”

“Nothing, we were just—”

“I don’t see much of this worksheet completed.”

“Yeah, we were stuck on—”

Danny leaned over the side of his chair and threw up.

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 4

#danny phantom #everything was white #phicc #my writing #quality content #sorry danny #but not really lol #fanfiction

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of-storms-and-sadness · 5 years

Text

Of Storms And Sadness 3

There was a girl once in Daryl Dixon’s life. She was his almost, but as life is, it teared her away from him long before she could become more than that. Years later, in the midst of all the chaos of the dead world, Mae Peterson walks right back into Daryl’s life, when he needs her most. Problem is, Mae is now one of Negan’s wives.

Though the girl never faltered in renouncing the life of comfort and safety beside Negan, risking her own life in order to give Daryl his freedom back, will that be enough to bring the two back together?

Pairing: none so far (Daryl x OC eventually)

Warnings: Language (Mae does slightly overuse the word fuck and she tends to get quite creative with her insults ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ ), Merle? :D

Words: 1863

Chapters: 3/?

Notes: So, we left Mae at the Sanctuary last chapter. Let’s see what happens next :)

Adapting to the life at the Sanctuary came surprisingly easy to Mae. Days turned to weeks, weeks to months, and Negan's offer of becoming one of his wives with a guarantee no one will ever dare to touch her again, was just a cherry on top of a fucking cupcake. When the man said no one, Mae made sure that included him too, before sealing the deal with a yes.

And it was a good deal, with Negan (as well as any other man) staying away from Mae's bed, while she kept her nose out of his business in return.

They would talk, from time to time, engaging into fiery discussions that would sometimes last long into the night, and as time passed, Mae learned to enjoy his company. As time passed, Mae grew fond of the man, somehow finding ways to push all the bad things she knew he did aside, focusing her affection to the man he was when he was with her. It felt like learning to love him selectively, never quite managed to do it completely. He kept pushing her boundaries, though, and there were days when she felt like cracking.

But other than that, life was good (maybe a little lonely, but Mae was used to lonely), it honestly was, and it was soon to become even better. But experience taught Mae well, and she knew that there's always a storm after the loveliest of days.

Seated on the bench in the front yard, minding her own business while sinking in the warmth of the afternoon sun, Mae was caught by surprise when Dwight - one of Negan's minions - came to fetch her, saying the boss needed her. Eyebrows raised, she pulled up to her feet, and followed the man, no questions asked. She paused shortly once they reached Negan's room, automatically reaching to fix her hair before she knocked. Door swung open, revealing a man seated in the chair near the desk, but Negan's figure blocking her view.

"Everything okay? she asked her husband, smiling warmly as he nodded.

"I've got a guy here, says he saw you in the frontyard. Claims to know you. Just wanted to check in with my wifey, to see if it's okay to take him in. The last guy that knew you didn't end up very well, so..."

"Oh...okay. Who is it?" Mae asked, stretching to stand on her fingertips, trying to catch sight of the man waiting inside. The man stood up, turning towards the door, but all she could see were his damn legs. Amused by her curiosity, Negan held his place for a moment longer, before he finally moved, Mae's face instantly turning jubilant, as she rushed towards the man, pulling him into a warm embrace. "You're fucking immortal, Dixon, aren't ya?" she mumbled, hands still locked around his neck. Merle himself was caught off guard by this sudden outburst of affection, never expecting such a thing from little Mae Peterson, but the world changed, and with the world, change caught onto both Mae and Merle.

"Gotta find someone else to crap on now, don't ya, lil' birdie? 'cause ol’ Merle here seems to have grown on ya, huh?" he mumbled to her ear before pulling back and out of her grip, 'causing her to fist-bump his shoulder with a chuckle, mumbling softly - "Shut up, asshole." Her eyes then sunk down to Merle’s hand, instinctively checking on it, eyebrow quirking up in amusement, as she stared at the knife fixed to his hand, then reaching for it, examining it closely.

“Wow,” she exclaimed, “where’d you get this upgrade from? It’s pretty handy.”

“Yeah, pun me all ya want. Is quite handy for real’s. Long story, will tell ya about it.”

“Means you’re stayin’?” Mae asked Merle first, before turning to Negan, once she realized she was asking the wrong person – “He can stay, right?”

Negan watched this little interaction with amusement, the playful banter between the two making it clear they were close, but not the dangerous kind of closeness. So he nodded, Mae’s wide grin making him cackle lowly, shaking his head.

And just like that, Merle stayed, soon becoming one of Negan's top lieutenants. It was good having him around, somehow making Mae feel even safer than before. Not that she didn't trust Negan, but unpredictable as his anger was, one could never know. But with Merle around, she knew there was someone to turn to, if and when shit hits the fan. His company was very welcome too, for before his arrival, Mae hardly talked to anyone except Negan, or Dwight on rare occasions. She would chat with other wives, but that was hardly enough to call the other women friends, and the workers, they never mingled around with the wives.

It was a rather lonely life before Merle, and their early morning small talks, with coffee and a smoke on a secluded bench in the front yard, soon became the best part of her days.

That is, until one of those mornings Merle approached her, clearly thrown off balance, bearing news that was about to turn both their life’s upside-down. "It's Daryl." he spoke, as soon as he reached the bench.

"What about Daryl, Merle?" Mae asked, eyes open wide. It's been so long since she last heard his name spoken out loud, though she was always pretty sure that Merle never stopped following his trail. He never said it, waved it off even if she’d asked, but all that time Mae spent on the road with him – she’d be stupid not to notice he was looking for something, someone. And what or who else would Merle Dixon be looking for, other than his brother? She knew he’d found him, when he was alone out there. He made it sound like it was by pure accident, but Mae knew he never stopped looking. But they got separated again. Oh, how she wished they hadn’t, how she wished it was both of them in Negan’s room that day. But if they were, what? Not like it would matter, she was Negan’s wife now anyway. And there were way too many questions she was missing answers to regarding Daryl, but it didn’t matter. Nothing did – the fact he never came after her, the fact he never called, or that she’s married now – it didn’t matter. He was alive, and it was the only thing that held any importance.

"The prisoner, Peterson.” Merle’s voice pulled her back from her head. “The prisoner everyone's buzzing about. It's m’ fuckin’ brother."

Mae had heard the rumors about said prisoner, she heard whispers of events that took place a couple of days prior, but Mae kept her nose out of Negan's business, that being the only way she could think of not to hate the man for his violent ways. It was hardly a good method, making her feel like shit most days for closing her eyes shut to things she didn't approve, but what else could she do? But now, this...

She whimpered as Merle nudged her ribs, her blank-stare state turning into one of million questions unanswered. "Have you tried..."

"Damn sure I tried talking to him, girl." Merle cut her question short. "Wanna know what he told me? He told me there’d be no exceptions. Told me I picked my side, and he picked his. Told me he'll stay locked up until he either gives in or fuckin’ dies. But he keeps refusin’ to give in, doll. Damn fucker keeps refusin’. Negan killed his friends and whatnot, smashed that little chinaman’s head with the bat. He even tried to escape, the idiot..."

"Fuck, Merle." Mae exclaimed, hand covering her mouth, eyes circling around nervously, watching out for nosy ears and eyes. "I'm gonna go talk to Negan, and if shit doesn't work out, we'll figure it out ourselves. Okay? Meet me here at sundown, yes?"

Merle nodded, and Mae shot him an anxious smile, as he gripped her hand, giving her an encouraging squeeze. She never saw Merle Dixon this worried, and though she’d always known he cared for his brother, it was when she realized just how much.

So did she, and she knew that together they'll get Daryl out, or die trying.

Mae's knees felt wobbly as she made her way down the hallways of the Sanctuary, hands slightly shaky, knocking on Negan's door and turning the knob. Deep inside, she knew what his answer to her plead will be, but she had to give him the benefit of the doubt, hoping still that he might surprise her. "Negan," she greeted, continuing right after, "Merle says you..."

"No." The man simply said, not bothering to hear her out, or even look at her.

"But Negan, - "

"Listen, if he was your own brother, I wouldn't give him a free pass. Shit doll, I wouldn't do it even if he was mine. So, save your breath, and save yourself and your buddy Merle the trouble."

"But -"

"Now get the fuck out."

"Negan, I - "

"I said no, didn't I? You suffered a fucking brain damage, doll?"

"Fuck you, you fucking heartless dick." Mae mumbled to herself, turning on her heal and closing the door as she stormed out.

"And watch that sweet mouth of yours, honey." Negan shouted from behind closed doors, but Mae kept on walking, dashing down the staircase, not stopping until she reached the basement level, one where the prisoners were held. She leaned her ear to the door of the small room, once used as a depository, meeting the perfect silence behind locked doors. How she wanted to say something, but words remained stuck in her throat, eyes turning watery.

She rarely went to this part of the compound, and her eyes scanned the surroundings vigorously as she blinked the tears away, memorizing each turn and each door on the way to the closest exit, knowing she might soon need it. A wary smile crossed her lips, as she ran into Dwight out in the backyard, the man leaned back to the wall, smoking a cigarette.

"Lend one?" Mae asked, and the man nodded, reaching for the box in his pocket.

"You okay?"

"Mhm, just had a fight with hubby."

Dwight chuckled at her words, never hearing any of the wives refer to Negan as hubby before. Mae followed, bursting into laughter right behind him. Though she was angry with him at that particular moment, for his role in keeping Daryl captive, she had always been glad to run into Dwight. Besides him being an okay guy, he was quite a reliable source of information, and right now, it was information that Mae needed most.

At sundown, rushing to meet Merle at their spot, she came with an escape plan, getting hold of all crucial people's whereabouts for tomorrow. It might have been rash, but it was well thought through, and there was no chance in hell she'd be letting Daryl rot in that cell for a day longer.

"Hey, honeybunch," Merle stopped her before parting ways, "Ya won't chicken out, will ya?"

A firm shake of head was all he needed, combined with Mae's determined gaze, and he nodded, releasing the grip on her wrist as the two parted ways.

I hope it doesn’t feel rushed. If so, do tell!

We'll be on a rescue mission the next chapter, which means Mae finally gets to see Daryl! Will they, or will they not, pull the escape off sucessfully?

Come talk to me guys!

Tag list: @jodiereedus22

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon imagines #daryl fanfiction #daryl x oc #merle dixon #negan #twd #twd fanfiction #the walking dead #the walking dead fanfiction

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hereticpriest · 5 years

Text

Bury a Friend Chapter 1

Hannibal AU (Set mid Season 1 in a sort of grey area tbh)

Hannibal Lecter/Original Character - Will Graham has a sister that he doesn’t talk about for very specific reasons. He doesn’t want anyone in his life to know about her, until that becomes absolutely unavoidable. She instantly peaks Hannibal’s interest simply by being Will’s sister, but her situation draws even more attention.

Panic wasn’t something Hannibal expected to hear from Will Graham at four in the morning on a Tuesday, but the opportunity to help further engrain himself in Will’s life was worth the inconvenience of his sleep being disturbed. Will was erratic, talking in circles about a certain ‘she’ that needed help and how she should have been safe. It took ages for him to calm the man down enough to get a straight sentence out of him, but what he heard piqued his curiosity immediately.

“I have a younger sister, and she was attacked.”

Hannibal had never heard mention of a sister, saw no sign of one, and had always characterized Will as an only child. Having been in Will’s house multiple times, he could safely say he had never seen a picture of her, or anything else that might signify her existence. He spent the drive to Will’s home trying to come up with any time he had ever heard anything that could even be warped to hint at a sister and ended up coming up blank. He arrived to Will sitting on his porch with his dogs, head in his hands. He sat next to the man and waited patiently until Will finally lifted his head.

“Her name is Rosalind. When I decided to do what I do, I also decided that I wouldn’t drag my sister into it. She’s a ballerina in a company in New York, and she doesn’t need to be put in danger because of what I do. I put all of my pictures of her in storage, stopped talking about her, and had any notation of siblings blacked out in my file. After all of this work to protect her, she’s gotten dragged into things anyways.” Will rubbed the heel of his palms into his eyes.

“Rosalind…” Hannibal repeated softly, feeling the name out in his mouth, “What has happened to draw her into your life?”

“She didn’t tell me because she didn’t want me to worry.” Will sighed, the bags under his eyes darker than usual, “She has a stalker. It started innocent, but it kept escalating until tonight. He broke into her house while she was asleep, apparently for the fifth recorded time, and he… He tried to rape her. The only reason he didn’t manage was because she took her sleeping pill late. She wasn’t fully out when he tried, and she was able to get him off of her. She bit him, and he ran. An hour later, the police interviewing her were called because a young woman of a similar description to my sister was brutally murdered just down the street.”

Hannibal listened thoughtfully, then glanced over at Will when he pulled at his hair a little, moaned like he might throw up, and then finally looked up.

“That’s the third murder that they’ve linked because the women look like Rosie. The case has been handed off to the FBI. Some agents are driving her down right now so she can stay with me while we find this creep.” Will explained, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Do you think it is a good idea to have your sister live with you, considering your location?” Hannibal asked, watching the way Will’s shoulders tensed. Will rubbed his hand over his mouth, then looked up at Hannibal, dodging eye contact.

“I can protect her. She knows how to shoot, and she knows self-defence. She’s a better shot than I am. Or, she was. I don’t know if she’s been practicing.” Will took a heavy breath, “I talk to her on the phone, but not often enough. She’s my younger sister, but she’s protective. Acts older.”

Hannibal watched him carefully as he rambled, then looked up when he heard the rumble of a car far off in the distance. Will stood immediately, running to meet the car when it pulled up in front of his house. Hannibal watched as a woman slid from the car, grasping Will’s jaw and tilting his head back so she could kiss his cheeks and his forehead. The woman, Rosalind, pulled Will into her chest and hugged him tightly, kissing his hair. Lathering him in affection like he was the one being stalked, attacked, and nearly raped by a man murdering girls in her name.

Will leaned into it all like it was normal, gathering her chocolate brown hair away from her face and leaning her away from him. She batted at his hands, yanking him into her again so she could squeeze him even tighter. Hannibal could hear them bickering, gentle though it was. Rosalind finally let him go, after a brief nuzzle of her forehead against his and took his hands in hers.

“Goodness, it’s been an age since I last saw you. Will, look at your little scruff!” Rosalind brushed her fingers over his jaw, “I’ve missed you. So, so much.”

“I’ve missed you too, Rosie.” Will replied, looking at her wrists, neck, and the stitches on her collarbone, “These stiches don’t look right.”

“I don’t think the EMT who did them was paying close enough attention, what with what was going on. I was going to remove them and get you to help me do them over.” Rosalind offered him a tired smile, the first crack in her mask. He could see the signs in her, even if she was hiding it well. She’d always been better at it than him. She’d even mastered eye contact, despite having a lot of the same issues and ‘gifts’ as him.

“Lucky for you, we have a doctor on sight.” Will replied, grabbing her hand and leading her over to Hannibal, “Rosie, this is Dr. Hannibal Lecter. He’s a good friend. Dr. Lecter, this is my sister, Rosalind Graham.”

“Dr. Lecter, a pleasure to meet you.” Rosalind held her free hand out to him, and when he looked into her eyes, he noticed that they were nearly identical to Will’s. The same blue with a tinge of green, the same golden brown around the pupils, and the same puppy dog stare. She wears glasses much like her brother, but he gets the idea that she normally wears contacts as she keeps touching her face like they aren’t there, then jolting when she realizes. Her skin is lighter than Will’s, but only slightly, and dotted with freckles. She’s beautiful, perfectly poised, and her handshake is firm but delicate.

“The pleasure is mine, I assure you.” Hannibal lifted her hand, pressing his lips to her knuckles, and Rosalind smiled politely, “Rosie is not a typical nickname for Rosalind. I believe the usual nickname is Ros, correct?”

“It is, yes. Will called me Rosie when I was little because he knew it bothered me. He continues because he’s the only person who doesn’t get punched for calling me that.” Rosalind brushed her thumb over Hannibal’s knuckles before letting go of his hand.

“I believe Will mentioned stitches?” Hannibal waited for her to nod her approval, then reached out to touch the skin surrounding the stitches, “These were terribly done. I’ll have to cut them out and redo them.”

Will grabbed his sister’s bags from the car, carrying them up to the porch while Hannibal placed a hand on the small of her back and led her into the house. The dogs made to jump on her, but Ros put a hand up and clicked her tongue. They stopped immediately, and she smiled warmly again, bending to greet each dog with a gentle pet and a kiss on the nose. He noticed that she breathed into each of their nostrils just before kissing them.

“Meet the dogs. You can take the bedroom, Rosie. I’ll bring your stuff up. Hannibal, can you keep an eye-“ Will trailed off at the firm look Hannibal gave him, “Right. Thank you. I’ll bring the first aid kit down so you can redo her stitches.”

Hannibal nodded, leading Rosalind to the living room and sitting next to her on the couch. Ros took a quick look at Hannibal, then tugged her legs up onto the couch, tucking them under her. He could see she was weary, but he noticed that she wasn’t shying away from him. She had allowed him into her circle of trust, and no longer saw him as a threat. It was fascinating how she was responding to her trauma, and even more so how her brother’s trust earned hers without question.

“Dr. Lecter, you have a professional and personal relationship with my brother, correct? If I’m not wrong, you see him regarding his mental state, but off the record?” Ros asked, and Hannibal had to bite back a smile.

“You’re correct, Miss Graham.” Hannibal replied, “Will tells me that you are a ballerina. Is there any chance I’ve seen you perform?”

“Have you been to any ballet performances in Baltimore or Washington? My company has performed in quite a few cities in the surrounding states, so it’s possible.” Rosalind twisted slightly, pressing her back to the arm of the couch and facing him, “I don’t know how I’ll be able to practice out here… Perhaps I can convince my dear brother to move the furniture around to clear a space. It won’t be big enough, but it would be something.”

“If you require space to practice, I would be happy to have you at my home, or perhaps my office. Both are quite spacious, and my only stipulation is that I would like to watch you perform.” Hannibal offered, and Rosalind smiled, touching his arm gently.

“You are very generous, Dr. Lecter. I may have to take you up on the offer, and you are more than welcome to attend a performance, should I have one.” Rosalind replied.

“More than welcome.” Hannibal repeated with a smile. At Ros’ answering smile, Hannibal raised a brow delicately, but they were interrupted by the sound of Will’s feet stomping back down the stairs.

“Rosie, I cleared out the bedroom and put your bags on the bed. It’s got fresh sheets and I left some towels for you.” Will said as he entered the room. He took a look at them both, tilted his head just the tiniest bit, then continued like he hadn’t seen anything. Rosalind smiled pleasantly at her brother.

“Thank you, Will. Dr. Lecter was just telling me that he would like to see me perform.”

“I’m sure he would. He’s a great appreciator of the arts, and you’re one of the most talented ballerinas to grace the stage.” Will replied, smiling at the way Rosie blushed like she’d never heard that before. His sister had always been modest, though that wasn’t to say she wasn’t confident in her abilities. She simply wasn’t boastful and acknowledged criticism and the need to improve with grace. Will placed the bulky first aid kit on the coffee table, and Hannibal opened it up and began to select what he needed as he spoke.

“I also offered your sister the use of my home, or perhaps my office, as a practice area.” Hannibal added, “It would offer a safe place to go to get out of your house, as you’ll inevitably tire of each other. A change of scenery would be helpful. I would also like to extend an invitation to you both for dinner. Friday.”

“Another party?” Will asked, hesitant, though he knew he would end up going simply because Rosie looked so eager. Hannibal washed his hands, then the cut, before he removed her stitches. Rosalind barely flinched, her eyes scanning over Hannibal as he worked as if curious.

“Perhaps I can convince one of you to assist me with my lifts during practice. And Dr. Lecter, since you’re being so gracious in offering me the use of your space to practice, and even inviting me to a dinner party… if you would like a private performance, you need only ask.” Rosie smiled at them both and held in a laugh when Will raised his brows.

“You’re very kind, Miss Graham.” Hannibal replied, applying a numbing agent to the skin, “I apologize, but this is going to be uncomfortable. If you need me to stop, say so and I will.”

Rosalind nodded and braced herself, her hand falling to grip Hannibal’s knee as he made the first stitch. She apologized, but he simply murmured that it was nothing, so she let her hand rest where it was. Hannibal worked quickly, which she appreciated. Her stitches were completed within minutes, and Will nodded at the sight of them.

“Much better. Thank you, Hannibal.”

“Not a problem, Will. Rosalind, I appreciate you trusting me to do that. I hope I didn’t hurt you too badly.” Hannibal looked up into her eyes, and she offered him a watery smile.

“I barely felt it. Thank you. They feel better now. Less tight.” Rosalind replied, allowing Hannibal to finish with her wound and sitting for a moment before looking up at them both. She felt safe… or at least, safer. Knowing she had two people who she could trust and rely on made her feel slightly more stable.

“If you would excuse me, I’m going to begin unpacking. I’ll give you both a chance to talk.” Rosalind stood, and Hannibal watched as she ruffled Will’s hair on the way past him. Will watched her go, waiting until he heard her steps ascend the stairs and the door to the bedroom close behind her before looking over to Hannibal.

“So?” Will inquired, eying the doctor.

“Your sister seems remarkably well-adjusted for her circumstances.” Hannibal commented.

“That’s because you’re here. She’ll break down later, when you’ve left. She doesn’t like to show weakness, especially to those she doesn’t know. Rosie grew up fast, like I did, but she’s still not as wise as she could be.” Will leaned back in his seat a little, getting comfortable.

“How old is she?”

“She is 4 years younger than me, so she’s 30 this year. December, though, so she’s still 29.” Will replied, looking over at him, “I appreciate you offering her a place to go when she gets sick of me and this house. Because she’s going to. Fast.”

“Oh?” Hannibal leaned forwards a bit, elbows against his knees.

“She isn’t used to living in the middle of nowhere. I don’t think excursions to FBI headquarters when I’m in the field are going to be enough to keep her occupied. She’s been independent for over a decade, and I can’t imagine feeling babysat is going to help her adjust.” Will replied, “Any help you can give her by taking her out will be appreciated. I’m going to ask Alana as well, but she’s busy too, so I’m hoping I can get more people to help.”

“I will do my best, Will. Perhaps I can lighten my load of appointments temporarily. I believe I have some patients who can reduce their number of appointments per week.” Hannibal mused, while Will eyed him.

“Thanks. She’ll need someone to talk to, and while I know you can’t take her as a patient or anything, having your advice as a friend might still help.” Will stood, “Thank you for coming, Hannibal. I really appreciate it. I know I called at a completely ridiculous hour, but-“

“Nonsense. You’re my friend, Will. You have my personal number for a reason.” Hannibal stood and patted his shoulder, “I’ll go say goodbye to your sister. You should get some rest; you’ll have a busy day tomorrow.”

Will nodded, starting to get the couch ready to sleep, carefully stepping over his dogs as the lounged around the fireplace. Hannibal headed up the stairs, pausing when he heard a soft humming from the room. A Model of the Universe by Jóhann Jóhannsson, if he wasn’t mistaken. He knocked gently.

“Come in.”

Hannibal opened the door, watching Rosalind sit on the edge of the bed and turn to face him.

“I came to say goodbye, Miss Graham. Here’s my card, and my personal number is written on the back. If you need anything, or want to get out of the house, please do not hesitate to call me.”

Rosalind took the card, and then his hand, giving it a squeeze.

“Thank you. Truly.” She murmured, and he simply nodded.

“Get some sleep. You need it. I would suggest you have one of the dogs sleep with you to make you feel safe. Goodbye, Miss Graham.” Hannibal left, and Rosalind took a deep, shaky breath. She could do this. She was safe, and she was going to be okay. All she had to do was sleep. Will was just downstairs, and he would never let her get hurt.

Later, once she had changed into her pyjamas and curled up in bed, she fell asleep with Winston’s gentle breathing next to her, unaware that Will had slipped something in her drink to get her to pass out. Thank god for Hannibal giving him emergency valium.

#hannibal #hannibal lecter/oc #hannibal lecter/original character

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wingshead · 5 years

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headcanon / meta post based around de-constructing the thematic qualities in the five-part series man out of time by mark waid.

Bucky: What about you, “Rembrandt?” You oughta start makin’ plans. Steve: If my country wants me to keep serving, I’ll serve. But they might not. Seriously, what purpose does Captain America serve outside of combat? I wouldn’t be surprised if they took the suit and shield and sent me home with every other soldier. Bucky: Ha! They’re gonna have you be the first man to break the sound barrier! First man to climb Mount Everest! Heck, you’re gonna be the first man on the moon! Steve: You think? Bucky: That’s my two cents. So I ask you back: Is that what you want? Steve: I’ll do whatever needs doing. Bucky: That’s not an answer. My brother, you have been running a mile a minute since they shot you up with the super-soldier serum. There is not an American alive who doesn’t owe you (and me) a thousand times over. So, what? Do? You? Want? Steve: Honestly? I just want to sleep.

So right off the bat in the first few pages, it’s pretty clear from the beginning of this mini series that we’re getting a look at a side of Steve that we don’t see very often in the comics, and it directly deals with Steve’s exhaustion & uncertainty. For all his boosting the morale and fighting on the front lines, Steve has an exhaustion with the war and the fact that he for as long as he fought in it, he never stopped working, fighting, and obeying orders the entire time. He has never once complained, other than when he was frustrated in the beginning at not doing more. Minus obeying orders (seeing how for a good portion of his run with the Avengers he’s been the de facto leader/ co-leader of the team), Steve continues on the same way now in the future. He’s strong, he’s fast, he’s got enhanced stamina and agility and an eidetic memory. He’s dedicated to the cause : both as a man wanting to do the right thing, and as a soldier wanting to serve his country.

And Steve is very much a soldier, he may have only fought in World War II for a number of years, but he’s fought in many other wars afterwards, and fought alongside other men as well - both as Steve Rogers and Captain America.

But unlike the other GIs and men out in the battlefield that had something or someone to come back to, Steve didn’t. Even back then. He didn’t have family left to go home to : didn’t have a girl. Didn’t really have any friends either. He’s fully immersed in Captain America: the man has become the symbol, and without the symbol, Steve’s not sure who the man is. The question Bucky asks him, ‘what do you want?’, is a difficult one to answer for Steve, because for all that Stevewants peace in the world and the war to end, he doesn’t know what he’ll do in the absence of having a war to fight. A purpose. Despite the fact that it was a pretty god-awful movie, the line ‘God’s righteous man, pretending he can live without war’ in regards to Steve is a pretty accurate one. Steve is constantly at war : with the world, and with himself. He hasn’t known life without a battle or a fight for most his life. The idea of peace and normalcy is a tempting one, and it’s Steve’s goal, but he doesn’t know what his role would be in a life where he’s no longer needed to be Captain America anymore.

Throughout the five part series, Steve’s thoughts are shown in a recurring type-face in the form of a mission report. It shows his distrust with the people and the world around him, and the fact that even in completely new terrain, Steve’s first instinct is to think like a soldier still in a war, & act like he’s behind enemy lines. The last thing Steve remembers is being thrown from a plane armed with a bomb that Zemo had set, and now he’s waking up to strangers in strange costumes. He fought with the Invaders, and super-beings are not new news to Steve : he’s fought with them, and against them. Considering the last thing Steve remembered was being in enemy terrain, he’s suspicious still of the Avengers at first, and Steve tries to maintain a cover that no longer exists. That never existed. He’s still reporting to his higher up. Steve is using his inner reconnaissance report as a crutch : trying to hold onto something familiar, even though it’s not real.

And then there’s the whole issue around his hallucinations, the people and fantasy that he makes up in his head to cope with the reality he’s faced with. This one…kind of speaks for itself. The fact that Steve on the outside looks very composed and calm with the situation, when the panels seen through his eyes show a very different and more disturbing story. His cavalier attitude freaks a lot of people out, both Rick and the medical staff that Steve sees after being shot, but despite the fact that Steve ACTS like he’s fine waking up in the distant future, the fact that we can see that he’s replacing people in the present with people from his past shows that he’s really, really not dealing with what’s happening to him. it’s obvious that waking up and being faced with a time that’s not his own isn’t something that Steve can readily or easily accept, and it’s traumatized him to the point where he’s had to make up an entire world around him to compensate.

But it’s not only limited to the hallucinations. A few times in the comics Steve has what’s known as the thousand yard stare. A blank, long and limp look that isn’t directed at anything. The thousand yard stare was coined in WWII to correspond with war veterans where the intense trauma they faced had left them haunted, and not all there. It’s reflected in their gaze. The dissociation. And dissociation is exactly what Steve is going through right now. He couldn’t possibly be in a more dissociate state at the moment, with everything and everyone he knows gone from his life forever.

Dr. Dysart: Hang on. You can’t just leave! There’s paperwork and payment and – Steve: Alright, I’ll play along. Call this number. This man will clear everything. Dr. Dysart: There’s only six digits … Wait. President Roosevelt … ? Steve: Tell him I said hello. Dr. Dysart: Son, stop! What did you mean when you said “even here”? Where do you think you are? Steve: Huh.

The issue, and the tail - end to Steve’s conversation with Doctor Dysart really hits home the extent of Steve delusions here, and its only expanded on when he meets Rick on the streets of New York. Steve has deluded himself into believing he’s in a dream, because it’s easier for him to accept the future and the changes if he thinks his mind is making it up and he’ll wake up from it soon. But despite this, he still keeps up appearances, showing that while he’s trying to convince himself all of this isn’t real, a part of him deep down can understand that it isn’t, and he can’t freely give away classified information.

Another one of Steve’s hallucinations, and another way for him to compensate for his loss and not face the reality of it all. He sees Rick, a young kid & a friend of the Avengers, and his mind immediately turns him into Bucky. Bucky, who last he’d seen, had been on top of a plane that had blown up. Bucky, who Steve had asked about when he’d 'woken up’, and didn’t get an answer for. ‘Bucky’ looks the same age as he did when Steve last saw him in 1944, despite the fact that in this 'dream’ of Steve’s they’re decades in the future. “It’s good to see you, partner. I was worried about you.” he tells Rick-Bucky.

The guilt and the fear of admitting that the possibility of Bucky being dead is not something that Steve, at that moment, was equipped to handle.

He chooses instead to use a coping mechanism, replacing Rick’s presence with the image of Bucky’s. But during the entire conversation with Rick, despite Steve seeing him as Bucky, he can hear what Rick is saying and understand clearly how it doesn’t fit in with what Bucky would say. Steve understands this, but he chooses to ignore it. He tries to keep playing along with his little game, and keep up the illusion as long as he can. Desperation, maybe, to see when the 'dream’ will end, how far he has to play along before he can wake up.

And yet.

Yet, despite the fact that Steve believes he’s in a dream, he still remains ultimately unchanged in one of his biggest character traits:

The first thing Steve did when stepping back into New York was rush to the aid of a young woman getting robbed. Despite Rick calling him crazy, and Steve believing he’s in a dream - therefore whatever he does should logically have no real consequence - he decides to help Rick in finding the Avengers.

The illusion doesn’t break in the face of everything that his 'brain’ keeps coming up with – the internet, females as Doctors, foreign languages, modern slang, etc etc – until he’s faced with FDR’s death. It’s what makes the illusion snap inside of Steve’s mind and it breaks him out of his trauma induced delusion forcibly. He ends up leaving Rick and going after the man they’re after himself.

And when Steve finds out it’s an alien, when he’s faced with yet ANOTHER oddity that he couldn’t possibly come up with, faced with the reality that he’s really in the future and Bucky’s not here, faced with his world crumbling around him – all Steve can do is laugh. He laughs. Like it’s funny, because it’s the only thing he can really do. The only other option is cry and grieve and face the fact that he’s lost EVERYTHING.

Despite snapping out of the hallucinations and coming to terms with the reality of things, Steve remains vehemently determined to find his way back home. Despite being impressed and overjoyed w/ the future’s accomplishments, he wants to go home. but despite his stubbornness to go home, he listens to the President’s orders above all else. Bitterness possibly at Tony, for exposing him to all this information, knowing he wouldn’t be able to go home afterwards because of it. Steve’s silent breakdown by the foot of Lincoln’s statue, a small figure in comparison to the cold marble, all by himself with his head in his hands, cuts a very solemn and tragic figure. The juxtaposition between both Steve’s current attitude now - solemn, sad, beaten down - to how his attitude was just earlier in the issue - awed, inspired and impressed - as well as Steve sat hunched in front of the Lincoln Statue, which sits tall and proud, is pretty remarkable.

Steve was impressed by the future but from an outsider’s point of view : like sitting in a class, watching a documentary play. What you see astounds you, but it’s a documentary and it ends, and you go back to your own life. Steve expected that. He expected to go back to his life. The future held many remarkable things but it wasn’t, in his opinion, his time. It wasn’t his world, no matter how much better things seemed. Then you have Steve sitting in front of Lincoln’s statue : two larger than life figures that dedicated themselves to their country. Both etched in time, both someone many people know of. Only Steve’s not standing still in time : he’s just out of it. He’s out of place.

It’s in the fourth issue that you really start seeing the shift in Steve’s attitude. He’s downtrodden : he feels beaten down, lost, and at a crossroads with no clue where to go. Thor’s words, while probably meant in a good natured way, didn’t help. The next few pages show even more examples of the juxtaposition that Steve embodies : he fights alongside the Avengers and accepts his duty, given to him by his President and country, but he doesn’t stop searching for links to his past either. He tries to find evidence of Bucky and Peggy’s existences, and eventually visits his commanding officer, General Jacob Simon. A man from his past, who opens Steve’s eyes to all the corruption and cruelty of the world, when Steve had been shown only the good and the progress by Tony, a man from the future. There’s a clear divide shown, between Steve fighting for peace, justice, and good both on his own against what General Simon tells him about as well as with the Avengers, and Steve being crushed by the weight of all the evil, the injustice, and the cruelty of the modern day world. Being exposed to the horrors.

He feels even less, and less like he belongs, despite having a spot on the Avengers, and while he shows his disgust and disappointment with General Simon, he hides his feelings well from his teammates. He’s distant to them, as seen when Iron Man tells Hank Pym that he barely ever sees Cap anymore. Steve is silently grieving: for his life, and for what he’s woken up into, something he fought to protect and create that’s not as great or beautiful as he thought it would be.

The entire issue is very much reference to the opening conversation between Bucky and Steve at the start of the series: Steve, being tired and wanting to sleep but doing what he’s asked to do, being where he’s needed. Only now Steve has a home he needs to get back to, but the war he’s fighting is more internal and impossible that it’s one he’ll never really come back from, one he hasn’t come back from even in today’s comics.

When Steve is finally, finally transported back to his own time by way of Kang, at first he’s shocked. But shock gives way to relief. Not joy ; not excitement ; relief. Steve is relieved to be back home. But throughout the issue, his expressions mainly seem too serious, too somber to match the eagerness and impatience he’d displayed earlier in the series about getting home. A man even asks him, “How’s it feel to be back home? Pretty terrific, I bet!”

and Steve pauses for a bit before answering with a ‘it’s good’. But Steve’s not smiling, despite having said he’d missed this just a few seconds earlier, Steve is showing anything but happiness. He’s finally back in his own time, and catching up on things, but – his perspective has changed. Most telling of this fact, is that slowly over the course of the first seven pages, the color fades. It fades so that everyone in the background is in black and white, but Steve stays in color. It’s a total juxtaposition to the first two issues, where Steve hallucinated and imagined everyone in the future / present to be someone from his past. The only difference now is that the people in black and white are the people from his past. The only people in color are the images of his teammates he sees on a circus poster, in place of the actual carnies. The people in the 40s are the ones that Steve knows. Except now Steve knows more. He’s experienced something extraordinary and new : and he’s changed because of it.

Steve has, for all his emotional displacement in the future, adapted mentally to the cultural and societal shifts that it offered and gave. It causes a rift between him and the 1940s, where things are different from what he’d seen in the future, where progress hasn’t yet been made, despite all the issues and problems that had been created in the future, something important happens in this final issue.

Steve realizes that even when he’s home he has no one, nothing to stay for or come back to. It’s shown in his worry and constant thoughts for the Avengers, because they are in the future and they are something he has to go back for. Bucky is not there. Steve feels he can do for the Avengers what he couldn’t for Bucky : Save them. And he does.

Steve: It’s odd. All I wanted was to be back home, Noonan, and now that I am…I don’t feel ready to put down roots. Why is that? Noonan: Eh. We all gotta get readjusted, am I right? Don’t be sad, be proud! We fought the good fight, and the job is done! Steve: It’s not that simple for me. I have…I had these friends…And the last time I was with them, they were in trouble. I couldn’t help Bucky…And now I’ve failed them, too. Noonan: I don’t know what you mean by “failed 'em”, but if it’s that important…there’s nothing you can do? You know what Captain America says, Rogers: “there’s always a way.”

Steve realizes how he doesn’t belong ; not to the future, and not to the past anymore either. Most people when they think of Steve, and hear the words “man out of time”, tend to only associate it with him being a man of the past in the future. And that is true. But that’s only half of it. Steve is a man out of time in all regards. He says it himself in several different medias, in the movies, in the comics, in different eras : he never fit in, even in his own personal life. He always stood out. He didn’t want to, but he did. But the past is what Steve knew: it held his life, and his potential for a normal one after the war. Now Steve is enlightened, he’s seen the future. He’s lived in it. This issue is showing that even when he DID go back to his own time, and had every opportunity to stay, he couldn’t. He didn’t fit in. It didn’t fit him. Steve lives in a future where it’s very much the same, but he actually serves a purpose.

This goes back to the fact that Steve is a man who fights for peace but is at constant war – and is made for it. However much he dreams of a normal life, it’s not in his cards. We can come full circle here, and draw back on Bucky and Steve’s conversation in the beginning: Steve doesn’t know what he wants to do after the war is over. Captain America is what Steve knows best. Fighting the good fight. Living in the 40s, after the war is over and peace reigns is certainly a tempting thought for Steve, but it’s not a realistic option for him. Not anymore. Not with everything he’s learned, and not with how he is. He goes back to help the Avengers because that’s what he’s always done: help. The Avengers gave him a PURPOSE. Steve may not fit in, and he feels a lot of disassociation with the world and the people, the current culture, but he’ll protect it.

#& 〉 ooc.#〈 ˟ YOU MAY NOT BE INTERESTED / BUT WAR IS INTERESTED YOU.﹥ headcanons. 〉#reposting this here because man out of time is such an amazing look into steve's character #and his coping when first waking up to the modern world #what an honest to god must read .... sad as it is #a lot of people think that steve hasn't gone through trauma / doesn't suffer through ptsd #that he just kind of soldiers on without much problem #like yeah things get to him but he's steve rogers: he's infallible. unflappable #but then you get to issues like man out of time. or issues dealing with dimension z #even the early captain america issues in the 1960s #and you realize...that is not the case #this man is just incredibly talented at stuffing those emotions and trauma down so far back #no one really notices #except for sam / sharon / bucky #and god bless their souls for that

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inviciousx · 6 years

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The Cardinal batted at the hat, forcing it to flop back down onto Caroline’s lap.

“Keep it. I have, like, fucking … five-thousand of them,” the man slurred dismissively. Now that he was in the fresh air with the grounding sensation of cool mist on his face, he was forced to blink several times to refocus his vision, realising suddenly just how much wine he had consumed down there in the pounding atmosphere of the party. Now that he had been pulled out of it, the ground suddenly felt a lot more uneven, and it was becoming harder to translate himself properly into English. He moved to lean on the grave beside Caroline’s, finger scratching idly at the illegible name carved into it. He wondered briefly if the spirits of the occupants below were watching them, tutting and shaking their heads, and he snorted a little with laughter.

“Maybe I was lying,” the man offered suddenly, something playful about his tone. Whether that was a good sign or not remained to be seen. “Pulling your tail. Or leg. I can’t remember which it is. Maybe I do want to kiss you, at least to only … to show what you’re missing. I am easily the very best. The rest of the Clergy are rigid as corpses, just, ehm … not rigid in the right places, you know? Rigid as rigor … rigor mortis and limp as wet spaghetti.” Amused by his own comparisons, the Cardinal smirked groggily. “Besides, it’s better to let them think that we’re fucking. They’re more likely to leave you alone that way, you know? There are men three times your age talking about you like you’re Venus rising from her shell. It’ll be our little - oh, shit -”

Having made to move closer, his shoes slipped on the wet grass and he lost his balance. He grabbed the grave on the way down and ended up landing on his ass, legs splayed either side of the gravestone and staring blankly at the worn words etched into it. His hands were still holding the sides of it, coated with moist moss, but he was too far gone to care about that. In that moment, the Cardinal likely appeared less like the leader of a global Satanic church and more like the sort that would stumble their way home after one too many drinks in the bar.

Brief reprieves like this were in their own way a blessing. Though he could still feel the vibrations of the party below, he felt apart from it, from the people within, and like he could breathe. Leaning forwards until his forehead was resting against the grave, he sighed and stared down at the grass below, his mood shifting as easily as waves in a storm. The graveyard hid many skeletons of those who had wronged the church. The chance of he himself having a grave up here, lonely and uncared for, was higher than he cared to think. An unwelcome intrusive thought.

Copia then grunted and moved to lay there on his back. The world swam around him sickeningly for a moment before steadying itself, and he could see the dull colour of the sky above with better clarity.

“Have you ever seen a dog dance?” He piped up suddenly, moving an arm beneath his head to rest on it. “They don’t tend to do it very well at all. You are a good dancer,” the man commended thoughtfully, then added in a teasing tone, smirking stupidly towards the heavens, “I suppose people are more than how they appear.”

The black hat fell back onto her legs lamely. Caroline glared at it, feeling she’d been insulted in some underhanded way, as if she’d stolen something he’d never cared about to begin with, making the whole exercise fruitless. She tossed it into the grass carelessly to continue being rained on, hoping the moisture and dirt ruined the fabric in case he ever asked for it back.

Somewhere in the distance, thunder rolled over the tops of the trees, and the forest shuddered with a short blast of heavier rain before the storm settled back into a mist. Caroline ground her teeth as the quiet seconds passed, running her hands through her curls to push away the wet strands sticking to her cheeks. She anticipated rough handling again any second, hauling her up onto her feet and back into the catacombs. However, after a suspicious silence, she looked back at Copia. Her face pinched in brief confusion, wondering what on earth he was doing, just lingering, feeling the texture of a weathered headstone. Copia didn’t linger; he acted. The whole scene set her nerves on edge. Something was stirring in the stillness, but she didn’t move, fearing to set whatever it was out into the wild.

Caroline was already looking up at him when he spoke at last. She shook her head in bewilderment as the Cardinal mixed up his idioms, only to reel directly back into herself as he reached the point. The blank expression she ordinarily tried to project was obliterated by the bourbon that was keeping her warm in the night air. Her spine straightened like a steel pole and her skin singed with embarrassment. Caroline bit her lip, unable to find a word to object. Every next word he spoke to further his case on the matter of intimacy struck her as being more and more foreign. Whether Copia spoke in jest or in earnest was obscured by his thick Italian accent, though she couldn’t quite imagine a scenario in which he was doing either. Perhaps it was a test of some kind, meant to shock her into revealing the strength of her will or else testing the effect of his words, passing it off as a joke if she objected, but in success. . . Caroline stopped her mind right there. He had a stock-room full of willing partners inside, so surely he couldn’t be serious. Her mouth twisted a bit, wondering if any sincerity he had was something of a conquest, a desire to assert the power he’d wrangled over her, as if it weren’t obvious enough. All the possibilities mixed poorly with the alcohol, yet she suddenly wanted a lot more.

Caroline opened her mouth and formed the beginning of an unknown question in the break of his soliloquy, but only managed to get the first syllable out before he pushed on. The next sentence shattered any semblance of composure she had maintained. Heat brushed up the nape of her neck. In blunt-force shock, she she raised her hands and looked around as if there was someone around to explain what he was on about. Caroline adjusted herself to face him more completely, wearing an expression that begged any kind of explanation for his suggestions.

The tension was reaching the threshold of her limits. She leaned back upon seeing him start to round on her, suddenly realizing she might not be ready for the answers she’d just been considering. She froze to the spot, about as useless as the bones a few feet below her. Seconds passed before she registered he’d hit the ground, as if watching him in a dreamShe stared at him blankly, suddenly registering the full extent of their mutual intoxication.

Caroline clapped her hand over her lips and exploded into a fit of laughter as the pressure in her chest released like a spring. She clutched her sides, lost in hysterics until she couldn’t keep her eyes open and tears rolled down her face. She rolled onto her back, kicking her legs up in the air and trying to clamp sniggers between her lips, but, upon looking at him again, still straddling a tombstone, she burst into a fit of giggles that took her breath away. Her abdomen ached from it, but it was all she could do to keep breathing. She covered her face with both hands, chuckling as the rain soaked through the back of her shirt.

With a few final giggles, she rested her hands on her stomach, rolling her head over to look at the state of the man with perhaps the first genuine smile he’d ever seen, even if it was as his expense. He owed her that at least, she thought. After painting a rather vivid picture of his mastery of the human body, karma seemed to have picked up the slack she couldn’t. She made herself comfortable against the white marble below, closing her eyes, completely at the mercy of the storm. The earth seemed to rock gently under her, the air undulating with energy, a pleasant cradle to lay down arms in. The thought of lying next to Copia over the bodies of the dead did not cross her mind.

It seemed she would have a few moments to continue decompressing, imagining her body was resting on the slopes of the Montana mountains, but Copia’s voice made her eyes blink open and back to reality.

Her expression buckled into confusion again as her slowed reasoning connected the dots.

“Excuse me. . .” she said immediately, rolling over onto her side to see him. “Are you being. . . nice?” she finished, her voice rising. “Cause it’s great. Don’t get me wrong. But, uh. . . it rings a little hollow after you just suggested we pretend to or actually you know.”

She regarded him with suspicion that bordered on humor, navigating herself out of the effect of acknowledging anything he’d just said. The makeup on his face was beginning to run in the downpour. Caroline bit the inside of her cheek, the questions beginning to flow again. She shook her head and laid back down, exhaling slowly in an effort to suffocate the slight electricity running through her muscles and navigated the stream of wet hair out from behind her back. Her clothes were beginning to truly cling to her skin with every passing minute, and while she relished the storm, it was a wonder Copia felt the same, even hammered.

“Anyway “ she began again, a bit shrilly, wiping the rain off her face. At a momentary loss for words, she stuttered a chuckle out. “Uh, you know we, uh, tried that a few weeks ago. You got into it, then bragged about the amount of ass you pull, then you said I ‘ruined the mood,’ and I broke your arm, which, I mean, I’m outta practice, but I don’t think that’s how it works. . . Oh, then your actual fuck buddies stuck me with knives a few thousand times. So. . .” She clicked her tongue on the roof of her mouth twice. “Not what I’d call foreplay.”

Caroline began circling her pointer finger in circles over the slick marble. It felt like ice. The muscles in her temples flexed in response to the situation. As she ventured further from the shock of his statements, some truths started to emerge. If people wanted bragging rights from her, it explained the odd behavior she’d seen since she’d been released from her cell. She wet her lips slowly, and sat up. The feeling of being so open suddenly felt unbearable. It was as if these people were inventing new ways to take her dignity.

Caroline leaned onto her bent knees, looking over at him with a small expression. She studied him silently. “Are you messing with me or not?” she asked quietly. She hushed again, swallowing a tremor. “Cause I was just “ Caroline forced herself to laugh, but it was hollow, “messing with you inside. I wasn’t trying to like lead you on, or, fuck. . . I don’t know. It was “ She shook her head in lieu of anything audible, rubbing her arms. “nothing. So if this is your way of getting me back: haha, good job, but. . . drop it.”

@quod-quartus

#quod-quartus

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tony-luvv · 6 years

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(SuperIron) First Impressions

Prompt: Clark thinking back on the first time he met Tony Stark and just how wrong his guess was as to just who Tony was (arrogant, selfish, playboy, etc) and how that all changed little by little when he is forced to work with the avenger to stop a villain as per Batman’s request. He couldn’t help but smile at the man standing in front of him now, teary eyed as Clark slipped the ring onto his finger.

AN: this took for ever to write and it went one direction and then another but I finally did it. Thank You @raquel6354 for this prompt and sorry for the wait.

Ao3 and Fanfiction Links available

He knew his mother would be disappointed in him, and he tried. He really tried to not let the media influence him but for some reason, Tony Stark rubbed him the wrong way and got under his skin. Of course he never met the man, only saw him in passing when he was doing his work as a reporter or saw him on TV but for the most part he was basing his opinion off of gossip rags and it bothered him.

It wasn’t until Bruce and the Justice League that his opinions started to change.

“I don’t understand why we have to work with Mr. Stark.” Clark was not throwing an adult sized temper tantrum no matter what anyone said.

“Honestly Clark, I don’t understand what the problem is, Tony’s a good guy. Did he sleep with your girlfriend or something?” Bruce had his back turned, looking over some stuff while he prepared for Tony to come by their headquarters. That was another thing, why did Tony Stark know that Bruce Wayne is the Batman? The team had decided a while ago that it was easier to know one another’s identities for missions (mostly so they didn’t have to sit in costume and act stupid around one another all the time). Otherwise the Justice League is pretty tight about keeping their identities under wraps. But when Bruce told him about this meeting with Stark regarding collaborations among the Justice League and the Avengers he made no move to protect his identity.

Well now it seemed he was going to get some answers.

Loud hulking footsteps were coming from the entrance to the bat cave. Bruce turned away from the computers and smiled at the Iron Man armor walking towards them. The mask looked pretty intimidating with its blank metal stare. When Iron Man was about four steps from a casually dressed Bruce and a fully decked out Superman the armor open up and Tony Stark stepped out dressed as casually as Bruce. It was different from how the man normally looked out in public. Instead of Armani suits that cost more than his life savings and expensive designer shades he had on some well-worn jeans and a long sleeve tee.

“Batsy!” Stark stopped in front of Bruce and thrust out his hand. From where he was standing off to the side and slightly behind Bruce he didn’t see his teammate’s reaction but he did reach out for the other’s hand. Tony was smiling and shaking the others hand when suddenly Bruce tugged him forward into a bear hug. “Brucey-kins nooooo! You’re messing up my image.” He grumbled and attempted to push himself away from the other man who seemed to be smothering him.

Clark was speechless, he never thought of his teammate as affectionate. Bruce just let of this vibe that screamed Don’t Touch and he always seemed so serious that seeing him smother the Avenger’s billionaire like this was downright strange.

It took a lot out of Clark to keep his jaw from hitting the floor at this moment, watching Tony pout as Bruce rocked and petted his head in the comforts of the taller man’s arms. “Are you done yet?”

“No.” Clark honestly didn’t know if he should leave the room or not, Bruce was rubbing his face in Tony’s soft hair and making happy sounds. Footsteps were approaching and Clark had to drag his gaze away to see who it might be.

Alfred was entering the cave, drinks set on his serving tray. “Master Wayne please release Anthony, you’re upsetting him.” Bruce grunted but didn’t make any moves to let go. “Don’t forget you have another guest present and Anthony did come for other reasons than getting smothered to death.”

“Right!” Bruce allowed Stark a bit of leeway but kept an arm around his shoulders as he turned them to face him. “Superman, Iron Man. Tony, Superman.”

“Hey man, I’m normally cooler than this but it’s really nice to meet you. Thanks for all you done for the world and keeping this idiot safe.” Clark was thrown by how genuine the guy was with him. He reached out for the hand Tony was offering him and returned the sentiment.

Now that greetings were out the way they all went to gather around the meeting table and set to work. Again he was left shocked on the side lines as Bruce and Stark got to work hashing out the collaboration details. Working on guidelines that calls for interference or borderlines for what each team considered their jurisdiction. Often enough the genius would ask him for his input or if he had any arguments towards his ideas. For the most part Tony Stark was considerate and professional about their work as superheroes.

He even found himself enjoying the meeting, him and Bruce normally butted heads on a lot of things which made problem solving a bit difficult and meetings were a drag to deal with. But Tony made it different somehow, they bantered but casually, shooting ideas around the three of them and making suggestions that would benefit everyone involved. Tony took into account everyone’s fighting styles and their strengths and try to pair them up according to those traits. Overall he learned a lot about team dynamics and was actually a little excited about this collaboration effort.

Maybe he did judge the man a little too quickly.

Three months later and things were going great. The Justice League and Avengers had a few sit down meetings where the teams got to meet the other’s they’d be working with and ran a few drills together. They learned that even though Aqua Man and Thor got along swimmingly, they didn’t work well together when it came to combat. Particularly their fighting styles, their unique powers hindering instead of helping one another.

Wonder Woman and the Hulk were a power house team that could take down any army by themselves, plus Hulk thought strong lady’s hair was super soft and Wonder Woman adored Hulk. Both came to an agreement that Wanda needed more training with her newly acquired powers before she took on some bigger missions. Vision worked well with everyone but volunteered to stand by until he two could learn more about his powers.

Steve and Wonder Woman didn’t do well together on the field, and neither did Clint and Clark so they worked around it.

A few missions came up where they brought in some help from the other team depending on who was available and who needed the help but for the most part everything was going fine.

And then it wasn’t.

The people weren’t happy. Super powered individuals running around doing as they pleased wasn’t sitting well with the governments. Bruce and Clark both knew this was an issue. It’s how they met. People were afraid of Superman and wanted him to face the courts. But it seemed as though America was the loudest to voice their questions or complaints. While the Justice League was off the radar in Superman’s hide out, the Accords were being served to the Avengers front door.

And for most we know how that turned out.

The League had been sitting around Superman’s hideout or as Aquaman liked to call it, The Fortress of Solitude, when he heard it. Zoning out of the meeting and focusing on his super hearing he pushed all the unnecessary chatter away. Using all his concentration on focusing on that voice, Stark’s voice.

“-se……” There was a hitch in his voice, was he hurt? In distress? He was starting to wor – “…Bruce, somebody. Help me.” He was–he was sobbing.

“Bruce!” He quickly turned to the other man, completely cutting off the conversation the others were still engaged in.

“Bruucee? FRI-FRIDAY? Please…” another broken sob.

“Clark what’s–”

“We need to go, it’s Tony.

“WHAT!?” Bruce jumped from his chair, marching over to the alien. “What’s going on?”

“I can hear him, he’s calling your name.”

“Take me to him. Take me to him now.”

Diana stood from the table, “I’ll follow in the jet. Just keep your tracker on you.” Everyone quickly jumped into action. Clark and Bruce took off to put their gear on before taking off. Diana and Arthur following behind them in the jet, Arthur coming along in case for any reason they might need back up. Barry and Victor staying in the lair on standby and to prep medical (you never know with these kinds of things).

Bruce and Clark arrived first to an abandoned base, stranded in the middle of a snowy tundra. The second his feet hit the ground Bruce was racing into the base, “TONY! TONY WHERE ARE YOU?” His shouting echoed and bounced around in the empty concrete walls. Clark was following behind Bruce when they came across these pods with five people sitting in them. Bullets shot into their skulls and a single screen resting in the middle of the room, static running on the screen.

“TONY! DAMN IT TONY ANSWER ME!” He took off again. Clark took another look around the room, “TONY OH MY GOD. CLARK!” Running off in the direction Bruce went he ran down a corridor and then turned the corner into an open room.

His breath caught in his throat, tucked in the corner suit crumpled and broken was Tony. Left arm curled in tight, right had free of armor and holding his head down, sobs wracking his entire frame. Bruce was crouching down next to him, trying to get the other man’s attention. It took a little but it seemed Bruce finally got through to him.

“Come on Tony, please look at me.” Finally Tony peaked up at him, he looked awful. A bruise consumed his right eye, blood trailing down his face from the gash on his left temple and busted nose, mixing with the tears streaming out of his eyes. Bruce was mask free, inching closer to his friend. “Tony…”

Tony’s eyes finally started to get some focus and fixed themselves onto Bruce. For a moment everything was still, Bruce was holding his breath, waiting for Tony to react. “Bru-” the name got caught in his throat but it must have been what the man needed because he was quickly on top of the other man. Hands never stopping as they ran over the other. Checking him for injuries while trying to pull him close for a hug. “Bruce, you-you’re here. Wha-Ah! Ow ow oww.”

“Shit, Tony, fuck. I’m sorry. You’re hurt. Where? Is it your arm? Jesus. What happened!? Tony, who did this? I’ll-” Bruce was bouncing between emotions, nervous concern, guilt, then he was back to being worried. When he started asking the real questions his voice dropped into something dark.

“Bruce. I wanna go home…. Please.”

After that everything seemed to go in a blur. Carefully they worked together to remove the disabled armor from Tony except for the part wrapped around his broken left arm. Bruce asked him to get Tony to the jet while he gathered the suit remains. As carefully as he could he lifted Tony into his arms, said man was quite aside from a hitch in his breath. His right arm clung to his neck, face hidden in his shoulder.

They made their way through the base and outside to the jet where Diana had just landed. She was lowering the ramp when she noticed Tony in her arms.

“Superman, does he need medical.” Diana’s face was coated in concern, you could tell she wanted to check on the man that had become a friend to all of them over the past few months.

“I’d gather the supplies, Bruce is going to want to take a look.” Diana nodded and then briskly climbed back into the jet. He looked down at Tony, the man hadn’t moved since he picked him up. He was trying to figure out if the man was still conscious when the breeze picked up and caused the man to shiver. Not wanting Stark to get sick on top of everything else that’s happened to him Clark quickly carried him inside. Arthur was standing in the arch way to the cockpit, eyes questioning but not pressing for answers.

Suddenly Bruce was boarding the jet and dropping the broken armor off to the side. His strides brought him quickly to Clark who handed over the injured man. Despite what pain he must be in Tony was quick to reach for Bruce and settle in his arms. Bruce sat against the wall in one of the seats tucked off to the side, Tony securely in his arms. For a moment he took a second to just sit a breath, knowing Tony was alive and safe now in his arms.

The next month was crazy, if Bruce wasn’t with Tony he was in the in the gym or in the streets, fighting off his aggression. Clark found himself spending more and more time with the genius. Tony didn’t like being alone after what happened. His nightmares were awful and sometimes it got to be too much for Bruce. Seeing his friend in this condition and not having been there to prevent it, Bruce really started to beat himself up. So Clark stepped in, he cared for Tony, not as deeply as Bruce (he didn’t think anyone would top Bruce’s love for Tony) but enough that he would lay in bed curled around the genius while Bruce terrorized the villains of Gotham.

With most of the Avenger’s on the run from the Accords, the Justice League with Batman and Wonder Woman in the lead took on the responsibility they had so foolishly hid from. While Tony was healing, Bruce, as Batman, worked hand in hand with the Accords council, attempting to navigate the laws in place and fix them to help, guide and protect the Super Hero community while also taking the people into account. Diana there and helping him through it all.

Of course Bruce was still there for Tony but without the outlet of Steve Rogers face to take his aggressions out on he wasn’t being much help to the other man.

But Clark didn’t mind, sitting with Tony watching movies and making him coffee didn’t bother him. When Tony got quiet Clark would talking about the story he was working on, making jokes on how egotistical he must be to write stories on himself.

When this would happen Tony would make his way closer to him on the couch, until he was basically curled under his arm, looking down at his notes with him.

The longer Clark and Tony spent together, the less his nightmares haunted him. Yes they still happened but Clark’s presence eased his mind, cutting back their frequency.

It had been three and a half months since they found Tony in Siberia when he asked to go to the compound.

“Clark.” Said man looked up from where he was making them sandwiches at the breakfast bar. It was lunchtime and it was just him and Tony today. Bruce caught in meetings, Diana off doing what she did, and Clark had the day off. Tony was sat across for him in one of the bar stools, watching him make ham and cheese sandwiches.

“Yes Tony?”

“Will you go with me to the compound?” Clark was surprised, since they got back Tony had been avoiding all things Avengers related. Only accepting calls from Rhodes and checking on his braces, making sure they were helping him. He would text with Vision but never accepting his calls, his voice got to be too much sometimes. Happy was monitoring some Parker kid for him, sending him daily reports even though Tony hacked his phone so he could see all the messages Parker sent Happy.

“Only if you want me to,” he waited, Tony nodded a quiet I do whispered, “okay then. When would you like to go?”

“Do you have time this weekend?” He was almost timed, the way he asked.

“This weekend is perfect, I’m all yours.” Clark didn’t miss the little smile that formed on Tony’s face, nor did he miss the way it made his heart flutter.

Clark drove them, Tony’s arm is still casted and he was content to sit in the passenger seat and watch the scenery. When they pull up to the building it’s weird. Clark would relate that experience to pulling up to a haunted house. It’s eerily quiet. The breeze is nearly none existent. The building big but empty, the Parker kid never lived here from what Clark could understand. Rhodes was staying somewhere else while he was going through physical therapy, and Tony had told him not to long ago that Vision was with Pepper. Educating himself while traveling with the CEO, helping her out when he was able too.

Clark gave it a moment, silently watching Tony take in the building and process whatever was going through that head of his. Taking his time, he climbed out of the car they borrowed from Bruce, walking around to the other side he opened Tony’s door. “You ready?”

Tony closed his eyes, probably burning the image into his mind before sighed. Climbing out of the car he stood beside Clark who closed the door for him. Both men looking at the building like it would eat them alive and spit their bones out. Clark was so caught in the moment he almost startled when Tony grabbed his hand, he looked to the other but Tony continued to look straight ahead, “Let’s go.”

Together, hand in hand they entered the building, walking the empty halls. A fine layer of dust had started to appear but there was still things lying around, showing that a team once resided here. Sam’s running shoes by the door, Wanda’s jacket laying there on the back of the couch. Natasha’s weapons everywhere and Vision’s recipe book still open to whatever he was ready to try cooking that day Ross came to their doorstep.

Clark and Tony took it all in, walking passed it all until they got to the hole in the floor. The one Wanda created using Vision as nothing more than a tool. Tony’s hand squeezed his own. “I’m selling the building, handing it over to the accords.”

“I think that’s a good idea, it’s not your job or responsibility to take care of it.”

Tony looked at him, smiling, and “Thank you.” Clark smiled back, giving their connected hands a light squeeze. He leaned forward, projecting his movements and allowing Tony every chance to move away. When he didn’t, Clark leaned in those final few inches and kissed him.

“You’re welcome.” He stayed close, taking in those beautiful brown eyes that he so greatly misjudged all those months back. Tony was nothing like he pictured, yes he put up a display to the general public, but he had too. Seeing the way he was beaten and let behind, hurt by his team. It was a shield, to protect himself, he saw the difference now. When he would go out and act a certain way for the crowd but stand there and fake pout when Bruce smothered him.

How he handled the press, saying everything that was needed to protect himself while giving them what they wanted. It was different from seeing him in an interview versus the man that encouraged the team to work through issues in meetings and work through every opinion. He, like many, had been blinded by what Tony wanted the people to see. If he weren’t part of the Justice League he would still be living under the notion that Tony Stark was just some arrogant billionaire playing at being a super hero to boost his ego. He would have missed the amazing man he is. The one whole loves his friends with all his being. The man that works like a leader but is treated like an add on. A man that has been wronged left and right so many times but still finds the strength to get up and help others, even though they’ve never given him a reason to do so.

And Clark loved him. He only hopes he can do right by Tony and maybe one day be worthy of being loved back. But for now, they’ll take it one day at a time. “Come on, let’s wrap this up, this place gives me the creeps.”

Tony laughed, soft and sweet as Clark started dragging him away, “Yeah, okay. Let’s go home.” Clark’s heart swelled, hearing Tony say that. He was ready to say the hell with it, pick Tony up and fly out of their but a sudden tug on his hand stopped him in his tracks. He looked back at Tony who was looking across the room, “There’s a box.” Clark followed his eyes. Across the room, on the floor was a box that sat innocently on the ground outside Tony’s office door. Quickly using his x-ray vision he looked inside the box, a paper and phone. Nothing dangerous and he told Tony such.

For the first time since they exited the car, Tony dropped his hand in order to go investigate the box. “There’s no return address.” He flipped the box over, inspecting it. “Help me open it?” With his cast, Tony wasn’t able to pry the box open so Clark quickly came over and opened it for him. Just like he saw, there was a paper and old flip phone in the box. He gave Tony the letter without much thought and grabbed the phone, looking it over and opening it up. When he looked up Tony’s hands were shaking.

“Tony, what’s wrong? What’s it say?”

“It’s from Steve.” Tony’s voice was empty, no emotion. The only reaction being the subtle shake of his hands where they held the letter. Clark was going to say more, turning to Tony, he wasn’t sure what he was going to say but they were interrupted. Almost like a summoning, the phone rang, an old basic ring tone and the screen lighting up. Steve flashed on the screen. It rang, the sound echoing around the empty room as it blared with noise. So badly did Clark want to answer the question, demand answers of Rogers. Ask him what nerve he had to do this. But that option was taken from him.

On the fifth ring Tony snapped, with his good hand, Tony snatched the ringing device from his hand. Without another thought, he turned, pulling his arm back he threw the phone as hard as he could. Watching the device fly into the wall, and break into pieces, Clark watched. Tony was panting, the rage coursing through him making him look as though he was vibrating.

“FUCK YOU!” He screamed at the broken phone, he dropped the letter. Letting it fall to the ground as he turned and walked away. Presumably back to the car. Clark bent down, picking up the letter and reading it. He too felt rage build the longer he read the words on the page. This wasn’t an apology, it was bullshit.

“The Avengers are yours, maybe more so than mine.” WHAT AVENGERS!? Rhodes was in therapy, Vision is still learning to be human. Who’s that leave? T’Challa and Spider-Man were never made members, Thor and Banner have been MIA since after Ultron was dealt with. Everyone else is with Rogers.

“My faith is in the people, I guess.” You mean the people that listen to you right? Because the people of the world are afraid of you. The letter continued, more bullshit that Clark couldn’t believe he thought was needed to be said. Before he knew it, his eyes were glowing and he was burning the remains of the letter. Tony didn’t need that, speaking of…

He ran outside, looking for the other man when he finally turned and saw him. He was crouched low against the building, head in his arms. “Tony …”

“Fuck him! Fuck him and his half ass apology. FUCK!” Clark got his good arm loose, grabbing it he pulled him up and into his arms. Tony immediately changed his hold so he could wrap his arms around Clark’s neck. In return Clark wrapped his arms securely around Tony’s waist, allowing the shorter man to hide his damp face in his chest.

While Tony breathed, attempting to calm himself down, Clark gently lifted them into the air. The hovered over the ground and when Tony didn’t make any protests, even though it was obvious he feet were literally no longer touching to ground he continued up. He brought them higher, clearing the roof of the compound and high above the trees that surrounded it. They were a good thirty feet above the compound when he stopped. Leaving them suspended above the ground a good three to four stories up.

“Tony, no matter what they say or what they do, I will always be here to lift you up.”

A laugh punched out of Tony, it was sad and weak but it was still a laugh. “You know,” he brought his good arm down to whip at his face, “most people would mean that theoretically, not literally.” Now he was leaning far enough back that they could see each other. Tony’s eyes were red and wet, eye lashes clumping together from the tears that were drying on his cheeks.

“Well I’m different.” He smiled, gazing down at Tony as he laughed at him. They were going to be okay.

A year and a half had nearly passed since that day. The Rogue Avengers were still Rogue, the Justice League was a united front with Iron Man. Every day super heroes and super villains were coming out of the works.

But today, today was about them. Today was Tony Stark and Clark Kent’s wedding day. It was a beautiful event, private with only friends and family. A guest list that remained under a hundred people. Clark stood at the altar, suit sharp. Diana stood tall as his best woman, while the other Justice members stood in line behind her as his grooms men. Minus Bruce, who was walking Tony down the aisle like a proud papa bear. Barely holding himself back from crying. Rhodes stood as Tony’s best man, Pepper, Happy and Vision in line behind him.

Parker and his Aunt were among the guests in the crowd, along with his mother. The warm spring day was beautiful as they read their vows.

Tony was staring up at him, talking about how Clark had been the rock he needed when times were hard. Clark listened, smiling the whole time, “… but the moment I knew I loved you and wanted to spend the rest of my life with you was when you told me you would always be there to lift me up. Clark Kent, I promise to love and hold you for the rest of my days, as long as you continue to lift me up.”

Teary eyed, Clark gave his vow. Explaining how like so many others, he judged you without really knowing you. That he was blessed the moment you stepped out of that Iron Man armor and let Bruce ruin your image by smothering you like the mother hen he is. The crowd laughed along while Bruce blew rather dramatically into a tissue. Alfred, rubbing his back with resignation. “Since that day I’ve only found myself falling more and more in love with you. I promise you, I will lift you as high as the heavens as long as you promise to love me like I love you.”

The priest went through the rest of the ceremony and then they were slipping matching wedding bands onto their fingers.

“You may now kiss the groom.” The cheers of their friends and family was nothing compared to the love they poured into that kiss. But that one kiss was just a promise of more.

#luvvswrittng #superiron #clark kent x tony stark #first impressions #prompt fill #prompt me #this is long #4k words #plus #bruce is a mama bear #bruce wayne and tony stark friendship #justice league and avengers #post cacw #ignores infinity war #not a fix it for avengers #submission

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marquis1305 · 6 years

Text

A Reflection in Your Eyes Ch 5

Words I Will Not Hear

Summary: Sparks may fly when Damaia and Mesara come to clash. But then again, who exactly expected things to go smoothly?

Damaia had been chatting with Pietro, the young man had a brilliant mind despite his skittish nature. And she had to admit that he was fairly attractive. They were exchanging discourse over the events of Kirkwall, and exactly how accurate a certain Messere Tethras' version of the events were. Throughout the conversation, she had kept an eye out on her men.

Vathras was as protective as Clarrisse as ever, almost to the point of being rude when dismissing other's attempts at conversation with the poor girl. Talon was playing nice and entertaining the youngest of the mages. Trevior, Xavior, and Reen were all minding themselves, Damaia could tell none of them were comfortable with their surroundings. The twins were on either side of the Tranquil, asking about new enchantments for weapons. Vierran, Paka, Nikier, and Harold were answering questions from the mage Carintha, who was supposed to have been their contact, and Tiane, who kept looking as though she were going to interject a thought and held it back instead.

Leon.... She had caught the name of the young woman, the same as the girl's name he has spoken so reverently when they had first met. A name that had passed his lips in a variety of tones (most with inflections of awe or care) while telling stories of his time in Ostwick's circle. Damaia had been slightly shocked by their sudden reunion, but it had seemed to be a good one. Now, however, Leon was staring at the girl's interaction with the Teryn, which seemed more familiar than one might assume of a mage and a noble.

Damaia threw up a quick prayer to whatever god would listen that Leon would keep his mouth shut.

The girl, Mesara, had caught Leon's gaze, and fled. However poised it was, Damaia knew a retreating figure when she saw one.

"Please excuse me," Damaia muttered. Vashta caught her eye and nodded. Then, he too had noticed the behavior.

Damaia swiftly left her seat at the table and followed closely behind the red-head. Not close enough as to alert her, but enough that she wouldn't lose her in this maze of an estate. Seriously, who lays out a home like this?

When the girl rushes into a room, Damaia waits. Counts twice to one hundred. Then lifts her calloused hand to knock at the door.

It opens before she has the chance to complete the motion.

"If you would kindly move your hand, I would very much appreciate it," the voice might be high and melodious, but it carries a stern disposition. As if she was used to having her ever command followed. Damaia smiled at the irony. Then lifts her hand up to her neck to rub away the flush from embarrassment at being caught.

"Sorry about that, ma'am. Was just about to knock." Damaia keeps her voice low, unassuming.

"There is no need to apologize, I would have appreciated the gesture had you managed to complete the action. Now, if I might ask, why were you about to knock on my door?" Damaia watches a small smile cross the other woman's face, and considers how much more attractive she might be with a more genuine grin there instead. After all, full lips that like were made for two things: Laughing and kissing.

"Just wanted to check on you Boss, you ran off in a bit of a hurry. Don't worry, I don't think anyone but me and Vashta noticed. Most of the others accepted that you weren't feeling well. Whispered a few worried statements and then went on eating that excellent quiche the cook whipped up for an appetizer. Can't wait to see what she manages for the next round." Damaia lets her gaze flick over the other's face, trying to get a read on her. Wouldn't really do to upset this woman, who was so obviously in charge, despite their contact being different, right off the bat. Especially for someone who wasn't technically a full member of the crew. "But, if you aren't feeling well enough to manage making it back, perhaps I should just bring a plate back to you.... Or you can let me know why one puppy-eyed look from the Templar kid made you bolt like a rabbit before a fennec?"

Damaia catches the split-second hesitation. The catch in her voice, so soft that it almost hadn't happened. She had to admit that the girl was fairly good. Had very few tells, and most of those were misdirection, made to make her seem innocent. A good way to play off a pretty face.

"I..." The woman gathers herself up, removing all sense of weakness. Green eyes hardening. "I've no idea what you mean. I did notice Leon looking at me, but didn't think anything of it. Certainly nothing I would share with a woman I had just met." The way the inflection of her voice changes makes Damaia think of another. A woman she had only met in passing a handful of years ago. The infamous Madame De Fer. Obviously, this tone was as much practiced as her blank expression. Damaia found herself oddly impressed.

"Now, now, no need to fluff your feathers madam. Was just wondering if I was going to have to have words with him before we all started to the Conclave?" Smiling, Damaia raised an eyebrow, accepting the challenge.

"There is no need, if Leon wishes to speak with me regarding the subject, he is more than welcome to."

"Understood, now, I am sure you have a few questions? I was going to speak to the contact about it, but it took half a minute before realizing that you were the one in power here. And less than that to know that your group was going to need a good few moments to come to terms with the contract."

Damaia found herself being waved into the room. Mesara allowing her by with a few words of acceptance. This was certainly going to be interesting. Smirking, Damaia sits herself on the chair near a nearly unused desk, clear of the usual clutter. Then turns to face the other mage. Waiting.

She catches the sly look that Mesara gives her, and raises an eyebrow in return.

"If I might, I have heard some rumors about your company."

"It doesn't surprise me. There are plenty of ways information could leak about the Frostblades. Witnesses, people we have saved, servants whose ears catch words that our contacts whisper. We do our best not to have people talk about us outright, but nothing in the world could stop every rumor." Damaia shrugs. A hazard of the trade. "Now, what rumor in particular caught your attention?"

Mesara pursed her lips, eyes roving over Damaia's face. "The ones about your methods. In particular, about apostates in your ranks. I will have you know that I do not approve of any apostate, as the Chantry has declared them crim-"

"Yes," Damaia interjects. "We use apostates. You would be hard-pressed to find any mercenary band who wasn't eager to have them among their number. Mages have multiple uses, from healing to crowd control, and even major damage if properly trained."

"I see, and yet you also welcome a templar into your rank. For Leon is still a Templar is he not?" The haughty voice makes a comeback. Damaia is beginning to feel like she won't walk away from this conversation without losing her temper.

"I will accept whomever chooses to follow under me. Whatever their past. Leon almost lost his life to my company, to me specifically, and had he not yielded, he would have been slain. As was every other Templar that had accompanied him. Templar's who attacked us due to one of our mages performing a healing spell upon another." Voice rumbling deep in her chest, Damaia grits out the words. Sapphire eyes trained upon Mesara with a keen edge.

"Then they were performing their duty, as the mage was obviously not within Circle guidance, and therefore an apostate." The woman across from her lifts her chin, and Damaia growls.

"I will not hear speak of duty again. I refuse to have this argument with a child who chooses to follow her master's leash. " Damaia breaths deeply. "The Circle's chose to disband. The infighting between you mages and your templar counterpoints is the reason that this Conclave has been called in the first place."

"You will not speak to me in this way," Mesara scoffs. "We hold your contract, which means-"

"Which means we made an accord to give you protection, not to listen to your lectures. If you had read the contract, you would know that written within it are two important points. The first of which is the nondisclosure, stating that you cannot outright discuss our methods or actions with anyone outside of those named by the contract. IE your superiors and my company. The second of which is that you accept that we have our own methods, and that includes the use of apostates."

"I-"

"No, you listen. I will not have you or your companions endanger my men. And I will not risk their freedom, or my own," Damaia's voice darkens. Scowling, she turns away.

"If I may now speak," chiding, the green-eyed woman stands," I have read your contract. And understand fully the limits of which you speak. I too, will not risk my fellows to this war. Which is why having apostates around can be more dangerous during this time."

"Then you would need to find another Captain, as I have been an Apostate longer than I have been a mercenary." Damaia somehow manages to balance her voice between condescending and bored. Then glances towards the other.

"I see. And I suppose your men will not follow another.... Of course, then I suppose we have come to an impasse."

"Something of the sort, or you can trust us to do our job," interjecting, Damaia stands. "You would not be the first group of mages that we have escorted, nor will it have been the first war we have fought in. You keep your fellows out of our way during any fights that pop up, and we take care of the rest. As for magic, it isn't exactly like we do this openly. There are more than a few braincells between us to realize that contract or not, openly using our talents outside of battle is a risk we cannot afford."

Also rising, Mesara moves towards Damaia, "Then we have come to an agreement. I will not judge you for your lifestyle, nor endanger your freedom. Per the contract. And you do whatever you can from keeping my companions out of the crossfire."

"And here I thought that was all accepted when your superiors signed. But I am glad that there need not be any variables on either of our behalf's." Damaia pauses, "I do apologize for my earlier tone. It has been a sore subject of late. Especially with Leon's arrival. Took a bit for him to come to terms with it. But he also has the option of walking away whenever we next run into templars."

"I- I am surprised that he has not rejoined the order already. He was- devout in his belief in the order, and the Chantry's laws."

"So devout that he wouldn't fall in love with a mage?" Despite her teasing tone, Damaia watches Mesara closely for her reaction. Rewarded when she again notices the same face that Mesara had had when she had caught Leon watching her.

"It wasn't like that. We had been close. Something akin to childhood friends. We both grew up in the Circle.... There were rumors that Leon's mother had been a mage, and the Templars had taken him in from the orphanage to start his training." Mesara's voice had grown soft, thick with the memories. "I was nine when I manifested. He was eleven when he first starting visiting the circle. The Templars all trained in the Chantry, but they would often have recruits shadow the older members of the order. Watch them as they went about their duties, to allow them to familiarize themselves with both the Order and the dangers of days surrounded by mages learning their craft."

Damaia listens, allowing the younger woman to go through her story without pause.

"And we would often go to the sermons as one, those of us who were younger. They didn't want to overwhelm us with older ideals and lessons. So, they held a separate service. I would often find his eyes on me during those times. And as we grew older, we managed to find time to talk. After he took his vows, I would find ways to study in the library during his guard duty. Or to walk with him to meals. I knew that his presence had protected me more than once from some of the surlier Templars. Those who would visit trouble upon the mages. I took comfort in his company, as I hoped he took comfort in mine."

"And then he left?"

#Damaia Adaar #Mesara Trevelyan #circle mages #dragon age inquisition #dragon age oc #templar leon #Clashing ideals #dragon age fanfic #fan fiction #fanfic

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