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fallenclan · 5 months

Note

// death is a pretty big theme in this fic, so yeah.

// part 2 of my first silverbelly fic and i would super appreciate if u could link the first one because i can't for some reason LOLL

"Here," Silverbelly says, holding out a few blue berries on her paw. "There were extra."

"What do I do with them?" Flypaw stares at her, round eyes wide.

"I don't mind," she replies. Then, she walks off to go congratulate Wormshade.

The next day, she wakes up, checks on her kids, and Flypaw has the berries tucked right behind his ear. She has no doubts that Mudpaw was the one who helped him put it there.

She goes about her day as normal. Rearranges her herbs, shares a rabbit with Applebranch and Maplethorn (who is exhausted of constantly third wheeling them), and shows Stormkit the herbs.

She cleared out Sunwish's nest the day after her vigil. Cleared out the scatteredly organized herbs, and tried not to stare at Scorchstar too much.

Scorchstar didn't share tongues with Sunwish before her death, and she didn't bring her body back to camp. It's not like they were close in the way Honeygleam and Dawnshine were, where their scents tended to rub off on eachother. In fact, she's fairly sure that she's only seen Scorchstar and Sunwish speaking a total of seven times in as many moons.

Scorchstar being in her pelt made no sense.

It was a mystery in the same way that Ivyleaf and Otterslip look uncannily alike. Neither of them ever addressed this, but it was obvious they were somehow related to eachother.

She recalls the vision, of the line of blood trailing from one rock to the next. The glinting of amber eyes and blood trapped between claws.

She's digging through the snow, desparate. Damp leaves stick on her paws.

"Where is he?" Wormshade wails.

"We'll find him," Honeygleam says. "He can't have gone far."

Avalanches were one of the dangers lying in wait. With the changing seasons came fluctuating warmth, resulting in the toppling snow and rock that came hurtling down the mountain moments ago.

She stares at where Goldenflare is attempting to comfort a shocked patrol. Curly and Oaktuft look shellshocked, eyes blown wide.

"What's going on?"

"The avalanche- it-" Curly's breath hitches. "We got lucky. We- we're fine. But- stars, Nick."

Wormshade stares at her. "What happened to him?"

"Oh, Wormshade," Curly breathes. "He got trapped. The snow caught him before we could get him out of the way."

Oaktuft and Curly lead the four to a ledge, where there is a pile of snow and one snow covered, gray limb sticking out of the pile. Wormshade stops breathing next to her.

Scarcely a week later, tragedy strikes again. They're still trying to go back to normal, and then Scorchstar doesn't return from her walks.

Goldenflare turns to her. "She's been so distant lately. I don't know where she is or what she might be doing."

"Send a patrol out to find her," Silverbelly says. "I have to meet Lakelily at the border, we're trading some juniper for thyme. I'll keep a look out for her there."

"Thank you," Goldenflare says.

And when she returns, a small group of cats are huddled around a bloodied brown body in the clearing, and Silverbelly knows what's just happened.

"Are you ready?" She asks.

Goldenflare stiffly nods. His tail nervously lashes from the sides.

"You'll do fine," she says.

"I'm not ready," he whispers. "I keep getting cats hurt."

"Is this about Morningbloom?"

He falls silent, and she has her answer.

"I couldn't protect Nettlestem, or Sunwish, or Scorchstar. I couldn't even protect my mate. How am I meant to protect a whole clan's worth of cats?"

"None of those events were your fault," Silverbelly briskly says. "You know exactly how they all died. Nettlestem was ambushed by a rogue on a peaceful walk. Sunwish was murdered. Scorchstar was mauled by dogs. Stop blaming yourself for things that are out of your control."

He stares at her. "When did you get so smart?"

"I think parenthood had something to do with it," she snorts. "Dip your muzzle in the water and sleep will come. You'll wake up in Silverpelt."

"How do I know they'll accept me?"

"You won't."

Morningbloom is the first. (Stars, make him a mess for the rest of the ceremony, why don't you?)

"With this life, I give you sympathy," Morningbloom chokes out. Her eyes are round with longing and grief. "Use it to understand, from the strongest warrior to the youngest kit to the oldest elder."

Goldenflare stares at her, eyes glossy with unshed tears.

"It's not your fault," she whispers. "It's never been your fault."

Silverbelly feels like she's intruding on such a moment.

She steps back into the crowd, and Goldenflare takes one step after her then stops, staring at the star speckled ground. His eyes clench shut as the next cat walks to him.

Other cats walk up to him. Nettlestem, Wildfang, Nick. Tawnyash and Rum Tum Tugger are a surprising addition. Breezeshadow approaches, her starlit eyes as kind as ever.

Finally, Scorchstar steps forward. "I've had many regrets in my leadership. Making you my deputy was not one of them."

Goldenflare stares at her, murmurs something Silverbelly can't quite make out. Scorchstar nods once, a tiny movement she would have missed if she wasn't looking closely.

"With this life, I give you leadership during the darkest times. Persist, even when tragedy strikes. Never falter, never give up. You have a duty to these cats."

Goldenstar jolts as her muzzle rests on his head.

"Your old life is no more," Scorchstar says. "It's your duty to guard Fallenclan, now. Use your new power wisely."

Morningbloom breaks the careful silence with a yowl. "Goldenstar! Goldenstar!"

The rest of the star speckled cats chime in, and Silverbelly awakes in the glow cave.

"Silverbelly?"

She turns at the noise. Stormkit is staring at her, with his giant copper eyes.

"Yes?" She sets down her pile of poppy seeds on a leaf. "Can I help you?"

"I don't wanna be a warrior. Is that bad?"

She's taken aback by his wavering tone. "No, honey, of course not."

"It's just that-" he stiffly stops in the middle of his sentence. "Hailkit and Goosekit and Moonkit all wannna be warriors but I like plants and fixing scrapes and cuts. I like learning about the cool stuff you do. I don't wanna hurt cats, I want to help them!"

She listens sympathetically. She had her own doubts at his age. All anyone her age talked about were fighting moves or catching cool birds, and she just liked the clovers that grew in the leader's den.

"You could be my apprentice," she says. "I could teach you everything I know about herbs and plants and the stars."

"Really?" Stormkit's eyes grow round.

"Really," she purrs. "You'd be great at it, you're already such a big help."

Privately, there's another reason she goes to Goldenstar and tells him she's chosen Stormkit to be her first apprentice.

Since Stormpaw has become her apprentice, the brief flashes of the future that the stars bless her with have become more vivid. More real.

She wants to think it's a good thing, that she's becoming more in tune with her ancestors and the mystifying words they give her. In reality, she feels like she's hardly sleeping.

When she wakes up, there is moss scattered over her den. Her first instinct is to find Stormpaw, and he's one nest over, nestled under the rock that she puts lungwort on.

He's taken to his apprenticeship like eagles to the sky. He loves the herbs, the smells don't bother him, and Toro frequently has to groom leaves out of his pelt. He retains everything she tells him, and always makes sure the herbs are organized in just the way she likes them.

One day, this den will be his. He can organize the herbs however he'd like, and he can sleep under the lichen instead of under a mossy rock.

She tucks her head over her paws and drifts back to sleep.

"This is Holly," Ivyleaf says. "Her twoleg was so awful to her, and she's had a bad fright. She's flinchy, and doesn't react well to sudden noise."

Silverbelly nods. "Alright. Stormpaw, I have a job for you."

Stormpaw perks up, a little piece of mallow tumbling from his fur. "Yeah?"

"Go tell your siblings to play quietly. Holly's new and the loud noise scares her."

Stormpaw dutifully nods. "Do you want me to bring her thyme?"

"If you'd like," Silverbelly says. "Just not too much."

Stormpaw scoops up a stalk of thyme and scrambles away.

"He's so gentle," Ivyleaf muses. "You chose your apprentice well."

"I would hope so," Silverbelly laughs. "I can't quite have a reckless medicine cat. Could you imagine Flypaw in here?"

Ivyleaf shivers. "No thank you. Thanks, Silverbelly."

Silverbelly watches her leave.

"This is Moxie," Hailpaw proclaims. "Moxie, this is Oaktuft. She used to be a house cat but now she's a warrior and she's way better at running than you are."

Oaktuft scoffs. "Yeah, we'll see. Race me later?"

Moxie hums. "Sure."

(Moxie, without doubt, kicks his ass. Silverbelly watches as Oaktuft gracelessly falls in love with Moxie from that alone.)

"And, that should do it," Stormpaw says. "Tell me or Silverbelly if it starts feeling hot. We'll change out the poultice twice a day, at sunrise then sunset. Okay?"

Celia blinks at him. "Uh, okay."

Stormpaw, unfortunately, has a habit of speaking too fast for anyone to catch up with. And tends to run into tangents about this plant or the other.

When he runs off to go check on Robinkit, Silverbelly turns back to Celia. "Sorry about him. He gets excited."

"No, it's fine," he laughs. "Finch used to be like that too. Runs off into tangents about this interesting berry she found, or a shiny rock from a garden. I heard the important parts. Tell you if it's hot, change it twice a day."

"Bingo," she says.

"Lichenstripe, meet Silverbelly. Silverbelly, meet Lichenstripe."

"I remember you," Silverbelly says, to the apparent shock of Oaktuft. "You're the medicine cat of Shallowclan. Is everything alright?"

"Eh," Lichenstripe hums. "Long story short, I'm out of a home and I'm staying here now. If that's okay with you," he hastily adds.

"Yeah, sure," she hums. "Make yourself comfortable."

(Later, she learns that Lichenstripe had a vision of one of the newly born kits, Violetkit. She doesn't ask much about it, but it's clear from the twitching of his tail and the way his claws anxiously work at the moss of his nest that it wasn't a very good one.)

"Feels good," Celia hums. "Anyway, you're smart, Silverbelly. What are the chances Goldenstar would agree to a one on one patrol with me?"

Silverbelly gawks. Stormpaw gracelessly trips over a rock. Holly snorts.

"Um," she says. "Next to nothing."

"That's still something!" Celia turns from the den and struts into the clearing. He makes a beeline for Goldenstar, and Silverbelly watches in shock as he walks out of camp with him.

"I give up," she quietly says. "You see that, Stormpaw? Don't do that. If you ever decide you want a mate, don't do what Celia just did."

"But it worked?"

Silverbelly casually observes Oaktuft's crush.

Applebranch and Honeygleam are suffocating from laughter next to her. Dawnshine is trying, and failing, to not snort.

"He's hopeless," Maplethorn mutters. "Give up while you can, Oaktuft. She's too good for you."

Silverbelly has taken Stormpaw out collecting herbs.

"Did you find those daisies yet?" Silverbelly calls.

"Yeah, they're right over here," Stormpaw replies. And then, he goes shudderingly still.

Smells of the stars waft over Silverbelly, but she doesn't interrupt Stormpaw. He could be recieving an important vision.

She carefully plucks away the daisies, and he seems to bounce back.

"Woah," he says. "Is this what getting high on catmint feels like?"

"Not really," Silverbelly winces. Why did she just tell her apprentice that she knew what getting high on catmint felt like.

"It was weird. It was like I was falling."

"Mudsplash! Flyspots!"

Flyspots rushes down to them. Mudsplash is close behind, but she stumbles and her brother pulls ahead.

"Oh, you're warriors, I'm so proud," she whispers, and makes the selective choice to embarass her kits. She dives forward to lick Flyspots' head, and he topples backwards.

"Mom, mom please!"

"Resistance is futile," Applebranch snorts. "Great job, kid."

"I'm not a kid anymore," Flyspots declares. "I'm a warrior."

"You'll always be a kid to me," Applebranch laughs.

"Yeah, because you're old," Mudsplash quips.

Silverbelly jolts, and moves to stand next to Applebranch, who is mock sniffling. "How could you?"

Flyspots looks at them, eyes wide. "No, mama, I didn't mean it. You're not old."

"Yeah, great job, Flyspots," Mudsplash mockingly scowls. "You made her cry."

"You're not old, mama, I swear."

"Swear on a moon of dawn patrols?" Applebranch slyly peeks up.

"On a moon of dawn patrols, you're not old," he says. Then he pauses, seemingly realizing what he's just said. "Fuck."

"I'm expecting, again," Applebranch says. Then she blinks. "Lichenstripe said so, at least."

Stormpaw, who was watching, promptly squeals. "Silverbelly! Silverbelly! Can I help?"

"I don't see why not," she hums. "Lichenstripe will probably deliver the kits, since my nerves got so bad last time. Sunwish had to physically send me out of the den."

"You can be my personal assistant," Applebranch says. "You can shove raspberries and borage down my throat, like this one did last time." She places a paw on Silverbelly's shoulder

She sighs. "I do it to all the queens."

"Mostly me," Applebranch replies.

(When Applebranch tells Flyspots the news, he screams into his nest, and then turns around like nothing just happened and says, "That's great mom!")

"Ivyleaf's gone," Oaktuft mumbles.

"What?" Otterslip stares. "She can't be gone. She's not gone."

"There was an eagle," Moxie tries. "Nothing could have been done."

Otterslip falls silent, then whips around and runs off. Silverbelly feels a pang of pity in her heart.

So maybe that's why she doesn't stop him, when they finally find her body and bring it back to camp. Maybe that's why she doesn't stop him as he sobs over her body, even though she really needs to prepare it for burial.

Moxie and Oaktuft are mates. Dawnshine begrudgingly takes his moon of dawn patrols and complains to Robinpaw, who complains to Stormpaw, who complains to her. And that's how she finds out.

"Maybe he shouldn't place bets he can't win," Stormpaw thoughtfully says.

"He's never been a good better," Silverbelly snorts. "Maybe this one will finally teach him his lesson."

"Thanks, Lichenstripe, I really appreciate it," she says. "Send a patrol for us if we're needed."

Lichenstripe nods, and waves them off. He's not coming for two reasons. One, because Shallowclan would probably get pissed if they knew he was still with the clans, and two, there was something Silverbelly wanted to do tonight.

She meets up with Lakelily, who smiles and asks how she's been. Then, they intersect with Sandcrash and Pearlnose, and finally bump into Sunpetal and Stonepaw, who falls into easy conversation with Stormpaw, like they always do.

"So," Sunpetal glances towards their chatting apprentices. "Stormpaw's getting his name today, right?"

Silverbelly nods. "I'm not sure what I'll name him quite yet. Perhaps Sunwish will offer her guidance?"

Sunpetal hums. "Maybe."

Sunpetal was young. 36 moons, and was already the senior medicine cat of her clan.

"We're having a bit of trouble in the clan," she says. "Thornstar is extremely ill and Snowviper is no better. I fear we'll be leaderless in a moon."

"So, you want Dancingfrost to give you some guidance?" Sandcrash asks. "Thornstar's been sick for moons, hasn't he?"

Sunpetal blearily nods. "Snowviper was fine before, but it came out of nowhere and it hit her hard. She can hardly get out of her nest. Her mate died last evening, that hasn't been helping."

"I'm sorry," Pearlnose says. "I lost an elder to greencough last week. She was old, but it didn't hurt any less."

Sandcrash nods. "I lost Billowkit to kittencough."

The patrol murmurs their apologies.

"How's the rest of the litter?" Pearlnose asks.

"They're alright," Sandcrash murmurs. "Firekit and Poppykit were too young to understand. Swansplash was really upset, but she knew nothing could be done."

Sandcrash had a mate and kits. Not every medicine cat took a mate, but he did. Swansplash was lovely, a long furred molly with bright purple eyes. Pearlnose also had a mate, a cat named Rosebriar. Despite her name, she was widely known as the best fighter in the clans.

Lakelily was 72 moons, but it didn't look like he'd ever take a mate. Sunpetal had offhandedly mentioned a cat named Autumn.

"And Sunpetal," Pearlnose says. "Thornstar is old. He's been leader since before most of us were born. It's probably his time."

"But Snowviper..." Sunpetal trails off. "She's getting worse by the day. I'm afraid she'll be gone soon."

Silverbelly hums. "Wasn't there a situation like that in ArchClan before?"

Sandcrash hums. "Yes, I think so. Starclan sent Whisperingleaf a sign that time, I'd have to ask him."

Before Silverbelly knows it, they're at the mouth of the cave. Stonepaw and Stormpaw's chatter abruptly stops.

"Stormpaw," she calls. "Step forward."

Stormpaw's copper eyes shine bright.

"Dip your nose in the water, and Starclan will call you," she instructs. She glances back at Lakelily to make sure she's doing this right, and he nods.

She settles down, and drifts awake, into a starry hill. Her breath leaves her when she sees Sunwish standing before her.

"Welcome, Stormpaw," she kindly says. "Silverbelly's trained you well."

She sees Wildfang and Breezeshadow standing, watching closely but not interfering.

"I do wish I could have met you," Sunwish sighs. "Maybe in another life. Now, step forward."

Stormpaw carefully steps forward.

"Stormpaw, do you promise to heal and protect your clan?"

"I do," he says. "I promise."

"Then, by the power vested in me, I name you Stormsight. We honor your vigilance and enthusiasm."

Sunwish steps away, and Silverbelly shouts, "Stormsight!"

The other medicine cats join her. Stormsight stares at her, grinning brightly, and Silverbelly grins back.

Stormsight suddenly stops. The sky, previously alight with stars, goes black.

The other medicine cats are deathly still. Stormsight himself isn't moving. Like time has stopped.

Silverbelly looks around herself, shaking as she peers into the pool of water.

A rock drops into it, knocking some water away from the rocks and onto the shore. It shines red as it lands on her paws.

She looks behind her, willing someone who is better at this to help her. Lakelily, Sandcrash, Pearlnose?

They aren't there.

Shaking, she turns back around, and jumps. Stormsight has vanished.

Those fucking rocks.

It's the same dream, of the rocks. The blood trails from one to the next in a single line, and then it abruptly stops.

She stares at the rock. One is brown, the next is a lighter shade. The final rock could barely constitue for brown, it's more orange than anything.

A scream travels behind her, followed closely by a shattering crack. She wants to turn around, but it's like her paws are frozen in place.

Silverbelly screams.

And then she wakes up.

-🍭 (society if tumblr would stop eating my asks)

(first part here)

HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT?????? LOLLIPOP MY JAW FUCKING DROPPED I AM CRYING REAL LIFE TEARS. your writing is absolutely INSANE. so vivid and i LOVE your worldbuilding and the little hints to other stuff going on??????? AHHHH THIS IS SO GOOD IM LOSING MY MIND

Lichenstripe having a vision of Violetkit holy shit. the MOXIEOAK. Silverbelly's vision. holy fuck i am losing my mind. correct me if im wrong but. the rocks. Scorchstar and Otterslip. but who is the third rock i am chewing and biting auhghghhgh

#fallenasks #fallenfic #lollipop anon #RAHHHHHHHHHH

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whumpzone · 3 years

Note

everyone wants to see col broken, but i want to see linden broken. maybe sick with a fever so bad he's totally out of it, maybe with a broken bone, maybe with the kind of panic attack that takes you out of reality and leaves you completely drained. i want to see how col scrambles to care for him with his still-unfamiliar hands, when linden isn't even in the headspace to praise or thank him.

yes!!! CW for general illness & mentions of pills/medicine

Linden woke- rather, he was pulled forcibly from sleep- to a pounding headache. He kept his eyes shut and furrowed his brow, realising slowly that his whole body hurt, not just his head. He was on his back- when he tried to roll into the foetal position, his muscles complained as if he’d hiked up a mountain yesterday.

“Mmph,” he grunted. The small noise irritated his throat enough to set off a coughing fit. He finally opened his bleary eyes. He was definitively ill. He groaned, grinding his head weakly into the pillow.

Pet didn’t see Master all morning. The sun was in the middle of the sky, casting only slim shadows, when he gathered his courage and went to check on him. Every step felt like a mistake. He was disturbing him, he was attention seeking, Master was probably busy, he was doing something that didn’t concern the stupid little animal he kept around, and Pet was going to get ordered away at best and punished at worst.

Still, he gently knocked on Master’s bedroom door. The action hurt his knuckles. “Col,” he heard, just barely, from inside. “Come in, please.”

Master’s voice didn’t sound right. He didn’t look right, either, when Pet pushed open the door. He was still in bed, his long hair stuck to his face with sweat. His dark skin looked flushed-out and pallid, and his eyes were half-lidded. Two pupils slowly met his own.

Oh, god. Master was dying.

Pet rushed and collapsed to his knees at Master’s bedside, his mind racing to find a solution. He wanted to cry out, ask what is it, where does it hurt, what do I need to do?

But he couldn’t. He could only stare stupidly, his mouth parted with worry, eyes big and searching. Master saw his panic and slowly spoke. It looked like the words were painful.

“I’m okay, I’ve just-“ he coughed, turning his face away. “I think I’ve got the flu. It’s fine, it’s-“ another few seconds of coughing. “Okay, I’m quite badly ill.”

He half-groaned, half-laughed. Pet’s heart was still thumping out of his chest, but he made himself nod. Master pressed his face into the pillow, a pained look on his face. His eyebrows were drawn close, heavy over his eyes, and his lips were pressed into a thin line. Pet stared, waiting, but Master didn’t speak anymore. He was tense, like he was trying to stave off an invisible pain.

A car rumbled past outside. Had… had Master fallen asleep? Pet wouldn’t dare touch him without permission, so instead he got up and looked down. It felt so wrong. Pet should be the one laid out, sweaty and barely conscious.

He had to help. What did Master need? Paracetamol? He knew that word, from somewhere. Had Master given him some, when he burnt his own hand? He went to the bathroom and retrieved the packet. Water. Pet would get him water, too. He’d be a good, useful dog.

Pet’s mind wandered as he completed the task. So often his thoughts were preoccupied with what Master could do, what he was capable of, all the ways he could hurt Pet in that moment. Constantly vigilant of any attack. Would he kick him? Whatever was in reach, would he smash it against his head? Would he reach out and slap him?

But right now, Master really couldn’t do anything. He was weak, he was tired. He could barely open his eyes- would he notice, say, if Pet failed to kneel quickly enough? If he didn’t cast his eyes down, or if he was slow? He wouldn’t do any of that, of course. Pet knew he shouldn’t be thinking this way, but he also knew he wasn’t considering anything disloyal. Just because Master was incapacitated didn’t mean Pet would let his own training slip, or- god forbid- try to hurt Master or slow his recovery. Never. It was just… an interesting thought, the fact that Pet wasn’t at risk of harm right now.

He also thought about how seeing Master this way, pained and exhausted, evoked a strange feeling he hadn’t felt for his old owner, even as he died. All Pet could feel back then was hopelessness, and fear. He had felt like a balloon cut loose and left to fly, unguided, into the abyss. Here, he could tell that the drive to help Master feel better was motivated by more than his obligation to serve, more than his fear of his owner dying. Seeing Master so reduced had created a strange sadness in Pet. He didn’t like it.

Master didn’t look much better when Pet returned, a glass of water in one hand and the pills in the other. He knew it was disgusting, to give his owner pills that had been handled by an animal, but he didn’t know how else to give them to him. He wasn’t sure Master would be able to open the packet by himself.

He was curled up, his face still taut, and breathing far too shallowly. It made Pet’s heart seize up. This was wrong wrong wrong.

Kneeling, he put the glass down and tried to gently wake Master. He knew he would get in trouble for touching his owner, for daring to disturb him, but he had to help. Master opened one eye and Pet proffered the glass.

It took both of Master’s hands gripping it, with Pet supporting the base of the glass, for him to drink enough to swallow the pills. Once he was done he immediately slumped back into bed with a groan, and shut his eyes.

By the third day, Master was improving a lot. But, naturally, he didn’t have any time for his Pet. He understood, he really did. Master had to focus on recovering and look after himself.

Still…

He was getting really hungry. He had no way of asking, and duh, it kept him dependent on his owner’s mercy, as he should be. But he worried that if Master didn’t grant him the privilege soon, he would be useless at helping fetch pills, water, warm blankets, anything. He was already starting to wobble a lot more as he walked. Once he thought he would actually fall onto his owner.

Pet tried to push the hunger away. He had to focus, this was important! He had to be perfect. He could hear Master’s voice in his head, once he was back to full health.

You just let me suffer in that bedroom, you fucking mongrel. No help, no care, I don’t know why I ever kept you in the first place. You can get out and never come back, you hear me?

So he ignored the void in his stomach. Tried to compensate for the way his limbs ached. If this was a test, he was going to pass. He had to.

tagging: @newbornwhumperfly @whumpadump1939 @firewheeesky @whump-me-all-night-long @captainseconds @grizzlie70 @unicornscotty @lave-whump @princessofonward @cupcakes-and-pain @bumbumbea @whumpfigure @yet-another-heathen @secretwhumplair @whumps-up @as-a-matter-of-whump @getyourwhumphere @itzagoodthing @whumpymirages @soapparentlyilikewhumpnow @zipadeedooda-drabbles @penny-for-your-whump @briars7 @legallylibra @angel-stars @loyds-of-registry @tears-and-lilies @badluck990 @rosesareviolentlyread @vickytokio @neuro-whump @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @whumpsy-daisies @control-whumps @theydy-cringeworthy @starnight-whump @cursedandtired @jo-doe-seeking-inspo @justabitofwhump @glamrockgregory @rippedjeansandfadeddreams @genesissane @justbreakonme @addyez @httyd-chocolate @littlespacecastle @haro-whumps @extrabitterbrain @neverthelass @downrivergirl914

#pet whump #linden and colton #sickfic #asks #anon

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thinkingisadangerouspastime · 3 years

Text

warmth

Then her shoulders fell, the inky shadows deepening across her face as Katara sighed and pulled her knees into her chest. “I just—I have to know you’re okay, Aang. That’s all. It’s not a big deal.”

Aang blinked, her words sinking into his heart like a stone into quicksand. “Know I’m okay,” he repeated, “or know I’m alive?”

When Aang falls, Katara is always there to catch him. But maybe that’s part of the problem.

(Written for Day 5 of Kataang Week 2021: Healing, hosted by @kataang-week. Read here on AO3 or continue reading below.)

Aang loved Katara. Plain and simple. Under only the watchful eye of the moon—hope all is well with you, Princess Yue, Sokka is doing just fine—Aang might even be willing to admit he was in love with her. It wasn’t a secret, per se, but to love was to be vulnerable and despite the infinite lives he contained as the Avatar, Aang was still only human.

All the same, Aang had no shame in acknowledging that he liked having Katara’s attention on him, and moreover that he liked reciprocating her attention with his own on her. He liked how they were touchy-feely with each other in a way they were with no one else, liked how they would stay up together to count the stars and talk about anything and nothing, liked how they could make each other smile at even their lowest points.

But ever since Ba Sing Se…

Something had changed.

For better or for worse, Aang wasn’t quite sure. Because now, now it seemed more of Katara’s attention was on him than before. And at first, Aang thought he’d understood why. He’d died, he’d been in a coma for weeks, he’d flirted with death while Katara had been the one keeping constant vigil at his bedside. Though his outward wounds had long since healed into scars, there were lingering aches and pains below the surface that still could make him stumble.

Katara was always there to catch him when he fell.

But that was the—that was the problem, for lack of a better word on Aang’s part. Katara was healing him all but constantly, never letting him out of her sight for more than a few minutes at a time. The only exceptions had been his time at the Fire Nation school and her secret trips to Jang Hui as the Painted Lady. She’d almost burst into tears when he’d gotten the smallest of scratches across his thumb the other day, and that? That was not normal.

Whatever was going on, Aang knew he couldn’t let her face it alone any longer.

One night during their usual stargazing, lying down with their backs against the grass on the flattest ledge in their camp, Aang seized the moment.

“Is there a reason you’ve been so… protective of me lately?” he asked, trying to keep his tone as even as possible. It was like trying to approach a baby deer-cat—he didn’t want to spook her by storming into the subject.

Katara stiffened, and though she didn’t flee, Aang idly wondered if he’d underestimated how painful this conversation might be. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I don’t mean it in a bad way,” Aang tried to reassure her, turning in the grass onto his side so he could face her properly. “You’ve just seemed a little on edge the past few weeks. Talking about whatever’s on your mind might—might help.”

“Doubt that,” Katara muttered bitterly, keeping her eyes averted from Aang’s own as she picked at a blade of grass. The moonlight breaking through the tree branches to their right cast dark shadows across her face, like rivers of ink winding down her cheeks. “I prefer not thinking about it, much less talking.”

Well, at least she’d admitted something was bothering her. Aang counted that as a small victory. But her aggressive resistance did mean he would have to prod a little more to get her to open up.

“I know you’re worried about me,” Aang said after a pause. He sat up, bracing himself with his hands behind him. “I don’t know why, but I know you are.”

Katara sat up and opened her mouth, probably to argue, but Aang pushed forward, not giving her the chance to disagree. To lie, really.

“I can tell because you’ve… you’ve been healing every little scratch I get. Which is kind, but”—he pursed his lips, shaking his head—“I can’t be your priority, Katara. Not all the time. Not over healing Sokka or Toph or yourself, when someone else’s injuries are worse. Okay?”

Katara’s jaw was tight, a clear sign Aang had struck a nerve. Hopefully not one that stung too sharply, bit too deeply, because hurting Katara was the last thing he wanted to do. What he feared more than anything.

Then her shoulders fell, the inky shadows deepening across her face as she sighed and pulled her knees into her chest. “I just—I have to know you’re okay, Aang. That’s all. It’s not a big deal.”

Aang blinked, her words sinking into his heart like a stone into quicksand. “Know I’m okay,” he repeated, “or know I’m alive?”

Aang had only the faintest memories of Ba Sing Se, of waking up for but a few seconds in Katara’s arms as the most radiant, most relieved smile he’d ever seen had graced her lips. The relief hadn’t matched the exhaustion—the terror—in her eyes, though. After that, he’d… disappeared, vanished somewhere into the depths of his own mind for more days than he could count.

Katara chuckled, the sound tinged with a deep-seated weariness. “Maybe a bit of both?”

“Katara—”

She silenced him with an icy look. “Don’t. Don’t use that pitying tone with me, Aang. I know it’s an irrational fear, I don’t need you to tell me that.” Katara huffed, throwing her hands up and shaking her head. “See? This is why. This is why I don’t like thinking about it.”

Aang bit his lip. Tempted as he was to swear up and down that no, he hadn’t meant to strike such a tone, he hadn’t meant to invalidate her concerns, there was a far more important direction their conversation needed to be taken in.

“It’s clearly not irrational if you can’t shake it off,” Aang said after a pause. He hesitated, then placed a careful hand on top of hers, which had returned to resting on the grass. When she made no move to pull away, he continued. “But if you’re really worried… why don’t you explain it to me?”

That offer caught Katara’s attention, and she stared at him with a mixture of shock and confusion permeating her features. Furrowed brow, head tilted at a slight angle. “What?”

Aang shrugged. “Tell me what’s making you so anxious, and then I can confirm whether or not your fear is rational.” He suspected it would be somewhere on the perpetually sliding scale between rational and irrational, as most fears born of traumatic experiences were. He had a few of his own. No shame in admitting that.

Katara hesitated, her gaze flickering over his face from top to bottom, as if searching for any hint of doubt or suspicion or—spirits forbid—pity. But Aang knew she wouldn’t find any, and he was right.

“Okay,” she murmured, averting her eyes from his own to stare at the grass they still sat upon. “Maybe I do need to”—she shook her head—“maybe that would help. A little.”

Katara’s current discomfort was clear to Aang, and he hated seeing her like this. Shaken, weary, broken in more ways than one. But what he hated even more was to see Katara terrified, and terror was the only expression written in her eyes each time she watched him get hurt, no matter how minor the injury. So if she would talk, Aang would listen, and he would do whatever he could to reassure her.

“This war has been going on my entire life,” Katara said after a pause. “So I’m not—I’m not unfamiliar with death”—a low chuckle escaped her lips—“although not for a lack of trying on Sokka’s part.” She heaved a shuddering sigh, picking at a blade of grass with her hand that wasn’t beneath Aang’s. “But warriors died in battle. Babies didn’t always survive birth. I—I saw my own mother’s corpse when I was only eight years old, Aang, so burned up you could barely recognize her—”

Katara snapped her jaw shut as her voice neared a fatal crack, and she blinked back tears.

Before he could lose his nerve, Aang turned Katara’s hand over, the one still beneath his own, and carefully laced their fingers together. I’m here, he tried to say, not knowing how to say it. His touch seemed to do the trick, though, as Katara exhaled a shuddering breath and moved to rest against his side, their shoulders pressed firmly together.

“I was never… never close, though,” she murmured, her voice having regained stability. “Never touched the bodies. Not even my mom’s.”

The note of grief in Katara’s voice rang sharper than a wind chime, and Aang had to fight down the urge to pull her into his arms then and there. He couldn’t. Not yet. Not until she was finished, not until she was ready. So though Aang’s heart ached with an identical loss—You turned your back on the world!—he said nothing, and he let her continue.

“But I… I caught you, Aang.” Katara’s grip tightened around his hand, but Aang didn’t pull away, not even when her nails began digging into the skin just below his knuckles. “When you fell, in Ba Sing Se. After Azula. I caught you, I held you when you were—”

“Gone?” Aang supplied when her voice vanished, and Katara nodded, rubbing her eyes with the back of her free hand.

“Yeah.” She took another slow breath, clearing her throat. “And, you know, people always say that death is—that death is cold. It’s life, energy, stolen from the body. But Aang, you were”—Katara shook her head, eyes brimming with tears that glowed like droplets of liquid silver in the moonlight—“you were so warm, I could almost believe you were sleeping and would wake up in my arms any minute.”

Aang swallowed a lump rising in his own throat. “And I did wake up,” he said gently, once a beat had passed. “Because you saved me, Katara. You brought me back.”

Katara gave him a sorrowful smile. “Don’t you get it, Aang? That’s the problem.” Her free hand clenched into a fist, and she slammed it a single time against her chest—right over her heart. “I had the water from the Spirit Oasis. I had control, that was why I was able to heal you then, that was how I was able to make everything okay. But now?”

Katara’s hand uncurled, falling weakly to her side as she shook her head. Another silver tear traced the edge of a shadow that still haunted her cheek, the drop trickling downward. “Now, I don’t have miracles to rely on for help anymore. The only control I have is me, my own abilities, and Tui and La, Aang, I can’t—I can’t lose you again!”

Her voice broke, and Aang threw all forethought to the wind, releasing Katara’s hand to pull her into a hug fiercer than any they’d ever shared before. He didn’t care how her tears wet his shoulder, he didn’t care how desperately her arms locked around his body, no, all he needed was for Katara to know that he was there.

“I’m so sorry,” Aang finally whispered, pathetic and useless as the three words were.

Katara shook her head, face still buried into his shoulder. “Not your fault.”

For the first time since they’d met in the South Pole, Aang had no idea how to comfort her. It won’t happen again, I’ll always be there for you, you’ll always be there for me, we’ll both make it through this—they were empty promises, cheap vows he had no way to guarantee.

“We’re here now,” Aang murmured, pressing the lightest of kisses to the top of her hair. A new three words, a different but still simple action—something about the combination of gestures must have soothed Katara, as Aang could feel her exhale and her body relax against his own. “We’re here now.”

The present was all they could count on.

#kataang #kataangtag #kataang week #katara #aang #kataangst #atla #avatar the last airbender #atla fanfic #tw: discussion of death #amy writes

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whump-town · 3 years

Text

The Visit

Leaning back in her chair, arms crossed on her chest Jennifer Jaruea is sitting vigil. Nothing, absolutely nothing, is getting into this room without her say so. The image alone is a lot to take in. Their usually stoic, unwavering boss sleeping in a hospital bed. Attached to tubes and wires, breathing labored even with the aid of the oxygen canal running under his nose. By his side, little JJ. Little but fierce. Just let that damned George Foyet show his face. She’ll die before she lets that son of a bitch hurt her boss again.

Not that Emily would ever let that happen. On the other side of the bed, she’s laying sprawled out on a cot. For the last two days, she hasn’t left for more than five hours. Always here the first to get to Hotch when he wakes up. In that time, she’s gone to see Reid. Mostly to get a good check-in on the kid so Hotch would stop worrying something might have developed with the youngest agent’s wounds.

Everyone’s fine.

… or getting there.

“Spence--,” JJ wakes from her light sleep to the soft sound of something approaching the door. She sits up immediately, eyes going to Hotch, still asleep, and then Emily who has turned over onto her left side with her back to them. Which leaves the movement to the door and she’s not all that surprised when she sees who the intruders are.

She moves carefully, hoping to keep Hotch and Emily asleep despite there being so much movement in the room. “What the hell are you two doing in here?” she asks. Reid at least looks sheepish (although, she’s sure that’s only because he’s been caught) but Garcia just shrugs.

JJ knows Reid isn’t supposed to be out of bed. The doctor’s orders had him strictly bedridden until his second surgery for his knee. It wasn’t meant to be cruel keeping the genius from seeing Hotch but he could mess his knee up if he’s not careful. And Hotch is already moody enough, Reid doesn’t need that coming down on him tenfold if he handicaps himself further by permanently damaging his knee.

“If he catches you two down here,” JJ starts to threaten, hands moving to her hips. A very dotting mother thing to do and rightfully so. When aren’t Reid and Garcia acting like her troublesome little siblings? “You,” JJ points at Garcia, shaking her head when Garcia feigns innocence points her finger back at her own chest in faux confusion. “Yes, you Penelope Garcia, who he sent home hours ago--”

Garcia opens her mouth to defend herself but JJ shakes her head.

“Don’t defend yourself to me,” she says. She points behind her to Hotch, “he’s the one you have to worry about.”

Garcia’s mouth shuts as she looks at her boss. Her poor, exhausted liege. He’d hardly managed to talk to her when she was with him earlier. Coherent just enough to worry that she wasn’t sleeping enough if she was here with him. So, obviously, if he catches her here again he’s going to worry.

“And you, Spencer Reid,” JJ crosses her arms on her chest. “What are you thinking?” Her voice softens, all disappointment and exasperation.

Reid wants to be sheepish. He knows he shouldn’t be down here but he’s already made it out of bed and into this wheelchair… the harm is done. There’s no going back now. “Can I go in there,” he asks, pouting. He’s putting on a show, for sure. Hoping to hit JJ in the mothering, naturing parts of her that will twist in his favor. The only problem is they might be overpowered by mothering she’s doing over Hotch.

JJ looks at the two of them, sighs, and glances back at the sleeping agents. It’s late. There really shouldn’t be any visitors back here and they could get into trouble… but Hotch has been agitated. Obviously worried about Reid and knows damn well that they’ll lie to him about how serious Reid’s knee is if need be.

“Don’t wake him up,” JJ says, sternly. “I’m going to take Emily home and Dave should be here--” she checks her phone. “Dave will be here in twenty minutes. I want you out of here when he comes, do you understand?”

Both dutifully nod but she highly doubts they listen.

“He’s not been up for conversation,” JJ warns. She’s done fussing with them but if she’s going to let them do this, it’s only fair she properly warns them. “The nurse came in and upped his morphine so he’s bound to be out of it.” As much as she hates to encourage them, she knows Hotch will be happy to see them. “Just remind him that he’s in the hospital and try to get him to drink the apple juice on the tray. He needs to sleep. No funny business.”

Another round of nods and JJ realizes that she’s about to leave Hotch in the hands of her very troublesome kid coworkers. As much as the idea scares her, she always knows it’s going to do all three of them some good. So, she resigns herself to the idea. She’s helping a groggy Emily along when she sees Garcia stealthily doubling the blankets Hotch is tangled in.

“Penelope!” she whispers.

Garcia keeps going, tucking it along his sides. “He’s cold,” she defends.

They’re going to kill her. Dear God, they’re going to kill her.

Reid just… starts to doubt if this was a good idea. He’d seen his mother in the hospital plenty of times. He’s no stranger to this sort of thing. Now he realizes that despite the warnings and despite the updates his teammates gave him, he’d still expected to find Hotch in here. The older man-- doing Hotch things. Having covered every surface with paperwork or reading a book.

He’d grown up with a mother constantly in out of hospitals and, yet, some small naïve part of him thought Hotch invincible.

Watching Hotch’s face for any sign of consciousness, Reid slips his hand into his. He grabs blindly for hold, managing a few fingers in his grasp. His boss doesn’t really do touch but Reid would kill for one of his hugs. To stand beside him or just sit across from him on the jet. Hotch is calming. Steady.

Reid’s eyes snap up to the machines above Hotch’s head, nervously glancing to Garcia. She’s noticed it too, the obvious distress the rise in sound is signaling. The hand in Reid’s squeezes and Reid’s eyes move to Hotch’s face. Watching the older man’s eyes move quickly under his eyelids.

Reid flinches when those eyes fly open, Hotch’s lips parting as he takes in his surroundings. He’s gasping, slightly, eyes scanning around the room. He finds them, looking at both Reid and Garcia for a long moment. Closing his mouth and eyes he breathes in through his nose, using the oxygen canal supplying a steady stream of air. When he opens his eyes he looks right at Reid. “You’re supposed to be upstairs.”

Reid glances at Garcia but that doesn’t divert Hotch’s attention. With the decency to admit when he’s caught, Reid nods his head. He’s glad he’d made the adventure down here. He hasn’t been able to sleep knowing Hotch is down here and that no one will tell him what’s going on. Not transparently, that is.

For good reason, Reid had found out the moment they stepped foot onto this floor. On his floor, he could hear kids being chased by family members. Grandparents greeting grandchildren with open arms and eager laughter. Yesterday, he’d watched a man be lead down the hall by a toddler. The child’s attention very carefully zeroed in on every step the injured man had taken. He’s heard lovers greeting one another.

Up there, he’d heard so much life. The ups and downs but the recovery.

Here on this floor, the lights remain dimmed. No one but the staff walks the halls. The sounds are cardiac monitors and soft hushed voices swallow any slight joys. Even in here. Hotch’s dazed eyes and cold hands…

“How’s your leg,” Hotch asks, softly. His head is turned to Reid, eyes half-lidded but aware. He might not be himself but Reid knows Hotch will be able to tell if he’s lying. Even if it’s just a small lie.

Garcia comes around his other side and it distracts Hotch for just the briefest second before he turns back to Reid.

“I’m okay,” Reid promises with a nod. He really is. The doctors think he’ll manage. His youth is working in his favor and with a bit of luck, he might not even need assistance to walk. Which would be kind of cool, really. Canes are neat.

Hotch narrows his eyes but doesn’t fight him. “Are you in any pain?”

Reid blushes, lowering his head. Right. No one has mentioned this conversation yet. He’s not on anything hard. The doctors were notified the moment he got the ambulance that he couldn’t have any opioids. Dilaudid still manages to control his life.

“Reid,” Hotch whispers, squeezing Reid’s hand. “I didn’t mean--”

Reid looks up, cutting him off, “I know. I know you didn’t it.”

Hotch’s face softens.

“I’m comfortable, Hotch. I’m okay. Really.”

Hotch looks at him for a moment longer. As if torn between believe Reid and…

Garcia squeezes Hotch’s other hand, smiling when her boss turns to look at her. “I’ve got boy wonders back,” she promises. “He’s okay. Well,” she shrugs, “aside from the amount of jello he’s eating.”

Reid frowns, “the nurse said it was okay!

“Alright,” Hotch stops that from going any further. Knowing that if he doesn’t say something now, the two of them will go on for ages. “Alright,” he untangles his arm from under the mountain of blankets he’s under. He knows this is Garcia’s doing. He rubs at his eyes, trying to work the sleep from them. Around a yawn he manages, “Reid, eat something more substantial than jello, okay?”

Reid sighs but nods. The jello doesn’t upset his stomach. Besides, it’s got to count for something that the jello comes in green. Certainly, he can argue that would count as “eating his greens”. He doesn’t argue that point. Glancing up, he can see Hotch is struggling to keep pace with them. Something gives him the courage and he softly asks, “ Hotch?”

Tired eyes meet him, Hotch offers only a hum. He’s falling apart right before them. Too tired and still feeling the effects of his wounds to keep up with their energy. Two days isn’t enough to bounce back from nine stab wounds.

“We’ll catch him, right?”

If he were honest, Hotch would tell him that he has no idea. That, honestly, as much faith as he has in his family-- he doesn’t know what’s going to happen if they can’t. That’s an impossible sort of thing to have to live with. Even worse if they can’t catch Foyet because Hotch can’t afford to blame them for that. They’re all he has.

No family.

His only child has been taken away in an unmarked car.

His ex-wife with him.

His mother is dead. His father too. There’s Sean but his kid brother has never been good for pretty much anything.

So, he lies. For Reid but mostly for himself. He has to believe they will. “I know you will,” Hotch replies. He glances over at Garcia. They’re the smartest people he knows. Brilliant. If anyone can, they can.

Dave knocks on the door and all three of their heads turn to him. He knows he’s walking into something heavy but it’s late and all three of the people in front of him should be in bed. “What are you two trouble-makers doing down here,” he asks with a fond shake of his head.

Garcia stands first, dusting her hands down her dress. “Just came to check on the boss,” she promises.

Hotch smirks at her but remains silent.

Reid pulls his hand from Hotch’s and looks down at his lap.

“Get out here,” Rossi prods. “Hotch isn’t as young as he once was. The old man needs some sleep.”

Garcia frowns and leans down to kiss Hotch’s forehead. “I still think you’re young and spry, sir.”

Hotch smirks, “thank you, Garcia.” He watches the two of them get going, Reid glances back at him. Hotch has to swallow down against the morphine wrecking his body. He won’t last too much longer. “Reid?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s going to be okay.”

Reid looks down in his lap. His stomach clenches and he feels like he’s going to be sick. He doesn’t say a word but he’s certain that’s not true at all. “Right,” is all he manages.

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner #spencer reid #penelope garcia #jennifer jareau #emily prentiss #david rossi #reid and garcia are the little siblings #bc of course #criminal minds fanfiction

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emerald-amidst-gold · 3 years

Text

The Raven with Silver Wings

I’m having so much fun writing Elise! She’s so different than Fane, and I thought that that would make it hard to write her, but it may have been just what I needed to get me inspired again!

As such, I wrote a really, really, really long story with every member of the Awakening crew because Elise found a second family with all of them when her first was whisked away by either her decisions or general life and pursuits. (And bonus Nathaniel x Warden because HE SHOULD HAVE BEEN ROMANCEABLE DAMMIT!)

***

The Raven with Silver Wings

Fandom: Dragon Age

Pairing: Nathaniel Howe/Warden Amell

Warnings: None

Word count: We don’t talk about it. *smiles*

***

“Has anyone ever told you that your hair��s really pretty, Commander?”

Elise was currently rearranging the books along the far wall of the main hall when the question was asked, her task halted as she turned to look over her shoulder, but saw no one. She looked around a bit, still seeing no one before the clearing of a throat had her shooting her gaze downwards from where she was standing on a small stool.

“Oh! Sigrun!”, Elise said, gingerly making her way down the small ladder to speak with her dwarven friend more personally. “I’m sorry! I didn’t see you there!” Quite literally. How she continued to forget she had dwarves as Wardens was a mystery. She had constantly done the same thing in Orzammar, and she had known there were dwarves around her.

“It’s all good, Commander!”, Sigrun assured with a small laugh, tattoos on her face wrinkling from her smile. “If I’m easy to miss by your sharp senses, then that means I’m doing something right with my training!”, a sense of pride from the dwarven woman making Elise smile despite the guilt she felt. Sigrun was always so boisterous and lively, not at all someone she would have associated with the Legion when they first met.

“I’m still sorry. I tend to get wrapped up in whatever I’m doing and forget where I am.”, Elise apologized, dusting off her trousers from where she had leaned against the bookshelf. Sigrun tilted her head.

“What exactly were you doing up there?”, she asked, curious eyes looking up at where she had been fussing. “Cleaning?”

Elise nodded, smiling. “Pretty much. I always dusted the shelves in the Circle when I had time between lessons.”, she said, voice taking on a somber tone as she remembered her old home, sorrow and longing intermixing. “I used to find lost books and scrolls, and it was relaxing for me.”

A look of understanding crossed Sigrun’s face. “Ahh, so it’s like a hobby?”, she said, head tilting once more. That constant curiosity and interest always made Elise happy. It reminded her of the children in the Circle, wide eyed and in awe of new findings. She knew Sigrun was no child, but her exuberance reminded her of one sometimes.

Elise hummed, lifting a hand to wiggle her hand back and forth. “Sort of.”, she agreed, somber tone dispersing with the light banter. “I certainly wouldn’t categorize it as a chore or arduous task, so hobby would work!”

Her dwarven compatriot hummed, tapping her chin in thought. “Kind of like how Anders tries to collect cats every time we’re out.”

Elise blinked, brows furrowing. “How..so?”, she asked slowly. She didn’t see the correlation. Anders’...habit of trying to start a shelter in the Vigil wasn’t really a ‘hobby’ it was more of… Honestly, she didn’t know. It was intense, though.

And arduous for the rest of us. She thought with increasing exasperation, remembering the last time the Keep had been almost flooded with stray cats and kittens. Elise adored Anders like a brother, but, sometimes, he was too much, but in an endearing way. An exhausting, tiring, endearing way.

Sigrun shrugged with a smile. “He says cats relax him. Cleaning bookshelves relaxes you!”, she said, clapping her hands together which made Elise startle a bit. “Put those two together, and voila! Hobby!”, she declared, nodding with pride at her connection.

Elise blinked, mouth gaping a bit before simply nodding. She guessed she could see the connection now, but...you know what? She was just going to let the Legionnaire have this one. She looked so happy, so proud, and it would be wrong to spoil that with harsh reality. The reality that Anders’ ‘hobby’ was more of an obsession. One that had Nathaniel nearly strangling the mage after finding a slew of kittens hidden in one of the sheds. Those happenings usually resulted in her having to mediate between the two men lest she be short two Wardens. Thankfully, Nathaniel always relented quickly when she gave him ‘the look’. The one she reserved for when she was deathly serious, but Anders knew her better, knowing how she was as a child in the Circle, so he poked, teased, and literally, pinched her cheeks with little coos of, ‘Little Ellie is all grown up~ I’m so proud~!’.

Those happenings usually abated when she pulled out electricity, and then Nathaniel had to be the mediator as he physically took her from the room.

Despite her exasperation at the memory, Elise could only smile with a shake of her head before stilling, noticing Sigurn was watching her with another curious glint in her eyes. Another bout of connecting the dots, would it be?

“Sigrun?”, she asked, tilting her head a bit to where her long hair cascaded over her shoulder. She had decided to leave it out of her braids today, finding it easier and healthier, sometimes, to leave it freely flowing. She absently brought a hand up to card through the raven waves, blinking when Sigrun’s face lit up, eyes following the action. What was that look about?

“I said it earlier, but your hair is suuuuper pretty! And long!”, the dwarven woman exclaimed, a wide smile spreading across her face. “How do you get it that long?”, another question, another bout of dizzying, but welcome concepts.

Elise chuckled softly, understanding now. “A lot of time. A lot of brushing. And a loooot of staying away from large amounts of fire.”, she divulged, twirling a lock around a finger out of habit and running a pad of a finger against a tip, feeling its paintbrush type softness was slightly rough. She would need to trim it soon. “Why do you ask? Thinking about growing out your locks~?”, she asked, eyes flitting along Sigrun’s own head of short, raven hair.

Sigrun let out a laugh, waving her hand dismissively. “Oh, Ancestors, no! I’d probably trip over it if my hair was as long as your’s!”, she said, smiling all the while. “I was just wondering if there was a story behind it!”

Elise tilted her head, still playing with the ends of her hair. “Story?”, she inquired. A story..behind her hair? That was an interesting question.

“Yeah! Most things have a story tied to them! Like is there a reason you like your hair long, or do you just like it...well, long!”, an innocent question filled with new world wonder and unwavering friendliness, two things that made Elise feel like she was right where she belonged, but right now, she also felt warm as her hair undoubtedly held a story within shimmering raven that sometimes glinted with deep blue.

Elise brought the bulk of her hair forward, combing through it with a nostalgic smile. “I guess, in a way, I wanted to be..different.”, she said, deftly beginning to braid a tiny piece. “In the Circle, you were allowed long hair, but it was advised against due to fire and chemical components potentially scorching it, and in turn, your head. If you had it, you tied it up to keep it safe.”, she moved onto another small braid, eyes going hooded with contentment as noire locks glided through her fingers.

“So, you wanted to be a little rebel?”, Sigrun questioned, smile softening as she could tell the memory and reasoning was indeed a story.

Elise nodded, moving onto the next braid. “The Circle was my home. I had a better time than most within its walls, but such isolation, disconnection, makes you yearn to break the mold.”, she said, stopping her braiding for a moment to close her eyes, willing away memories of blindness and blood before reopening them to resume. “I wanted something that defined me as me, and the Enchanters always complimented my hair, so I let it shape me. I was the tower’s ‘little raven’, even though my wings were clipped.”

“But not anymore, right?”, her friend and ally offered, a knowing smile on her face as glittering eyes regarded her with respect and awe. Elise honestly felt as if she didn’t deserve such...loyalty, but she was grateful for it when her own had been severely tested in the past.

She nodded with a warmer smile. “Right. I’m not grounded anymore.”, she affirmed, sighing with contentment as she combed out each braid gingerly, silky locks like water on her fingers. “I’m free to flow as freely as my hair does.”

“That’s the Commander I know and love!”, Sigrun cried with exuberance before leaning towards her a bit, lips pursed with a question. Elise blinked before laughing softly. This woman would always keep her on her toes, wouldn’t she?

“You can touch it if you want?”, she offered, already knowing precisely what the dwarven woman wanted with how two of her fingers tapped together as well as how her gaze was fixated on the shimmering wave of her hair. She wasn’t put off by people wanting to touch her hair, as long as they asked, of course.

“Can I?!”, Sigrun cried in disbelief, eyes like saucers as her hands stilled in their anxious butting.

Elise nodded, giggling. “Mm-hm! Maybe one morning you could help me brush it?”, she offered more, tilting her head and smiling as wide eyes went even wider. She hoped the orbs wouldn’t dislodge from how large they seemed. That would not be a pretty sight. Then again, nothing was worse than Broodmothers. Broodmothers were...awful. The image nearly made Elise shudder, but was able to ward it off as Sigurn bounded up to her, nodding her head all the while.

“You..”, the dwarven woman said as she bounced towards her. “Are..”, another bounce, another step. “The..”, another, larger bounce closing the distance between them. “Best!”, a cry of praise as careful, but excited hands came to tentatively stroke at a few locks, mouth going agape.

Elise couldn’t help but laugh, leaning down a bit more to give Sigrun better access. “I don’t know about that, but thank you all the same, Sigrun. I really don’t deserve everyone here..”, she admitted, gaze shifting downwards sheepishly and with gentle shame. The hand petting her hair stilled, coming up to lightly tap her cheek in reprimand. She blinked, shifting her gaze back to see exuberance and joy replaced with firmness and admonishment.

“You deserve every bit, Commander.”, Sigrun told her, putting her hands on her hips. “Sod what everyone else says, you’ve done more than they deserve! You’re funny, kind, sharp, bright, and one hell of a Warden! You killed an Archdemon, for crying out loud!”, the praise continued, Elise feeling her cheeks heat up at the fierceness as they were delivered. “And you gave me a chance when I was so ready to scurry off and die in the dark, forgotten and unmourned like the Legion’s oath declares.”, fierce tone turning somber, but grateful. “So, don’t talk like you don’t matter, either. Because it’s not the truth.”

Elise stared in awe at the woman before her before her face broke out into a wobbly grin, tears threatening at the corners of her eyes. She was going to start balling! She had felt this companionship before with Leli, with Morrigan, with Zev, even with Sten and Shale, and Oghren, too, but she had nearly forgotten what it felt like after nearly two years disconnected from them all! Oghren was still with her, thankfully, but the only others she had managed to keep in contact with was Zev and Leli, Morrigan’s whereabouts unknown, as well as Shale’s, and Sten back home where he always wanted to go. Loghain, someone she never believed she would grow close to, but had, was off in Orlais, her influence and own personal pleas unable to keep him where he belonged. And Wynne and Alistair...well, those were strained when they had otherwise been full of affection and warmth, and it was why she felt she didn’t deserve another chance of...of a family. But yet, here it was, as surely as the Vigil was physically.

Elise sniffled a bit, a few tears escaping. “T..Thank you, Sigrun.”, he said, eternally grateful as more tears escaped.

Sigrun’s eyes widened in panic and concern, hands flailing around her. “Ahh, you’re crying? Did I say something wrong?! I said something wrong, didn’t I?!”

Elise shook her head, laughing, full of light and air. “No, no!”, she assured, wiping at her eyes with the sleeves of her shirt. “You said everything right. I promise.” It was what she needed to hear, having begun her hobby of cleaning as a way to distract herself from such distressing feelings. Sigrun visibly relaxed, letting out a heavy sigh before giving her a relieved smile.

“Ohh, good! I got worried!”, the rogue exclaimed, reaching up to give her arm a pat and a rub. “I’ll keep the mushy stuff to a minimum from now on, though! I don’t like seeing you cry, even if they are ‘happy’ tears.”, making air quotes around the word ‘happy’.

Elise giggled, steadily calming down to where she wasn’t sniffling anymore. “Wouldn’t want the Legion thinking you’ve gone soft, would we?”, she teased.

“Definitely not! That’ll get me kicked out!”, a joke in reciprocation making them both laugh before a large clattering sound came from beyond one of the adjacent doors, both she and Sigurn jumping in surprise. “Uhh, what was that?”, Sigrun asked, hands already inching towards one of her daggers. Elise, herself, could feel sparks dancing across her fingertips, readying to unleash a bolt on a darkspawn before a cacophony of voices had her magic dissolving back into the Veil in an instant.

She only wished it would have been a darkspawn.

“Give me the cat, Anders!”, Nathaniel’s voice boomed from behind the door, furious clambering of two pairs of feet signaling a pursuit.

“Her name is Madame Whiskers McMeow, and you’ll address her as such!”, Anders’ voice came next, indignant and appalled by the lack of courtesy before a squawk rang true. “Ah! Not the robes, not the robes!”

“Then give me the--Justice, move!”, her Second’s voice addressing another, meaning there was even more to the picture than either she or Sigrun could see, and truthfully, maybe they both didn’t want to see.

“This is unjust treatment, son of Howe.”, Justice’s voice sounded in its normal, but odd echoing way, the vocal cords powered by Fade energy rather than by natural force. “The creature has done no harm; it should be allowed to stay.”

“Hah! Two against one! I win!”, Anders barked, pride oozing from his voice.

“You didn’t even know what a cat was the other day, so you can’t say it stays!”

“It is wrong to throw a helpless creature out into the elements when it has done no crime except existing!”, a bellow making the walls echo with its timbre. “The Warden-Commander brought you in, did she not?!” Elise shook her head, not even part of the conversation beyond the door, but feeling the need to declare so. She wanted no part of this!

“I’m not a stray cat! And don’t bring Elise into this!”, Nathaniel defended her, unknowing that she was waiting beyond the door when this ‘catfight’ would come rolling to where she and Sigrun were still standing, but with twitching lips, trying not to smile or laugh.

“She is the figure of authority within the Vigil, yes? Then she should be the judge!”

“Ohh, no, no, no!”, Anders butt in again rapidly. “Ellie’ll make me get rid of Madame Whiskers McMeow to a farmhold again! I’m with dour sour on that one!”

Elise felt her eyebrow twitch at the insult in Anders’ voice. What was wrong with a farmhold?! There were plenty of mice for the cats! She would love to keep each kitten and cat the mage brought back, but it wasn’t safe! At least in the wild they could scurry off and hide!

“Don’t try and kiss up to me, Anders!”

“Oh, I’m not the one who gets your kisses, even though I--!”, a screech cutting Anders’ typical poking as a ripping sound made Elise wince and slowly shut her eyes, knowing precisely what that was. “The robes! Not the robes! These cost a fortune!”

“The healer’s bill is going to cost a fortune if you don’t give me the damn cat!”, more clattering and shattering glass vibrating through the Keep at those words. Elise shot a glance down at Sigrun, the woman giving her a shrug and pout that said, ‘I dunno.’

“Are you imbeciles done tearing up the Vigil with your barbarism?!”, another voice, one that Elise immediately recognized as Velanna’s, rang with authority and sheer disgust. The fun never ended it seemed.

“Not even close!”, Anders quipped in sing song, but screeched again as another tear occurred. “Do you really want me naked?!”

“No, we do not.”, Justice denied flatly before his voice rose. “Cease this onslaught, Howe!”

“Not until he gives me the CAT!”, Nathaniel roared.

“This is unjust!”

“Yeah, it is! I feel like I’m being chased by templars again, except more exciting!”

“Do I need to summon the earth to shut you all up!?”

Elise stood transfixed, eyes glued to the door as the commotion grew closer and closer to where she and Sigrun were. She cast her gaze downwards a few times as if to say, ‘Should I?’ Sigrun only shrugged like before, but smirked as she tried to hold back a laugh from the whole situation. She wished she could feel such mirth, but she only felt tired from how much of a mess the room beyond would be once she opened the door. Elise sighed as the raucous noise continued, coming to a decision.

“I am the Commander, aren’t I?”, she bemoaned, dragging her feet along the plush carpets that would indelibly be sullied the moment she opened the door, but she placed her hand on the handle all the same, a crash making it rattle before a sigh passed her lips again. The movement of Sigrun running to the side to not get caught in the tidal wave had a slight smirk forming on her lips, but she schooled it as the handle was turned. “This is more dread inducing than the Archdemon was..”

The moment Elise began to open the door, she had to stagger back, succeeding in tripping and falling rump first onto the stone floor with a wince as two male bodies, a fluffy white cat held up in the one with a bored expression on its pretty face, and the other pinning that one down with furious glint in steel colored eyes, face hard, came tumbling through its opening.

“The cat, Anders!”, Nathaniel commanded, pressing his elbow into the mage’s shoulder blades to keep him in place. Anders only let out a laugh before releasing the cat, who bolted like a snowy flurry into the recesses of the Keep.

“Be free, Madame Whiskers McMeow! Bend to no one!”, the mage cackled in victory as Elise saw Nathaniel’s face go deadpan with silent fury and aggravation. Oh, that wasn’t a good look. She knew that look, and it was usually reserved for the haughty recruits.

“I’m going to kill you.”, a threat coming out like a hiss, to which Ander only laughed again, lifting his blonde head, ponytail almost completely undone just like his robes almost were. Elise had to flit her gaze about to not land upon unmentionables.

“Do it.”, Anders challenged, smirk on his face. “You won’t~! Not when your lady love is watching~”, amber eyes flashed over to her, seemingly knowing she was there the whole time.

Nathaniel’s furious expression fell at that, grey eyes instantly flitting about until it caught sight of her, the orbs widening when they saw her on the ground.

“El--Warden-Commander!”, Nathaniel corrected his exclamation deftly, but only because he probably knew she was not in the mood for sweet nothings as she could feel her face give ‘the look’. “This is..uh..”

“His fault!”, Anders piped up and was rewarded with a sharp push of Nathaniel’s elbow in his shoulder blades. “Eee, easy with the massage!”

Elise sighed, face going lax as she fell backwards onto the floor. She couldn’t keep up the bravado any longer as a bubbling, warm, tight feeling began to fill her chest with light.

“El!”, Nathaniel’s voice came again, formality thrown to the wind as hurried footsteps rushed over to her, Anders letting out an ‘oof’.

“Looks like you’ve successfully broken our Warden-Commander.”, Velanna’s voice came from the open door, dry and just as exhausted as Elise felt, even as her chest tightened further with air. Why did she feel so...light while feeling so tired?

“She held on longer than most of those who claimed to be just and righteous. I cannot help but applaud her tenacity when dealing with such adversities.”, Justice’s voice came next, also from the door.

“Oh, she’s fine!”, Anders assured, a slight wince escaping his lips as Elise heard him shift, supposedly looking to sit up. “She’s just about to laugh is all!” Was that what she was about to do? It kind of felt like it, but..

“What--?”, Nathaniel began to question, but was cut off as a loud crash came from down the hall, the door behind them swinging open to hit the stone wall harshly.

Elise let her head lull backwards to see Oghren staggering through the threshold, a tankard in one hand and eyes wide with panic, but she felt anything but alarmed as the words that poured from his mouth, as surely as the mug of ale in his hand did, had her breaking.

“The schleets are real! I saw them! I sodding saw them!”, Oghren exclaimed, eyes darting around before they landed on his trousers which were...around his ankles before he let out a screech, shuffling back through the door while screaming. A collective series of groans echoed through the room before they silenced when Elise let out a loud screech of laughter, making her roll over on her side as the force shook her.

“O..Oh..Oh, Maker!”, she howled, tears kissing the corners of her eyes as she dissolved into snorts and giggles. “Ah..ahahaha!”, curling up more as her stomach began to hurt, but she didn’t care! She felt so light, so happy! It was wonderful even though the Keep was a mess!

“See?”, Anders’s voice broke through her laughter filled hearing, only making her laugh more at its familiarity and warmth. “Told you she was gonna laugh like a banshee.”

“Humans.”, Velanna scoffed, but her tone was fond. “I’m going back to work.”, footsteps issuing her departure.

“Peculiar. She seemingly cannot breathe, but continues to engage in the act. I will have to think on this.”, Justice mused, muttering a bit more as his footsteps, too, ebbed away from her hearing.

“Okay, Commander~”, Anders drawled, coming into her tear veiled view, a friendly smirk on his face and hands on his hips as amber eyes gazed down at her warmly. “Might want to let yourself breathe. I have some amazing magical powers, I know, but I don’t dabble in necromancy!”, he joked, only succeeding in making her laugh more. Sweet Andraste! She felt like she was going to puke, but again, she didn’t care! She hadn’t laughed like this, loudly screeching and tears in her eyes, since before the Blight!

“Ahaha!”, Elise cackled, rolling over onto her other side so harshly that warm, sturdy hands had to stop her from going too far. She looked up to see Nathaniel regarding her warmly, a smirk replacing the furious scowl she had seen earlier. It made her break out into girlish giggles, face heating up from the general sight of her lover.

“A mess.”, Nathaniel said with a shake of his head, a smirk turning into a smile as he kept a hand on her shaking shoulder. “What will the nobility say?”

“T..That..ahah..I..I’m o..obviously..having..having a good time!”, Elise managed to get out, sucking in deep breaths to calm herself. Oh, yeah, she needed to breathe! She felt dizzy and light and flighty, but also happy, undeniably happy!

“That you are, my love.”, the man next to her giggling form said, rolling his eyes with that quip of fondness and adoration.

“Ooo, that look in grey eyes tells me some alone time is necessary!”, Anders piped up, deftly dodging a swipe from Nathaniel, backpedaling to stand next to where Sigrun was watching the whole display with amusement and smile. “Don’t you say, Sigrun?”, the mage winking at the dwarven woman.

“Oh, yeah, definitely!”, Sigrun said, nodding sagely before grabbing a hold of Anders’ arm to disappear through the door with a wave. “Have fun, you two! I’m gonna go get this weirdo in some clothes and get him started on cleaning up!”

“Wait, what?!”, a squawk from Anders nearly sent her into a fit of giggles again, but a finger against her lips had them simmering down with a shaky, content sigh.

Elise laid on the floor as only she and Nathaniel remained, but she felt anything but abandoned, knowing her allies, her friends, her family was lurking within, bright, alive, and present with their myriad of personalities and peculiarities. Her family was strange, but then again, her whole life to this point had been strange. She let out another sigh, eyes hooded as she gazed up at her Second, who was watching her with so much affection and warmth that Elise felt that she could nearly burst from all the emotions running through her.

“All good? Do I need to do mouth to mouth?”, he offered with a raised eyebrow, grey eyes simmering like hot coals and expression carrying that same heat. Elise giggled, slowly pushing herself up to sit before him on equal ground.

“Mm, I don’t think so, but you could, if you’re really worried~”, she teased, inching closer to fall into awaiting arms, their warmth and stability making her heart race, but wonderfully so.

“Just for peace of mind, I’ll do it.”, Nathaniel declared with a drop in his voice, brushing a bit of her disheveled hair away from her face as he pulled her closer, immediately capturing her lips in a kiss that had residual mirth fluttering away to allow soft want and desire to take center stage.

Elise let out a tiny hum, fully intent on losing herself in the kiss as it left her feeling even lighter, soft where the edges were sharp, and unbelievably warm, but the cute, but small sound of ‘Mrow!’ had her pulling away to look down, feeling Nathaniel continue his kisses, but against the side of her hair, completely unphased by why she had disconnected.

“Why, hello, Madame Whiskers McMeow~”, Elise greeted the petite, fluffy white cat with large gold eyes looking up at them with a smile, tail swishing majestically. She let out a soft laugh when the cat ‘Mrow’d’ again, patting the chest she was resting against. “Aww, I like her!”

“We are not keeping another one, El.”, Nathaniel growled against the side of her head, giving her a light squeeze.

“Ser Pounce a Lot could use a lady!”, she argued, feeling far more amenable than usual to have another family member. “Then they could have babies!”, excitement filling her with a gasp as she whipped her head up to look at her Second, some of her hair smacking him in the face to which she reached up to dislodge some. “Oops! Sorry..”, turning sheepish with her apology. Yeah, she really needed to trim her hair.

“Do you really want to keep her, or are you just being ‘spur of the moment El’?”, Nathaniel asked with that same deadpan expression, but there was a spark of mirth and relent within piercing steel.

Elise nodded, smiling. “I do. We have the room, and she seems a stalwart breed~”, she cooed, turning her attention back to the Madame, reaching down to scratch under her chin softly. She giggled softly when a resounding purr followed from that. “Who’s a pretty kitty~? I’m going to a commission you a collar with a griffin bell~”

“You’re worse than Anders.”, her bastion grumbled, but let her go, knowing when he was bested and when to surrender to her will. “But fine. If it makes you happy, I’ll resist the urge to strangle the mage, but I’m not going to be the one to tell him we’re keeping her.” Elise let out a laugh, turning her gaze away from fluffy snow as it wandered away, instinctual curiosity taking hold of a feline mind.

“Every one here makes me happy.”, she told the man gazing down at her with all the love and respect she could only have dreamed of once upon a time. “Including you, unfortunately~”, reaching up to poke at a nose with a cheeky grin. She let out a resounding laugh when her poked bear let out a growl and grabbed a hold of her hand, smirking goodnaturedly all the while.

“That’s toeing the line towards beratement, Commander.”, Nathaniel quipped, giving her a hand a light kiss. “Do I need to report to Weisshaupt to have your cat owning privileges revoked?”

“I’ve heard worse threats from a genlock, Howe~”, Elise punched back, leaning up to lay a soft kiss upon smirking lips. “Don’t make me get the electricity out~”, a tease, a promise as sparking as the affinity for which was her primary weapon.

“What if I want you to get the electricity out?”, a firmer kiss against her lips making Elise sigh, the sparks beginning to ignite as she was pulled closer, tighter, and a hand laid upon her back.

“Then..”, she purred as surely as the cats within their halls. “...be a good Warden and go clean up your mess~”, the request a warning amid heat and euphoric promises. The adjacent room was still a mess after all, and she wasn’t going to clean it up, no matter how many kisses Nathaniel gave her. Elise watched as her Second blinked, haze dispersing from the order before he let out a tired sigh, shaking his head with a chuckle soon after.

“As you say, Commander.”

Elise smiled cheerily. “Love you~!”, she chirped. Another chuckle, another light kiss against her temple making her melt was all the reciprocation she needed.

Within the halls of duty and sacrifice, where countless potential family members had been lost to cruel fate or just bad luck, she was loved and she loved in turn. And she felt no shame in that. Painful longing and bitter memories would test that, but would never make it untrue. She was free to fly as much as raven locks did, even as they housed the inevitable end they all faced, but never alone. Never alone, never again. No matter what the end would bring, only light would guide her into darkness, blue and silver swarming her vision as the family stood, waiting, with outstretched arms for her to fall into them when her wings could no longer carry her. Until then, she would fly, she would glide, and she would shield those who had defied fate to stand beside her. This was her home, for now and forever.

***

#i'm so happy with this #it's the most characters i've used in a fic yet!#i hope i got them all in character #my daughter deserves the world just like fane does #she's been through enough ;3;#dragon age #oc: elise amell #nathaniel howe #anders #oghren #velanna #justice #sigrun #my writing #my fanfiction #dragon age fanfiction #nathaniel howe x warden amell #warden amell #dragon age awakening

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luvrgirl555 · 4 years

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more -- S.R

gif credit: @criminalmindsquotingfans

anon request: can i request spencer x bau!reader where shes the only one who notices something is wrong when he was using dilaudid?

an: i love this request and i hope i did it justice :) also i’m not trying to romanticize drug addiction in any way

warnings: drug addiction, spence is kinda mean :(

send me a request!!

☆ masterlist ☆

ever since the moment he stepped back into the bullpen you knew it was too early.

even if it wasn’t written all over spencer’s features you knew that he shouldn’t be back after only two weeks of leave.

two weeks?

“for god’s sake he was kidnapped, hotch,” you practically yelled at your unit chief while struggling not to pull your hair out.

“it’s not my call, y/n, the brass decides.” hotch seems completely nonchalant which only attempts to piss you off even more.

“he was the victim of a serial killer! and you’re just going to let him walk back into this job?” you scoff, “you’re going to have to do better than that.”

“y/l/n drop it,” he says sternly.

you look taken aback and cross your arms sternly, effectively shielding yourself from your boss and noticing the guilt in his eyes.

you know he blames himself.

the entire team does.

gideon barely talks, not like he did very much before, but it’s still lessened.

morgan has become five times more protective of everyone on the team.

hotch has been stern, more than usual, keen on everyone following orders exactly when they’re in the field.

emily won’t go anywhere without backup, even if she doesn’t need it.

and you and everyone else know jj blames herself the most.

“if i notice anything in the field or otherwise i will handle it, but i need your head in the job. can you do that?” hotch asks.

you were angry.

furious at hotch and the rest of the team.

even jj who you tried not to blame, but your mind would never stop racing.

you were furious at yourself.

constantly thinking you had let everyone down, or you could have done more. that was your specialty.

you nodded briskly and walked quickly to your desk that sat across from spencer’s.

you sat down with a huff, not even noticing that he was sat across from you, wearing a shirt and two cardigans, one much thicker than the other and his hair was ever slightly falling in his face.

there was a scarf on his desk, one that matched the one on yours.

one of the office holiday parties had led to the both of you drawing each other’s names and buying the other the same gift.

now it was the only scarf you wore.

when you saw his eyes, your mouth couldn’t move as fast your mind.

“hi, hey, hi, oh my god,” you whispered which made his lips turn up into a smile.

“hello,” he waved and you grinned. “are you doing alright?”

“oh my god, spence, i’m fine,” you completely shrugged it off.

he looked at you with a look that told that he knew.

“really,” you assured, “do you want to talk about how you are?”

right as he was about to answer derek walked up, “there he is! i missed you pretty ricky!” he ruffled spencer’s hair fondly which made spencer smile.

it was a wonderful thing to see.

he stood to give derek and emily short hugs where they said things along the lines of, “welcome back,” and “we missed you so much. you and your big brain.”

jj walked up last, clearly feeling rotten but you felt the energy dissipate when he pulled her in for a hug.

you don’t know what they whispered to each other but it definitely seemed to calm her down.

“we have a case,” hotch said walking by on the ramp towards the conference room.

the team collectively groaned, besides spencer who leaped up the stairs to claim his chair and save the seat next to it for you.

it was tradition.

you didn’t really listen while jj rattled of the details of the case, only skimming the file and half-listening to your team members collaborate.

to everyone’s surprise, spencer seemed what anyone call fine. good even.

he stated facts, statistics and general knowledge about the area.

he seemed to be coping so well.

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

on the jet you noticed it.

his legs were bouncing frantically.

his hands were shaking.

you looked around, trying to notice if anyone was seeing what you were but they were all in their own worlds.

reading the case files. talking to the sheriffs department. talking to each other. sleeping.

the world was filled with distractions but nothing could distract you from spencer reid.

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

it was getting late.

you had been sent to collect spencer from the conference room and his map and markers.

“hey, hotch says we should get some shut eye,” you walked into the room quietly.

“i think i’m going to stay here for a little while, i’m almost done,” he added another line and didn’t look at you.

“i can help you, i just had another coffee myself,” you laughed and he looked at you.

“i’m fine.”

there’s something in his eyes you’ve never seen before.

“oh, sorry, i just thought that maybe it would go faster with two heads,” you tried to play it off.

“geography isn’t exactly your strong suit,” he rolled his eyes.

“reid?” you cocked your head to the side and he didn’t look at you. “spencer?”

morgan walked in just as you repeated yourself.

“come on, kids, let’s get back at this in the morning. c’mon,” he coaxed the two of you out of the room.

you didn’t let either of them see your eyes well with tears.

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

you’re wearing a purple shirt the next day.

and his socks are the same shade.

they match.

it’s odd.

spencer doesn’t do that.

not with his socks anyway.

you’re driving out to talk to some workers at a homeless shelter with him, thinking the unsub may have stayed or worked in one, effectively integrating himself into the community.

when spencer makes an off-hand comment that the unsub “could even be here in this room,” you look at him and quickly admonish, “reid!”

“if you notice anything, call us,” he hands the woman his card and steps out swiftly.

spencer leaves you to explain to the worker that she just doesn’t need to worry, just be vigilant, but you know she walks away unsure.

“what the hell was that?” you ask when finally outside.

“what?”

“‘could be here in this room!’ we have no proof for that!” you argued.

“should i just pretend like it isn’t dangerous instead?”

his tone is fiery, not warm.

fierce, not loyal.

petrified, but not sad.

“what is wrong with you? i’ve never seen you act like this?” you try to reach for his hand, something you always do to help feel grounded.

he pulls away.

“oh really? y/n, no offense, but you never really know what you’re talking about, do you?”

his demeanor is ice.

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

on the jet ride back you feel exhausted and nobody mentions drinks when you get back to quantico so everybody must feel the same way.

hopping into your car you notice the rain start to fall which doesn’t help your sniffles go away and tears start to fall down your face.

you don’t know how to help him so you cry.

you don’t know how to do this so you cry.

you love him so you cry.

cry for him and his soul, his mind and his body. his heart and beautiful spirit.

you can tell he’s hurting, though nobody seems to notice or listen.

and you love him.

a knock on your window makes you jump and look over.

you quickly unlock the doors so spencer can get in and throw the wet hair out of his face.

“are you crying?” he asks, stupidly.

his voice is finally soft, angelic and kind.

you just nod.

“i’m scared for you, spence,” you confess.

his mouth puckers the same way it always does when he’s anxious and his leg won’t stop bouncing.

“i’m scared, too,” his voice breaks and you instinctively grab his hand.

he explains everything while neither of you move.

he talks quickly, almost like he can’t talk quickly enough.

you occasionally squeeze his hand.

when he’s finished you sit in stunned silence, just for a moment.

all you can think to say is, “i love you.”

his brown, teary eyes look at yours and you move to kiss his forehead gently.

“i always have you. i will always catch you.”

“thank you,” he whispers, meekly, “i’m sorry i was so rude to you. i don’t know who i am anymore.”

a sigh escapes his lips and you kiss his left cheek.

“you’re doctor spencer reid, supervisory special agent for the behavioral analysis unit,” you place a kiss on his nose, “you’re an excellent shot, handsome and smart,” you kiss his right cheek, “and my best friend.”

his breathing has finally slowed. he feels in control of his body again, just for a moment.

“more?” he asks.

“more?” you cock your head.

his lips crash against yours as gently as he can manage.

more.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid #spencer reid angst #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #matthew gray gubler #mgg

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softbluefanfiction · 4 years

Text

Truce

When I first started writing this fic, I accidentally deleted the first 2000 words and had to restart, that wasn't very nice, but I pulled through and really I hope you enjoy!

The insults. The accusations. Constantly having to defend himself. Having to play nice. It was all getting to be too much for Janus, but he had no choice but to handle it. He needed to take it in order to help Thomas, and eventually it would stop. Until then though...

"Your slippery sarcasm scale is why we are in this mess in the first place!" Roman yelled, pointing an accusing finger.

"Yeah, for real, Thomas" Virgil spat, "how can you still not see him for what he is?"

"And what would that be, dear Anxiety?" His stomach twisted as he spoke; it was tough to fight with him on a good day, but Virgil had also declared that he wasn't going to use Janus's name and that Janus wasn't allowed to use his. The only reason he agreed was to stop a fight, but in hindsight, it seemed to have not caused any release of tension from the group.

"A monster-"

"Woah! That's a bit strong, don't you think, Verg? Maybe we can take a second-" Thomas tried.

"No, it's not!" Virgil snapped. "he's been lying and deceiving us from the start, and now his advice has cost us a friendship!"

A few weeks ago, Thomas had come to them with a moral dilemma about two acting jobs. One was for a friend's production and would have meant a great deal to said friend if Thomas had taken the part. The other was a more prestigious role that Thomas has been working towards for a long while, alongside that Thomas didn't have much experience with the genre and really wanted to test himself; it also paid more. Janus had gone for the obvious choice with Logan on his side. He then won over Patton; given that other people were lined up to audition, his friend wouldn't have been shorthanded. He knew Roman secretly wanted to do the more challenging thing. It was easy after that.

"I hardly believe that that is a reasonable conclusion, Virgil." Logan slid in next to Janus, much to the latter's relief. A small genuine smile came across his face as Logan began to defend him. It always took him by such surprise; he never thought he'd be on speaking terms with the other after what he did, impersonating him. Now they had begun to quite enjoy each other's company and Logan defended him, often without hesitation: "when was it you said this play was, Thomas?"

"Uh, I went to it last week, but it ran the rest of the week too."

"And when and how frequently have you contacted this person?"

"Once that night and a couple of times today, but he still hasn't responded. He was also weird after the play, I mean we barely spoke!"

"Hence the 'issue' at hand," Janus said with air quotes and Roman positively fumed.

"Wipe that smile off your face, you deceitful dick!" He snapped and everyone in the room seemed as taken aback as Janus was.

"Running out of insults, are we, Roman?" He sneered.

"No, you...you... snake!" he shouted, still pointing an accusatory finger.

Both he and Logan rolled their eyes as Logan continued. "So, based on the fact that you have texted them during and after a busy week and they have not responded as well as being distant during a very busy production, you are concluding that they no longer wish to be your companion? Thomas, you must see that that is a bit of an extreme conclusion?"

Thomas and Vigil took a deep breath together. "Yeah, I'm sorry Logan, you're right. I should wait a minute before ringing the alarm bell."

"The figurative one I assume; although that might be an interesting way to improve the safety of your home, it would be unnecessary as the fire alarms are already operating."

"That doesn't change anything, they could be-" before Virgil could continue, Thomas's phone buzzed.

"Oh, who could that be?" Janus asked.

Thomas spoke sheepishly, looking apologetically at Janus and Logan. "It's them, they're sorry that they haven't been able to talk much and wanna go out to lunch some time."

"Well, then," Logan said with a self satisfied sigh, "if that is all I'll bid you a good night, and Thomas, remember to check your calendar before making plans."

"Okay, Logan, thank you!" Thomas rubbed the back of his neck as Logan sunk out.

"Hmmm, would you look at that, despite my villainous influences on Thomas's decision making everything turned out fine! How could this possibly be?" Janus gasped with mock shock, bringing a gloved hand to his mouth.

"This doesn't change anything, you're still-"

"Virgil," Thomas voice was a bit raised but he took a deep breath and softened, "Virgil, its okay."

The anxious side struggled for a moment, seeming to have more to say, but then simply huffed and sunk out with Roman ready to take his place in the fight.

Before that argument could move any further he held up a hand, and looked at his host. "I will see you later Thomas, don't hesitate to call if you need me." He sunk out with a calm smile from Thomas and fuming rage from Roman.

After he was back in the mindscape's living room, his shoulders slumped and his face fell before he realized that he was not alone and put on his mask once more. Every cell in his body fought against not being able to just relax, but he pushed those feelings away, making his way into the kitchen.

He was no longer going to stay in the room, but was still going to take a bottle of wine up to his bedroom. He felt like he deserved a little help to unwind.

Virgil spoke up as he looped back from the kitchen to make his way up the stairs: "I know what you're doing!" He growled.

"Do you now?" Janus huffed, he'd had too much today already and mostly responded on instinct. He hoped Virgil would just drop it so he could get onto staying in his room the rest of the night.

"I do, and I'm not going to let you hurt him!"

Janus let out an exasperated sigh and spun around at the top of the staircase. "Do you ever think I've tried so hard to get to Thomas because I care for him and want to help him?!" He meant to be snide in order to get Virgil to understand while not being vulnerable, but his voice failed him at the end, cracking.

That gave Virgil pause but he strode on. "It doesn't matter what you think you're doing. You're deceit and all you are going to do is hurt Thomas."

Janus just huffed and walked away, face turning red at his outburst. He had avoided reacting out of pure feeling since his low blow with Roman, but it seemed like they knew just how to get on his nerves and wanted him to fail so badly. He wouldn't have been surprised if that was a genuine scheme of theirs, to hit him where it hurts until he finally shows his true colors or whatever. They'd done worse.

Hot tears burned at the back of his eyes but he swallowed them down. He would not cry because of them. They would not hurt him, he was better than that and if it meant he could have Thomas's attention then they didn't matter.

But this was getting to be exhausting. The punches were coming just as hard as before and seemed to hurt worse and worse. Virgil's always stung, but the attacks were getting more and more personal. Roman was nothing compared to that, but the last few weeks every time it seemed that they were getting somewhere he'd redouble his efforts at getting under Janus' skin.

They were also in cahoots to not let him be alone with Thomas, and for a while, Patton. He actually began to get a stomach ache every time he went to go visit either, even starting to avoid them entirely before they both realized what was up and told the other two off. They could still interrupt if they found a good enough reason and used it as an excuse, which left Janus with much apprehension.

Their efforts also left him with conclusions that he was barely allowing to cross his mind, but he felt them pushing against the edges, threatening to burst out. About how Virgil and Roman are a part of Thomas and what their sentiment means about what Thomas thinks of him.

He shook himself out of his reverie and poured a glass of wine, sitting on his bed to sip at it.

His suit felt itchy and he knew he probably needed a shower. Last week he shed and that was just delightful, as always. He was more than grumpy and expected it to ruin all he had worked for but everyone was actually exceptional about the whole situation. Even Roman. It was another time he thought he might've gotten through to him but absolutely didn't. Either way, he was onto the last of it and one more good soak would do him some good.

He felt like a 60's housewife drinking wine in the bath but usually it could fix almost any issue so he wasn't willing to give it up. This time, he felt himself relax a bit, but instead of his worries washing away he felt them pressing down on him still, as if held at arm's length but ready to pounce at any moment; but in all honesty, it could just be the wine relaxing him.

He got done with a few glasses before he heard a knock on the door. "One second." Janus jumped out of the tub and carefully dried himself off and, for force of habit, assumed Remus would be behind the door, simply wrapping a towel around himself to answer it.

Which is how he caused one Patton Sanders to let out a rather loud "Oh, my!" when he opened the door, turning a shade of red that Janus did not think possible.

"Oh, my...um," Janus echoed, closing the door to cover most of himself peeking his head out. "You'll have to excuse me Patton, I had assumed you were Remus, did you need something?"

Patton was decidedly looking everywhere besides Janus, eyes curiously flitting back to his bare chest every few glances, but he really was doing his best to not look, it made Janus smile and giggle drunkenly, "You can look at me, it's fine."

They had been tipsy together before and Patton had admitted he was mad at Roman and Virgil's behavior and when that topic shifted away, feeling like he should offer something as well, he had admitted that his scales often made him feel foreign and out of place. Patton said he thought they were pretty and Janus couldn't believe that was true, and said as much. That's probably not what the moral side was currently thinking of at that moment, he belatedly realized, but didn't much care.

Patton swallowed and leveled his eyes on his counterpart's face, every few words his eyes would stray for a few moments but snap back up after realizing what had occurred. "Right, um, I just wanted to invite you to movie night at 9, um, and Thomas will be there too!"

And Roman and Virgil. "Don't wait up for me," He said after a minute of thought, he would think about though "sorry, Patton."

"No, no, it's okay!" He could tell it wasn't, but couldn't think of what to say so they just sat there awkwardly for a moment.

"Hey, daddy!" Remus saved them. "if you two wanna fuck I can leave." He laughed as Patton sputtered, walking up to them and placing a hand on each of their shoulders.

"Remus, please, you'll break him," Janus rubbed his face to stop his own laugh, keeping his tone exasperated "my apologies again Patton, have a good night!"

"Yeah, um, see you at the movie Remus" He whispered, running off as fast as possible.

"You're invited?" Janus asked, shocked. He didn't know that any of the others tolerated him, including Thomas, just that they accepted that they couldn't just ignore him.

"Oh, pfft, no!" Remus laughed, pushing into the room and shutting the door behind him, "I just showed up and nobodies told me to fuck off yet, so im still showing up!" Remus wrapped his arms around Janus' waist, leading him to the bed and leaning in for a kiss.

"It seems as though they have come to expect you!" Janus murmurs against Remus' lips. He allows the conversation to drift away when the other doesn't respond, pulling them both down over his bed. They curled up there, Remus laying on top of the other with his head nuzzled into his neck, the towel that Janus was wearing forgotten.

Their relationship had changed drastically in the last while since Virgil left. They had both come to find each other in the dark sides commons one night and opened up about missing Virgil. It was the first time either of them had been so open with the other and it was the start of a beautiful and weird thing between them. It started slowly with just hanging out all the time, but then one night Remus shakily reached over during an anime he was watching and grabbed Janus' hand. It was all fast after that, and a supposed silver lining to Virgil's absence.

"You still..." Remus mumbled, brushing down Janus' arm slowly "have some.." he picked up the snake-like side's appendage. "Janus shreds to remove," and started to slowly take off the rest of his shed. Janus just turns his head over, sighing at the satisfying feeling, content to fall asleep and deal with washing the sheets later.

"Alright, come on!" Janus lets out a whine as Remus pulls him up and takes him back to the bathroom. The other got undressed and Janus removed the water from the tub while the shower turned on, Remus quickly washed off and then walked back to Janus. "Let's get the rest of this off, hmm?"

Janus nodded and settled down on the side of the tub, it was an ornate one with golden legs on the four sides in the shape of snakes and white marble coloring on the rest. "Are you for real not going to movie night?" Janus sighed as Remus carefully took off the rest of his dead skin, if you tried to remove it too soon it burned and might even bleed, but now it was high past time and felt like bliss.

"Although I would just love to be berated all night long, I think I will be content enough to read the night away." Janus felt a little disappointed at the thought, but even Patton was starting to irritate him. He was treating the deceitful side like a hurt puppy rather than confronting the others. He knew that it wouldn't help, but a little effort in the right direction wouldn't kill.

"Buzzkill...that's fair, and if that bottle was full before it got to your room you're also shitfaced." He laughed, picking up the almost empty container and chugging the rest.

The other just nodded. There was certainty a blur around the edges of his mind growing stronger, and he leaned into Remus' touch as he massaged his shoulders far after his shed was gone the rest of the way. "I think I would just like to go to bed, okay?"

"Do you know people spend ⅓ of their life asleep, meaning that people waste 229'961 hours of their life so they can hallucinate while drooling?"

"Logan has been a bad influence on you," Janus mumbles as they both dry off and make it back to Janus' room. "You should still go, if you want."

Remus in response snuggled under the covers with Janus and closed his eyes, shrugging. "I'm good here, boo, at least until you fall asleep."

"Thank you," the yellow side grumbles, it does take awhile for him to actually rest, but Remus pulled out some sort of book Janus knew better than to look at, and seemed content enough to stay.

---

Janus woke up from a nightmare with a scream and immediately fell into a panic attack. He tried to get the air past his lungs and tore through his hair, his face and arms heavy and numb to him.

Remus was around him a moment later, hugging his shoulders and badly guiding him through a breathing exercise. It took a few minutes but he got back down to where he could speak.

"What if I'm bad for Thomas?" He whispered, hands falling into his lap, he swallowed and almost started to wonder if Remus had heard him. A mantra of monster, monster, monster, monster was cycling through his head, leftover fragments of the cacophony in his dream that was already becoming hard to remember.

"What? " Remus sounded furious, his voice a low growl and Janus folded in on himself, closing his eyes, arms going around his chest.

"Virgil said...I just...no one ever thinks that they're the bad guy, I was happy to play the part if it meant I could get Thomas to see...but what if I wasn't...?" His voice wavered, he knew he was going to regret telling Remus who exactly caused this particular episode, but maybe he deserved it after all the crap he'd been pulling.

"This has to stop!" Remus spat, voice still low. Another aspect that is opposite from Roman, when Remus gets angry it's a cold, quiet fury "when are you going get your head out of your ass, Janny? My fuckass brother gets butthurt once and you're just going to let everything slide by from now on?"

"It's not like that, I don't want anything getting in between me and Thomas or hurting him and that situation has clearly has done both, things will smooth over-"

"Will they really stop though," Remus softened. "You have proved yourself already and Thomas has even told them to chill and they are not any closer to being done with their crap!"

They both stayed quiet for awhile after that..."you're right, something has to budge, im sorry".

"You shouldnt be apologizing to me, i'm not mad at you... i'm gonna go get you some of those sleepy bears" Remus jumped off the bed and Janus didn't expect him back for awhile. At least he put pants on.

Laying back down he realized he had only slept for about two hours, and movie night was on downstairs. He burrowed down with a groan, they had to have heard him scream. He begged the universe that Remus would just go and get the melanin gummies from the kitchen and that would be the end of it.

Of course that wasn't the end of it, but at least Janus wasn't aware for a while.

---

Remus was absolutely fuming when he left the room, intending to break down Virgil's door if it killed him, but when he heard a movie going on downstairs he figured that would work too.

The movie was immediately paused as Remus thundered down the steps. He realized just now that the others probably haven't seen him this truly angry, or even this serious, and Thomas was in the room. That almost changed his mind about whatever he was gonna do when he got to Virgil, but decided that Thomas might need to be privy to the conversation.

"You" He growled, pointing at Virgil who snapped his head up at him from his usual spot. Roman tried to get in the way but Remus summoned some weird handcuff thing and threw it in his direction. It latched onto both his hands and then flew to the wall behind him, connecting to it. It then pulled him back and away. He jumped up on the couch and pulled Virgil up by his hoodie, pushing him against the wall.

"What the-" Virgil started, but Remus shook him.

"You need to put your ducklings in a row before I kill em all!" Remus noted the fear in his eyes and how tight he was holding the other, and loosened his grip.

"What are you talking about?" Virgil said, not moving. Remus was sure he would know why he was here now that it was brought to his attention. Virgil always knew when there was a spike in anxiety somewhere in the mindscape and that much from Janus would have crossed the radar.

"You know damn well what, you pitch black nightmare!" Remus spat, "Do you honestly think that Thomas is better without Janus?"

That stopped him short, and over his shoulder Remus could see everyone's head snap from him to Virgil. "...I didn't say that''

"Well you said something that has him convinced him he's no good for Thomas!"

"He isn't," Virgil insisted, looking like he regretted the words immediately.

"Do you really believe that or are you hiding from the fact that you were wrong and are being an asshole's asshole about it?" That shut him up quick and Remus let him go and walked over to Roman who was as quiet as everyone else was, "Parties over you can go back to your movie". The anger had fizzled when he saw how scared Virgil was, and he had already told Roman off several times. Thomas would most likely have a few words with them, so that would have to be enough. He produced a key and unlocked his twin, with a click the cuffs and key disappeared.

There were a few scattered murmurs from the living room as Remus grabbed a few gummies and ate them, grabbing an extra and heading upstairs with it.

"Hey..." It was Thomas that spoke up, and in a quiet tone that gave Remus pause half-way up, "is everything alright, I mean... what happened?"

Remus opened his mouth to tell him, but closed it again when Logan shifted. "Ask him yourself". Thomas nodded, clearly a bit disappointed with the answer and Remus went to leave.

"He had a panic attack," Virgil mumbled, looking down at his feet numbly.

The others in the room looked mostly shocked but Thomas looked aghast. Before he could say anything else Remus huffed in disgust and walked away to go take care of Janus.

---

Janus stayed in his room most of the next few days, his panic attack was more than enough to tell him he needed a break, so unless directly called upon he would spend some time doing just that. He did leave a couple of times early in the morning to help Patton with breakfast and chat with Logan, but for a much shorter time and left quickly if anyone other than Remus showed face. Everyone was acting a bit strangely but Janus refused to put much thought into it. They all had nightmares, so hearing him yell yesterday shouldn't be something they are able to hold over his head.

He'd also scheduled an early meeting with Dr. Pacini, and he assured Janus that he was handling the situation very well. Taking a step back and avoiding anything that could be triggering for a short time could do some good, although he did ask Janus to lower his alcohol consumption to at least every other day and not fully isolate himself.

He also asked that Janus talk to Thomas about his worries, but was immediately shot down in the meeting. Now that it was in his mind though, Janus felt himself slowly lose the will to not do just that. He would have to explain why he had been absent recently and had made it a point to stop lying to Thomas.

Perhaps he would just explain certain things to his host, that he had wanted to relax a little and that was why he was distant the last few days. Something to sooth the others likely worries and it would be nice to see Thomas, as his company was rather nice.

That's what he told himself as he appeared in Thomas' room late one night, only to find the other on his laptop entranced by Netflix and unaware of his presence.

Janus smiled lightly, happy to see the other enjoying himself, although with the late hour Logan was sure to have a fit. Instead of interrupting he simply started to move about the room, he probably should have gone to bed himself, but a little tidying wouldn't hurt.

He was able to check if Thomas' house plant needed watering, fold some shirts on the floor and straighten up the chair in the corner before he was noticed.

"Oh, hey Janus" Thomas smiled and closed the laptop when he saw the other, "sorry I didn't see you there, um, what are you doing?"

"It's no bother Thomas, it's not like I've taken time out of my very busy schedule of doing nothing to come and check on you at a ridiculous hour only to have you pay me no mind while I clean your room" He waved his hand dismissively and sat next to Thomas, who let out a soft laugh.

"Yeah, I actually wanted to check on you, I haven't seen you in the past few days and figured you might want some space but I was getting worried"

"Whatever would you need to be worried about?" Janus tried, icy trepidation making its way up his spine, "I'm doing well".

Thomas paused, looking a bit guilty "look, Jan, I know that you had a panic attack and you don't have to talk about it now but i'd like to maybe figure out why so I can help"

Janus paused, ready to deny and avoid but Thomas gave him that 'im Thomas and too wholesome and caring for this world look' and he signed quietly to himself, now at a loss for words. He felt panic brewing at being so exposed and a slight anger at himself for letting Thomas worry about him.

"You really don't have to talk about it, I swear, and i'm worried but I know you can take care of yourself and..." Thomas filled the prolonged silence with rushed and nervous words that Janus wanted to interrupt but his mouth just wasn't working.

He could say many things. Something to soften the blow, a half-truth that Thomas wouldn't fall for but would allow given the circumstances. He could lie, say that whatever Remus said was just to throw Thomas off, but Thomas had not mentioned Remus and if Janus did then that would be an easy hole to poke through. He could tell Thomas he wasn't ready to discuss it and be left feeling awkward and guilty, because while that isn't necessarily a lie, he would still be keeping secrets from Thomas.

All of these thoughts swirled through Janus's head as Thomas's rambling became muffled and his breath came in shorter gasps.

"Do you think i'm evil?" It was the first thing on Janus' tongue and the last thing he actually wanted to open up to Thomas about. He didn't know if he would be able to take the answer being yes, but a lie to try and comfort him would tear him to pieces.

After a long silence Thomas finally spoke,"What?". His voice was gentle but alarmed, meant to brush away Janus' worries.

The deceptive side tried to respond but he stopped and took a shaky breath, grounding himself. "It has been on my mind for awhile, I know it is unreasonable to ask you to answer that, I just...its tough being insulted by people you (that Thomas cares) care about and I am concerned as to how their opinions are affecting your own"

"Janus, it's not unreasonable to voice your concerns, and... I can't say with certainty that I don't view you as at least a little bad, but i'm working on unlearning that type of thinking and Virgil and Roman aren't going to make me change my mind on that, okay?"

Janus' body relaxed from the tension he didn't know he was holding and he sighed, leaning heavily on his hands. That was somehow the perfect response and Janus felt some sort of weight leave him. "Woah, hey, its okay", Thomas scrambled forwards to sit next to where Janus was, rubbing circles on his back, "Did I say something wrong?"

Janus shook his head, confused as to what the other meant, until he realized he was shaking and had started crying. Shame and fear rose past his relief, but Thomas had wrapped his arm around the others shoulder and Janus couldn't stop himself from accepting the comfort.

He leaned into Thomas' hug, putting his face onto the others shoulder as he let out the first real sob he'd let happen in months. Thomas, ever patient, simply whispered soothing words and rubbed circles on his back.

It took several minutes for Janus to calm down, but once he did he remained in Thomas' grasp for a while longer. "I didn't mean..." Janus started to pull back not sure what he was going to say and looked down at Thomas' shirt, wet with tears, "to ruin your shirt" he finished lamely.

Thomas just frowned and shook his head, worry creasing his brow. Janus sighed and looked away, rubbing his forehead. Thomas had never seen Janus like this, sure he was less guarded around his host but he still wasn't sure what to tell Thomas now that he had all of a sudden broken down. "I feel...better now" was what eventually came out, along with a shaky laugh.

"That's good" Thomas smiled, patting him awkwardly on the back. "Are the others all busy, or, I mean, do you have someone to be with right now, I guess"

"No, Remus is in the imagination and I believe all others are resting, but I can assure you that I will take care of myself." He winked at the other "self-care and all that".

That earned him a laugh, "Right, yeah...you mean a lot to me Janus, okay, I really hope that I wasn't hurting you by not telling you that sooner"

"No, Thomas, I should have come to you sooner and it's really not as bad as it might seem, I am a professional at bottling up my emotions, as it were"

"Yeah, I guess that makes sense..." They sat in comfortable silence for awhile after that, taking a minute to let everything soak in, "If you wanna stay, I was watching the office?"

"That sounds abhorrent" Janus jibed, as he waved his hand and changed into his pajamas, sitting down next to Thomas as he started up the laptop again.

After a few episodes Janus felt his body get lighter and he fell asleep content and laughing with Thomas.

Thank you so much for reading everyone, I appreciated every like and comment and feel free to critique! I wish you well and goodnight!

AFTERWORD IS POSTED! I JUST DONT KNOW HOW TO LINK IT IM SORRY!

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meetmeatthecoda · 3 years

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Lately, I've found myself drawn to stories ( and I mean drawn to as in envisioning those stories in my head, thinking them through to the very last detail, not reading, let alone writing them down, because I've long since accepted that they will never turn out quite the same on the paper ) where Red is the one who'd been seriously hurt and, therefore, rendered unconscious for an indefinite amount of time and worried Liz is the one who doesn't leave his side, hoping and praying and pleading that he would wake up. Probably, something that has to do with how unfair it is that we've seen Red keep vigil by hurt!Lizzy's side – playing music for her, holding her hand, reading to her etc. – a number of times and yet, over the course of 8 seasons, never have ever been allowed the pleasure of seeing Liz do the same for him ( not even when he was shot – because she left to retrieve the Fulcrum and couldn't come back until the fight was over – or when he was poisoned – because she'd been waiting to be cleared to see him and he ran away the moment he wasn't actively dying, because that's Red for you all ), even though she loves and cares about him as much as he loves and cares about her.

I mean, just imagine the possibilities!

Liz pacing around the waiting area of Red's mobile hospital while he's in surgery, unable to think about anything else other than how he looked – battered and broken and barely alive – when they've found him and how his head rested in her lap ( she could almost convince herself that he was merely dozing, if he wasn't so deathly pale and still and there wasn't so much blood on his clothes and her clothes and her hands and the backseat of the car ) and his hand was limp in her death grip as they rushed him to his doctors and she whispered words of reassurance and encouragement to him even though she knew he couldn't hear her and how she had to fight the instinct to curl around her lover and snarl at anyone who would come close because she can't let him be hurt further as the medics took him away from her, exchanging observations and orders that didn't sound particularly reassuring. She's also acutely aware of the fact that Red is fighting for his life – there, just a few feet away from her – and, though he's the strongest man she's ever known, he may not win, and so she makes a promise to the empty air in front of her that she will kill him herself if he dares to give up on her and Agnes like that now, when they've just reached the good, right place in their relationship, just confesses their feelings to each other. At some point, Dembe most certainly pulls Liz in for a hug, letting her cry in his shoulder, doing his best to comfort her ( even though there's nothing that can bring her more comfort than Red's hug, when he – alive and whole – wraps his arms protectively around her and holds her close and lets her hide from the whole world in his arms, his chest, his shoulder and neck – wherever she prefers to burrow her face at the time – and the memory itself makes her cry harder, because there's a possibility that he will never hug her like that again ), even though he's just as worried and scared as she is, and Mr Kaplan helps Liz clean up, washing away Red's blood from her hands and producing seemingly out of the thin air fresh clothes for her to change into.

Red, of course, pulls through the surgery, beating all odds, and Liz's heart floods with relief at the good news before sinking when the doctor explains to her and Dembe and Mr Kaplan the extent of Red's injuries and that it's impossible to say when – or even if – he wakes up.

And so the waiting game begins. Liz doesn't leave Red's side, holding his hand, stroking his knuckles with her thumb and never letting go, constantly talking to him and reading to him and even asking Dembe to bring the record player and some records from the Bethesda apartment to play to him, hoping that it would elicit some kind of response from him. Yet, as they days go by, there's not a single, smallest sign that he's aware of anything that's going on around him, that he's still there somewhere and is trying to find his way back to her, to them – he doesn't stir, doesn't so much as flutter his eyelashes, and Liz grows more desperate with each passing day, even though the doctor assures her that Red's slowly but surely improving ( but she can't see it with her own eyes, and if she can't see it, she's less likely to believe it, the more time passes with him just lying there, undisturbed by the loud, chaotic world around him ).

And then there's Agnes... While Liz keeps vigil at Red's bedside, the babysitting duties are split equally between Aram and Samar, Charlene and Cooper, Ressler and Audrey and Dembe and Mr Kaplan. Yet more often than not whoever picks little Agnes up from school and / or her ballet classes brings her over to the safe-house where Liz and Red are. She doesn't seem to be as unnerved by Red's state as her mommy is, climbing on his bed each time she visits ( after giving her mommy the biggest hug, of course ) and leaning in close to him, examining his face thoughtfully before half-asking, half-stating "He's still tired, mommy?". And Liz usually replies with a hoarse "Yes, baby" because she doesn't trust herself not to get choked up if she tries to answer more eloquently. Agnes simply nods then, satisfied with the explanation why he hasn't woken up yet, and settles against Red's side – mindful of his injuries and the spider web of wires and tubes connecting him to all sorts of monitors and machines – and either naps ( especially, on ballet classes days ) or tells her mommy and Red ( she talks to him just like Liz does much too easily – promising him to show him the new moves she's learnt when he wakes up etc. – as if she's already done that before or seen anyone else do that... unbeknownst to Liz, she did both – when Liz herself was in a coma, Agnes both saw Red talk to her mommy and was encouraged by him to talk to her, too, because it may help her mommy sleep easier and maybe she'll get better sooner and finally wake up ) about her day or does her homework or draws ( more often than not, she draws either cards for Red to read when he wakes up or just things she wants him to see ). And when the time comes for her to leave, she always kisses Red on the cheek, wishing him "sweet dreams" and to get better soon, and then gives her mommy, who tries so very hard not to tear up but fails miserably, a hug and a kiss, too, and tells her frequently that she shouldn't cry because Red is just too tired, just like she – Liz – once was, and that he just needs to sleep a bit more.

And when the door behind Agnes closes and Liz is sure her daughter won't see / hear her, she breaks down hard, in big, ugly sobs, because her little girl shouldn't be acting so naturally in this kind of situation and because she wishes so hard that Red just woke up, because she can't do this, any of this, without him.

In the end, once his body has healed itself enough and he regained enough of his strength, Red, of course, does wake up. It's a slow process, and Liz thinks she might either faint or go mad from the overwhelming feelings that are swirling inside of her when Red moves for the first time in what seems to her like forever – squeezing her hand feather-lightly – and when he leans slightly, unconsciously into her touch when she strokes his cheek – out of habit, without even expecting any sort of reaction from him and being pleasantly surprised – and when he opens his eyes for the first time – it's a brief occurrence, with his eyes slipping shut tiredly again after just a few moments, and he's still pretty much out of it, apparently, not even noticing her presence by his side, but for Liz it's a major event – and when he finally, finally looks directly at her – alive and conscious and alert – and calls her "Lizzy". He's still weak and his voice sounds terrible and Liz knows she shouldn't let all of her pent-up feelings – the fear and despair and frustration and love and relief and exhaustion – out on him like that – he's just woken up, after all – but she can't hold back the tears nor the jumbled mess of "thank you"s and "I love you"s and " "I've missed you"s and "I'm so so happy you're back" and "I was so worried" and "Don't ever scare me like that again" that spills from her lips as she leans in to kiss him lightly and give him the gentlest of hugs...

(Since I'm not a ficwriter and, therefore, have no intentions of using this pile of ideas/images/feelings myself, I wouldn't mind at all if you or any other writer drew inspiration from this rambling of mine)

Ahhhhh 😭😭😭 Are you sure you're not a fic writer, anon?? Cause this reads like some quality hurt/comfort to me!! 🥲🥲 Honestly, this is a lovely scenario to imagine & it gives me a slightly bitter sense of satisfaction to think of Liz suffering through just a fraction of the time Red spent by her side while she was in her coma... especially if it's the catalyst for fEeLiNgS to emerge tee hee bc, you're RIGHT, we were woefully deprived of those situations in the show & I'll never not be sad about it tbh. More specifically, things I love the most about this in no particular order: Liz having to "fight the instinct to curl around her lover & snarl" *swoon*, Liz swearing she will kill him herself if he dies LMAO, Dembe hugging her for comfort & Mr. Kaplan helping her get cleaned up 🥺🥺🥺, Liz playing records for Red yasss, AGNES & everyone taking turns babysitting her while she misses her Daddy desperately but deals with the situation with a maturity & grace beyond her years in an effort to help her grieving Mommy through it cool cool mkay mkay, Liz only breaking down once Agnes leaves OWWW, anddddd Liz being a blubbering mess when Red finally wakes up & calls her "Lizzie" & they kiss *whispers* it's fine, i'm fine 🙃 IN CONCLUSION, I love this anon, thank you for sharing this lovely little AU with me!! 🥰 And much, much love to you, of course, my friend!! ❤️

#The Blacklist #Lizzington #Agnesgate #thoughts #headcanons #mine #ask #anon #ughhhhhhhh #this mini fic is packed with feels #and punched me right in the face #thank you for this gift anon #:')#much love!!#<3

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meterokinesis · 3 years

Text

How It Feels to Have a Heartbeat

Read it on AO3!

Part of the ATLA Big Bang 2020! I’ll be rbing art for this fic as well.

Summary: From the time he was a child, Sokka has seen ghosts. After years of dejection, he's learned to keep his observations to himself. This works fine until their mother is killed at the hands of a Fire Nation soldier and Sokka begins to see Kya everywhere, always lingering next to Katara. After being thrust into the Avatar's mission, Sokka must grapple with his abilities on a large scale.

(Or, five times Sokka saw ghosts and one time he didn't.)

Sokka was three years old the first time he saw a ghost.

His grandfather, his father’s father that is, had died a few weeks before. Sokka’s parents had explained that he was now in the Spirit World, where he would watch over them. That didn’t explain why Ataatattiaq lingered by their doorway the day after he was buried, but Sokka noticed how he followed Dad around during his first few days as chief, and how he smiled at Hakoda’s good work. Two weeks later Attatattiaq was gone, but Sokka still felt him in the way Dad smiled and performed his duties as chief. He felt his grandfather in the pride Hakota had for his children too.

________________

The ghosts didn’t stop after that.

Sokka became used to seeing them, and by the time he was ten it wasn’t unusual to occasionally see the spirits of the recently passed spending a few extra days with their loved ones before they moved on to the Spirit World. He’d even worked out general rules for how they acted:

1) They can’t wander around however they want. They have to be attached to someone or something—like a loved one or their most prized possession. 2) They can’t speak. Or at least, they can’t speak to Sokka. 3) They can touch things, but the physical world won’t feel it. 4) They’ll stay as long as they need to, and no longer.

Sokka never told anyone about the ghosts because he didn’t need to. Gram Gram handled all the spiritual goings-on in the Southern Water Tribe, and she always told him to stop making up stories. So he did. It was more fun to have a secret, anyway.

________________

Everything changed when the Fire Nation attacked.

Well, to be more precise, everything changed when the Fire Nation killed his mom.

He remembered the grey, sooty snow that littered the pristine white hills of the South Pole. He remembered how Katara cried when she told him and Dad. He remembered running home, only to be kept outside to take care of Katara while his father tended to their mother. He remembered Hakoda telling them that Kya was gone. Not dead, gone. And he remembered the chill in the air as they buried her, the only casualty. And he remembered seeing her again.

The night Sokka buried his mother, he tossed and turned. The polar leopard pelt he slept on was made of needles, irritating him with every movement. Too exhausted to sleep, he opened his eyes to a faint blue glow emanating from the corner of the room.

Sokka moved his head just slightly, the figure quickly coming into sight. There was Kya, hand sweeping over Katara’s hair the way she used to when they were toddlers and refused to go to sleep. She looked at his sister with this mixture of indescribable warmth and love and sacrifice, the kind Gram Gram would tell stories about on the coldest nights of the year. Kya didn’t look up, though Sokka stayed awake until dawn began to break. The entire night he watched her while she watched Katara, their own quiet vigil.

Kya wasn’t there every day, but Sokka got used to her presence. She watched as Katara learned to sew, her face never losing its eternal pride—even when Katara dropped a stitch. She smiled as Katara progressed in her waterbending. She held her daughter when Hakoda left for the war. Sokka swore he even saw her cry the first time Katara healed someone.

She never looked at Sokka, but that was okay. Katara needed it more.

________________

When Sokka and Katara found Aang, she kept her distance. Instead of staying a few feet away from Katara, she now hovered on the edges of Sokka’s vision, a barely-visible gleam of blue. That should have been the first clue that something was wrong with Aang, an early hint to exile him before he got them all killed.

Sokka should have known that danger follows the Avatar wherever he goes.

Kya flickered in front of Sokka, her edges fuzzy in a way he’d never seen them before. Katara was nowhere to be seen.

Sokka pushed himself to a standing position, trying to approach his mother. In five years, this was the first time she’d ever reached out for him, the first time she’d looked away from Katara. Kya pointed, and in the distance Sokka saw the outline of the abandoned Fire Nation battleship.

He was running before the flare even fired.

When Katara and Aang came back, he had already made up his mind. Get the Air Nomad out of his tribe, make sure Katara was okay, and prepare for war. As he banished Aang, he saw Kya run her hand over Katara’s hair just like always. She didn’t glance his way.

When the Fire Nation attacked for the second time, Sokka was sure of one thing: he would defend his tribe or die trying. His war paint was smooth and wet on his face, a feeling he by now knew all too well, but he refused to let it show. Fifteen was probably too young to die, but it was worth it for Katara. He would protect her, just like he always had.

He understood Kya. Though he and Katara fought on an almost daily basis, he couldn’t imagine letting someone hurt her. At least, not while he was alive.

________________

As Sokka clung to Aang—the Avatar’s—giant sky bison, he tried to hold his head high. He had done it, or at least part of it. Katara was safe, the village was safe, and now Katara could become a waterbending master—just as Mom had wanted it. He tried to ignore how Kya sat in the corner of Appa’s saddle, the deepest sadness he’d ever seen in her blue eyes. He’d done the best he could.

Maybe one day he’d be able to explain it to her.

________________

The Southern Air Temple was a graveyard.

This wasn’t a surprise, of course. No one had seen Airbenders in a century, and any who had managed to survive the Fire Nation’s attacks were clever enough to know that living at an Air Temple was a death wish. But Aang still believed, so Sokka said nothing.

As Appa set down at the temple, all Sokka could see were ghosts. Old men, young boys, those with arrows and those without. They milled about, playing games and pulling pranks. One, an arrowless boy who looked about Katara’s age, played hide and seek with a group of younger kids. They were all so young.

Sokka watched the game unfold, and after about ten minutes a pattern seemed to emerge. The boys would play for a few minutes, then reset. They always went to the same hiding spots, and the same kids were always found. These children—ghosts, they were ghosts—were trapped in an endless loop of playtime. An eternity of childhood. Sokka couldn’t remember what that felt like.

He watched in silence for another few moments, wondering what it was like to grow up playing for fun and not for war. Sokka had known since the day he was born that one day he’d be a warrior. It was inevitable, a fact of the universe. The sky was blue, polar orcas ate turtle seals, and Sokka was made for battle. It was nice, in a way, knowing what your path was from birth. Then the Avatar had to screw it all up.

The day went on. Aang and Sokka played airball. Sokka got thrown into a wall. He and Katara argued over whether to tell Aang about the Fire Nation helmet. Sokka got buried in snow. The usual.

Sokka shook the snow off him for the fourth time that week and followed Aang and Katara toward the temple. The ghosts were denser here, and older as well. Where the younger boys had no arrows, these ghosts did. They were dressed in monk clothes as well, and many sported beards. They milled around, a few pulling off to the side to speak in small groups. Sokka did his best to avoid them, but as they got closer to the sanctuary, it was impossible. A few spirits passed through Sokka, and though he didn’t feel anything, he shivered.

Aang opened the sanctuary, and the crush of spirits was gone. There was nothing, except for Aang and the soft glow he gave off. This was almost worse than the overwhelming crowd, sort of like the second after coming inside while a snowstorm rages. After feeling everything, it was disorienting to feel nothing at all. Sokka lingered near the door, half in the quiet and half out of it. A foot in both worlds, just like him.

When Aang finished talking with his past lives, Sokka was the first one outside. Aang gave off an uncomfortable sort of glow, as if his spirit multiplied and divided itself when the occasion arose. He waxed and waned like the moon, and Sokka didn’t know what to do with that. Aang didn’t fit into the rules, didn’t fit into his plan. He liked the kid, sure, but something about him felt wrong.

His stomach clawed at itself, and for the third time that day Sokka remembered how little he’d had to eat. Unlike Aang, not everyone could live on plants alone.

WHRRRRRR.

Sokka glanced at Aang for confirmation, but deep down he knew. The Fire Nation had tracked them, and they had the disadvantage. He reached back and his fingers closed on his club, ready to attack. He’d join these spirits of people long-dead, wandering through cold empty halls.

Instead, an animal hopped out.

“How about we eat it?” Sokka blurted out, his stomach rumbling in agreement. Aang glared at him, then picked across the temple, following the rodent—was it a rodent? Or maybe a monkey?—down a stone path. Maybe they could eat it later.

The lemur—he had decided it was a lemur—was constantly just out of reach, and quick, light-footed Aang reached the destination first.

“Hey, did you find th-” Sokka started as the structure came into view, but cut himself off.

By the time Sokka stepped into the tent, Aang was on the floor, a spirit gently rubbing circles on his back. A spirit that looked a lot like the statue near the entrance.

“Hey buddy,” Sokka said, voice hushed, “I was kidding about eating the lemur.” Aang didn’t respond, and only then did the various masses cluttered near the walls begin to take shape. Specifically, they were pieces of Fire Nation armor. Broadly, they were tokens of death. He reached out to touch Aang, maybe to comfort him the way he used to comfort Katara.

Instead, Aang began to rise, his eyes and tattoos a blinding white. Sokka gasped and reeled backward, the cold packed dirt leaving scuffs on his palms. The wind picked up, whipping Sokka around like a rag doll. Aang was both living and not, a ghost in a human’s body and a person with a spirit’s abilities. He was hard to look at, and even harder to breathe around. For a twelve year old, his soul felt centuries old. Maybe it was the Avatar thing, but part of it just felt like Aang.

Sokka clung to the stone tiles of the temple, scrabbling for a secure hold. If he really wanted to, Aang could throw him off the mountain without a second thought. But he wouldn’t… right?

Katara materialized in the corner of Sokka’s vision, her arm thrown over her face as a shield against the wind. She screamed something inaudible to him, but when he opened his mouth to respond it was as if the breath was stolen from his lungs.

Everything went black at the edges as Sokka tried to regain oxygen, sputtering and coughing as he gripped the stone tiles.

Katara pulled at the back of his shirt, using him as a tether. In his ear, she screamed, “What’s happening?”

“He found out Gyatso died,” Sokka yelled back, pushing himself up on wobbly legs. Blindly, he fumbled for Katara’s hand, the way that Southern Water Tribe kids had been taught to do in times of danger. When things were rough, grab a buddy. Sokka was lucky enough to have a built-in one.

“Aang!” Katara began, shouting over the howl of the wind. “This isn’t you!”

Aang glowed in response, but did not speak.

“I know how you must feel. I lost my mother to the Fire Nation. But just because you lose a part of your family doesn’t mean you lose all of it! Sokka and you and I are our own family now. But you have to calm down, it’s not safe!”

Sokka bit back a retort about how both of them lost a mother, instead holding Katara up as the wind tore at her hair.

The glow dimmed as Aang sank back to the ground and the windstorm quieted. After a minute or two, it was just the three of them. Katara stumbled toward Aang to wrap him in a hug, and Sokka followed a second later. He hesitated on the edge of the group before deciding to clap Aang on the shoulder the way he’d seen the men in his village do.

“Aang?” Sokka croaked, his voice still raw. “Just because they’re gone doesn’t mean they aren’t still with us. They’re looking down at us, somewhere. Gyatso is probably so proud of you.”

Aang nodded silently, then forced himself to his feet. Katara followed close behind, ready to catch him if he should fall. Sokka lingered for a second, and he was rewarded with the blue spectre of Monk Gyatso blinking into reality beside him.

Gyatso gazed after Aang and Katara in silence, a soft smile on his face. Then, he turned to Sokka and gave a shallow bow, which Sokka quickly returned. Gyatso winked, and then he was gone, the only trace of him a light breeze ruffling Sokka’s hair.

Sokka grinned to himself, then sprinted after the others.

“Hey, so are we going to get something to eat or what?”

________________

Something about Yue was special.

It wasn’t just that she was pretty, because Suki had been pretty too.Yue was ethereal, the kind of girl people wrote poems about. Something about her drew him in, but he couldn’t name what. Yue seemed to contain multitudes, an ocean so deep that Sokka would never reach the bottom. But he was fine with drowning while he tried.

Yue seemed most at home under the moonlight. It made her brighter somehow, like she shined from the inside out. Sokka had never known someone like that, as far as he knew, but she seemed familiar.

The Northern Water Tribe wasn’t anything close to what Sokka had expected. Katara fumed whenever she came home from healing lessons, and Kya glared at Pakku when he came close, as if he had somehow slighted her. Maybe he had—Sokka didn’t pretend to know anything about ghost rivalries.

Speaking of rivalries, he hated how the boys in the village looked at Yue, like she was a piece of seal jerky or something. He heard Hahn talking about the power he’d have once they were married, about how pretty she was. Those things were true, of course, but she was so much more than that. She was funny, and kind, and smarter than anyone gave her credit for. It took everything in him not to tell her so each time he saw her.

Quick jokes turned to conversations turned to secret meetings. On nights when the village was silent and the moon was bright, the pair sat under the stars and talked about everything they could think of. Yue, while isolated, had been taught by the finest tutors. She was a master of philosophy and storytelling, and once confessed to Sokka that if she wasn’t a princess—if she wasn’t bound by duty to be nothing more than a pretty doll made of snow and glass—that she would have liked to see the world, to perhaps go to the mythic spirit library. In return, Sokka shared his adventures, recounting battles and run-ins with the Fire Nation. Most of all, he told her about home.

On one such night, he finally confessed, something he had never done before.

“I have something to tell you, but you have to keep it a secret,” he blurted out in the middle of a discussion about snow rat legends.

Yue leveled him a look, her gaze probably kinder than he deserved.

“Who will I tell? My mother? Hahn? The moon?” It was a jest, but she was earnest. Her gloved hand crept over top of his, holding it in place. “Your secrets are safe with me.”

Sokka nodded, swallowing hard. “This is going to sound strange, maybe even like I’m lying, but I’m not. This is the truth, I swear on my Gram Gram’s grave. Well, she’s not dead yet but you get the point…” he rambled.

“I see ghosts. Or spirits, I guess you could call them? Either way, I see them. A lot. Like my mom. And my grandfather, for a little while. And all the Airbenders. They don’t talk or anything, but they’re there. And I know it doesn’t make sense because y’know, science, but I’m not crazy an-”

“Sokka.” She cut him off, leaning in. “I believe you.”

He blinked back, startled. Then he blinked again.

“You do?”

“I do.” She relaxed back against the hard-packed snow wall of the building behind them. “There are much stranger things in this world than a boy who sees spirits. Maybe that’s how you found Avatar Aang—your spiritual connection.”

This was not how he had expected this conversation to go by any means. Screaming or horror he had prepared for, but not Yue’s easy fascination.

She was still talking, but he hadn’t caught most of it.

“I’m sorry, what?” He asked meekly, trying to feign a smile.

“Tell me about them!” She responded, her face bright. “I want to hear all about the spirits you’ve seen.”

“Ah.” Suddenly his mouth was drier than the desert, like he had just drunk seawater. “Well, the first one was my granddad. He disappeared after a few weeks, after my dad took over as chief. Then there were a few more, like people who went out for hunts and didn’t come back. I’d see them wandering through the village and realize that they’d died out there. Those ones were particularly sad, because I didn’t really understand death yet. I was a little kid, y’know? It took a few times before I started to recognize who was a homecoming warrior and who was just a ghost.” Yue nodded sagely, patting his hand comfortingly.

“Then my mom was killed when I was ten. Katara took it pretty hard, she was the one to find her. Mom hangs around more often than not, keeping an eye on her. She doesn’t really interact with me, just Katara. I think that’s fine. We can both protect her.” He peeled his gaze from their intertwined fingers up towards Yue’s face. The way she looked at him made his heart ache. Her other hand came up to cup his face, and in this barren, frigid place she was so incredibly warm.

He leaned forward, expecting a kiss, but she remained where she was.

“You are spectacular, Sokka. I cannot wait to see who you become.”

A second confession caught in his throat, but it died as he took in the way she looked at him. Instead, he smiled. This could be enough.

“Thank you, Princess.” That’s right, Princess. Not only that, but a princess who was betrothed to someone else.

Yet still, that night when he crawled into his camp roll, he couldn’t help but smile. What had once been a shadowy weight on his shoulders was now a gentle secret held between Sokka, Yue, and the moon.

________________

The clandestine meetings had only grown from there. They rode on Appa and went on long walks, ever the picture of North-South friendship. But at night, they’d sneak out to the walls of the city to have the things never afforded to them. Sokka’s childhood, or at least his adolescence, had been built on war games and paranoia. Yue’s had been similarly solitary. As the only daughter of the chief, her experiences with her peers had been limited to formal dinners and suitors vying for her hand.

In a way, things had only gotten better since Sokka told her about his spirit-sight. They were bound by something neither could explain and did not particularly care to attempt to.

Occasionally, these meetings resulted in acting as juvenile as possible, other times they’d sit and have serious discussions until the sun began to rise over the horizon. This was both of those.

Sokka shushed Yue’s giggles as he dropped a snowball off the top of the wall, ducking back down as it landed on the head of the sleeping guard below. A glove slapped over his mouth did a valiant effort of suppressing his laughter, and out of the corner of his eye he saw her doing the same. Could Hahn do this, make her laugh like she had never seen joy before? He doubted it. He doubted Hahn would ever do anything that would make him worthy of Yue’s attention, much less her hand in marriage.

“You’re looking at me like that again,” she murmured, the mirth gone from her voice.

“Like what?” Sokka asked incredulously, but deep down he knew.

“Like you love me,” she said simply, her gaze not wavering.

Sokka’s heart plummeted to his stomach, but gallantly he responded in a wobbly voice, “And what if I do?”

Yue smiled as if that was the saddest thing she had ever heard.

“I’m betrothed to Hahn, Sokka. I need to do this, for my people. It’s my duty, just as protecting your tribe is yours.”

Once, Sokka had watched as an ice shelf plummeted into the sea after a particularly warm summer. It had been the loudest sound he’d ever heard, a gut-wrenching, booming, cracking noise. Now, the sound of his heart splintering had beaten it out.

“You’re not marrying your people, you’re marrying Hahn. Hahn, who doesn’t care about you at all. Not the way I do.” He grasped her hands tight, holding on for dear life. “No, Sokka. This is how it has to be,” she said wetly, and it was only then that he realized she was crying. “You have to let me go.”

He nodded numbly and released her hands, but did not stand. She looked at him through tear-tipped eyelashes, and a beat of hesitation filled the air. Yue leaned in and placed a single kiss on his cheek, then rose from their secluded spot and walked into the night. Sokka sat there, slumped against the wall. He wondered if broken hearts had ghosts too.

________________

The achingly quiet peace of the Northern Water Tribe didn’t last long, but he hadn’t been naive enough to think it would. It seemed as if no matter what, the Fire Nation would always come through to destroy it all again.

He butted heads with Hahn, to no one’s surprise, so Chief Arnook had assigned him as Yue’s bodyguard. It took everything in him to tamp down the little flutter his heart had made. She had made it clear that no matter how she felt, she would marry Hahn. And Sokka had to deal with that, the way he had dealt with all of the other little heartbreaks.

Grey snow fell over the Tribe like an omen of doom. Fear twisted in Sokka’s gut, and it took everything in him not to immediately abscond with Yue to somewhere that the Fire Nation would never reach, if such a place existed. But that wasn’t his job, and it wasn’t what Yue wanted.

The next day flew by in a flurry of movement. The Fire Nation attacked, then stopped, then began again. Katara and Aang were struggling to hone their waterbending in time for battle. The Northern Water Tribe troops clearly knew as little about their enemy as the Fire Nation knew about them, and Sokka, ever the strategist, could not see an outcome where they would make it out alive.

It all came down to Yue, as many things did. The Spirit Oasis was beautiful, a spot of tropical warmth in the arctic desert. Unfortunately, the sheer energy of it was overwhelming. There was so much there, a quality Sokka couldn’t hope to quantify. It was like how the iceberg felt, magnified by a hundred. It seemed that Kya agreed, because she lingered outside with him. His mother’s blue-ish figure remained just out of reach, but if he tried to forget that she’s dead, she could almost be real. Almost.

Yue burst out of the Oasis, panting.

“The Avatar’s floating and glowing and Katara says it’ll be fine but we need to go get help and—”

“Woah, woah, woah, catch your breath. He’s in the Avatar state. We can go get Appa, but Aang can take care of himself,” Sokka reassured her, leading her away from the Oasis and toward the city. Kya watched reproachfully from outside the Oasis, refusing to leave Katara. That was fine, at least she’d have one of them.

Sokka doesn’t worry until he sees Kya waiting next to Appa, her mouth pinched in the way it always got when she had bad news. Even after six years, Sokka had that look seared into his memory.

Katara.

He grabbed Yue’s hand and pulled her into Appa, then raced back to the Oasis. He had already lost his parents to the Fire Nation, albeit in very different ways. He refused to lose his sister too.

Of course, because this was Sokka’s life and very few things can ever go the way they were meant to, Aang got kidnapped. In the middle of a siege. By the Fire Nation. Lovely. At least Katara was okay. If anything happened to her… well, Sokka wasn’t sure what he’d do. Nothing good, no doubt.

This is how Sokka ended up driving a Flying Bison with a saddle full of the Avatar, his kid sister, the girl he loved but could not have, and the unconscious disgraced prince of the Fire Nation.

Then, as if the night could not get any worse, the moon turned blood red. Of course it did.

Yue slumped against Sokka, her eyelids going slack. His heart pounded in his ears. Something, that ethereal ineffable quality that Yue had always possessed was gone now, disappeared into thin air.

“Something’s wrong with Yue,” he hissed, only to find Aang already nodding.

Yue coughed weakly, and Sokka handed the reins off to Katara in order to cradle Yue’s head in his lap.

“I was very sick as a baby,” she began quietly, barely loud enough to be heard over the howl of the wind. “I didn’t cry or even open my eyes, and they said that I wouldn’t live very long. My father had seen a vision when I was born of me as the Moon Spirit, so he prayed to Tui every day for my recovery. He placed me in the Oasis on a full moon, and Tui healed me by giving me a little piece of her life force.”

Sokka’s mouth dropped open, but he bit his lip to keep himself from saying anything. So this was what had been different about Yue, in addition to everything else he liked about her. She had been touched by spirits, just as he had. Twin flames of a living spirit and a boy who saw ghosts.

Wordlessly, Katara steered them toward the Oasis. Sokka saw a man in Fire Nation armor below, holding a large white fish above his head. Yue gasped, and tears began to run down her cheeks. Sokka silently wiped them away.

Aang and Katara climbed onto the snow when they landed, but Sokka remained with Yue. Katara and Aang could save the day with their bending, but Sokka would always save the people.

Everyone was yelling and Sokka clung to Yue, his boomerang in his free hand. He could do this small thing, he could save her. He had to.

Sokka had forgotten that, in the stories, spirits moved on when they had to. No sooner and no later. He was but an observer, a stowaway audience to the wheel of time.

________________

Sokka lowered Yue next to the pool, but his hand still clung to hers.

“Sokka,” she began, not unkindly. “You have to let me go.”

“No,” he pleaded, squeezing tighter.

“Yes,” she murmured, and before he could speak, she was pressing her lips to his. Her hand came up to cup his face, just like it had all those nights before, and he felt a tear slide down his cheek. He couldn’t tell whether it was hers or his.

She turned to touch the white fish, and Sokka watched as her spirit flowed out of her and into it. Someone—the old man who had been watching—placed it back in the water. Sokka cradled her body, even though he knew she wasn’t Yue anymore.

Katara and Aang hung back, but Sokka tipped up his head to see Yue floating over the pool. She looked like a goddess or something in a white flowing robe. Just like all the other ghosts, she looked painfully real.

She floated down to him and touched her forehead to his. Yue mouthed something, but he couldn’t hear her. She never knew the rules, how could she? He’d never gotten the chance to tell her. Her dainty hands tipped his chin toward hers and she kissed him, but all he felt was air. It was the thought that counted.

And then she was gone, filtering away like moonlight through the clouds. Instinctively, he squeezed where she once was, but there was nothing but air.

Sokka slumped forward, and out of the corner of his vision, he saw a hand touch his shoulder. He turned, expecting to see Katara or even Aang, but instead there was Kya. She smoothed a hand over his wolf tail and he could see her mouth the words to the old lullaby she used to sing to them when they were young.

And all at once, Sokka began to cry.

________________

There was a tea shop in the middle ring that Aang liked, which meant that Sokka was usually the one who had to get everyone’s orders. He didn’t mind so much; the old man who ran it was nice and gave him advice. None of it really made sense, but Sokka appreciated it nonetheless.

The only downside of this was the ghost that lingered in the shop. It was silent, like all ghosts, but it had this quiet energy about it. Him — it was a him. Sokka had taken to calling him “Topknot Man,” in honor of his topknot. It was vaguely Fire Nation, but it wasn’t as if Sokka could ask about it. What would he say? There’s a spirit of a young man who looks like he could be Fire Nation sitting in your shop all the time. What gives? He wasn’t an idiot.

The ghost was sitting by the window today, watching the people pass by with a smile. The old man—Mushu—was talking a mile a minute. His son or nephew or something was adjusting well. He’d had a date and it hadn’t been terrible, all that jazz. Sokka nodded along, but he was watching the ghost instead.

“Sokka? Did your thoughts get buried by badgermoles?” A raspy voice asked, drawing Sokka back.

“Sorry, sorry. I was just thinking about stuff,” he responded sheepishly.

“Ah, yes, stuff. My nephew is incredibly concerned with it as well.”

“The Spirit World. I’ve been thinking of it a lot.”

Mushu nodded. “It is a lot to consider. There are many things we will never know about our spirits after they’ve left their bodies.”

“I… I like to think that sometimes people stick around,” Sokka murmured into his drink.

“Well, of course they do. But that’s only for the spirits to know.”

“The spirits. Of course,” he sighed and paid for his drink. “Thanks Mushu, have a nice afternoon.”

As he walked by the ghost on his way to the door, Sokka could swear the man smiled.

________________

Jet was an asshole. But that didn’t mean he deserved to die.

There was something indescribable about actually watching someone die. It was like one second they were there—whole and full of a brightness Sokka had spent his whole life trying to describe. And then it was gone, and in its place a shell. That’s what Jet was like; one second a candle burned, and in the next it was snuffed out. It was nothing like Yue’s death, which felt painfully natural. Jet’s death was a hitch of breath, a cut-off sentence.

Sokka pulled Katara away from the body, leaving Smellerbee and Longshot to their friend. He buried his face in the top of her hair, trying not to pull her hair-loopies. When he looked up, it took everything in him not to gasp. There was Jet alright, hovering next to his body and looking sadly at his friends. Sokka reached out, but Katara just hugged him tighter. Right, no one else could see him.

Jet glanced over at Sokka and gave one, solitary nod—the kind Sokka associated with warriors and people who played at being them. But he swallowed hard and nodded back. He blinked, and Jet was gone.

________________

Jet wasn’t like Kya—there was no rhyme or reason to when he showed up. Sometimes it was in the thick of battle, like the attack on Ba Sing Se, and others it was during quiet, forgettable moments. Nonetheless, he was a welcome presence. The rebels never seemed to notice his presence directly, but they relaxed when he was nearby. They fought better too.

And every now and then, Jet would look Sokka’s way and smile or nod or wink. In those moments, Sokka would forget he wasn’t alone, just for a second.

________________

Even in death, Jet seemed to harbor an affection for Katara. Sokka, of course, was not fond of this.

Katara lingered by the bow of the ship—Hakoda’s ship—staring off into the waves. Aang was below decks, trying not to die and ruin everything. And Sokka? Well, he’d spent his days plotting their next steps. He made plans for as many contingencies as possible: if Aang was fine, if Aang died, if Aang lived but couldn’t be the Avatar.

The wind teased at his wolftail, curling the edges of the maps he had laid out on the ship’s deck. Ahead, an otherworldly glow flickered. Sokka glanced up and stifled a gasp. On the railing sat Jet. Had he been flesh and blood and bone, he and Katara would have been close enough to touch—close enough to kiss. Instead, he stared out at the waves beside her, contemplating something Sokka couldn’t put his finger on.

“Katara!” Sokka cried out, waving his hands at her. “Can you come over and look at this?” She rolled her eyes, but complied, leaving Jet and the sea behind. Katara bent over the maps and plans, and Sokka stared over her head to make eye contact with Jet. Quickly, he pointed from himself to the spirit in that childish I’m-watching-you way then bowed his head as well. Sokka almost missed the way Jet stuck out his tongue back at him.

________________

Sokka used to hate Zuko, and everyone knew it. He was stuck-up and jerk-y and not worth Team Avatar’s time. It didn’t help that he was pretty enough to make Sokka’s heart skip a beat, even with the scar. Especially with the scar.

It didn’t matter what he thought about Zuko—what mattered was fixing everything after they’d broken it all apart. At times, Sokka found himself staring at his ceiling, wondering why exactly they had been the ones chosen for this. They were kids after all—powerful kids, but kids nonetheless. A bender for each element, with an incredible warrior and a boy who saw what shouldn’t be seen to boot.

The war had been over for a week, and Sokka tried not to notice the ghosts that crowded the streets of the Fire Nation. There were so many—all of them aimlessly wandering. Sokka darted through the palace in a desperate and frantic hope of escaping them. After multiple wrong turns and frequent evil glances from the staff, he finally ended up outside the right door.

Sokka raised his hand to knock, but before his knuckles could connect, Zuko opened the ornate door.

“Come in,” he muttered and moved aside to make room for Sokka. The two had become almost-maybe-friends since Zuko joined them to defeat Ozai. In the weeks since, the twerp had started to grow on Sokka, not that he’d ever admit it.

“So, what’s up? What did you call me here for, your princeliness?” Sokka drawled, plopping back on a fancy chair and propping his legs up.

“I need the White Lotus’ help,” Zuko began.

“Then why ask me? Your uncle or Piandao would love to help.”

“Because… because I can’t tell them!” Zuko sputtered.

“Why?” Even Sokka couldn’t tell if it meant why not or why me.

Zuko did not meet his eyes. “Because it’s stupid. They’re just going to dismiss me as foolish. You have their favor for some reason, and I don’t know if I can do this alone.”

Sokka looked up, startled, at Zuko’s outburst. They were friends, sure, but Sokka had already had his magical Zuko field trip. On the other hand, anything that was too silly for the White Lotus was usually right up Sokka’s alley. “Okay, okay, I’ll help. What is it?”

“I need to find the person who killed my mother,” Zuko whispered, as if he was on the edge of tears.

Killed his mother. That… well, that didn’t make sense. He would have seen Zuko’s mom by now if she was dead. Someone that Zuko loved this much wouldn’t just abandon him after she died, right?

“... If I tell you something, you have to promise not to freak out,” Sokka began slowly.

“Okay?” Zuko rolled his eyes, but sat down on the chair opposite Sokka anyway.

“So, uh, I can kinda see ghosts? Like spirits. Of dead people.”

Zuko frowned, but didn’t say anything.

“Like my mom? She shows up every now and then. And Jet hangs out with the rebels and Iroh has this kid who’s always at the tea shop—”

“Lu Ten?” Zuko interrupted, shooting to his feet.

“Maybe? He has a topknot with a fancy thing in it.”

Zuko nodded and began to pace around the room. “But why are you telling me this?”

Sokka cleared his throat loudly. “Because… because if your mom cared about you the way you said she did, she’d be here. At the very least, I’d be able to feel her. But she isn’t, so how can she be dead?” He mumbled.

Zuko stopped in his tracks, but didn’t say anything. Sokka pulled at his collar sheepishly, his stomach churning with every silent second that passed.

“Thank you,” Zuko finally said, his voice just a hint rawer than usual. Then, he began to stalk toward the door.

Sokka’s heart pounded. Why wasn’t he saying anything? Did he think that Sokka was crazy? Was he going to call the guards?

“Wait!” He called out desperately, “Where are you going?”

Zuko tossed the barest glance over his shoulder. “We have a lot of work to do.”

________________

It had been three weeks since Sokka’s confession, and the days had been filled with preparations. Zuko and Sokka would soon set out on an expedition to find his mom, and Sokka would be lying if he said it didn’t make him seven kinds of nervous. Zuko had named him as his official security detail to limit the amount of people tagging along, and it did nothing to quell the queasiness in Sokka’s stomach.

This isn’t going to end up like Yue, he told himself. You’re not in danger. You’re going to help Zuko find his mom. He grimaced and adjusted the pack on his shoulders. For someone with so much money, Zuko seemed too eager to rough it.

Sokka looked out over the entry hall of the Fire Palace. A shadow flickered in the corner of his vision, but when he looked there was nothing there. He shoved down his dismay. Of course Kya wouldn’t come to see him off. She was probably checking on Katara or doing ghost errands or something.

But there it was, that flicker again. This time it came from the columns that lined the hall. Glancing at Zuko, who was talking to the guards before their departure, Sokka slipped over to the other end of the hall.

Leaning against the ornate wall was Topknot Man, who Sokka had gleaned was actually Lu Ten. Lu Ten grinned at Sokka, then drifted closer. Stopping a foot away, he looked at Sokka, then at Zuko, then back at Sokka. He reached out with a single, transparent hand and placed it on Sokka’s shoulder. Though there was no substance to him, Sokka could feel its weight.

Be careful with him, Sokka could hear in the back of his mind, like the words to a song long forgotten. He stood agape, as Lu Ten tried to cuff him upside the head and drifted away. Was this a shovel talk? Could ghosts do those?

“Sokka?” Zuko called somewhere behind him.

Sokka started. “Coming!” He returned, before crossing back to the not-ghost-hunting party. Zuko smiled as he came into view, and Sokka grinned back. Maybe this was why the spirits had chosen him. Maybe it had all been for this moment, when he’d finally get to help.

As the pair walked into the light of the rising morning, Sokka couldn’t help but think that he was finally done with ghosts. He was ready to join the living.

#atla big bang #atla big bang 2020 #hifthah #atla #sokka #zukka #yukka #sokka sees ghosts au #katara #kya #zuko #aang #lu ten #iroh #my writing

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ghostsoapgirl · 4 years

Text

Touch - Duke Crocker x Reader (she)

Taglist: @fiore-della-valle @iamtheholyghost @dukewuornos @cookiedoughmeagain @mythoughtsaretroubled @parker-haven-wuornos @afoxnamedmulder

Touch - Duke Crocker

Rating: T

Words: 3K

Working at The Grey Gull was the best decision She could have made. Coming to Haven was a close second, but the Gull was beginning to feel safe. She’d only been there a week, but Duke and Audrey had a way of making her feel less anxious. When she first arrived in Haven, she had hidden from the world, wearing long sleeves, hoodies, gloves, whatever she could to cover any inch of visible skin. Working with Duke though, that changed her. He taught her how to avoid people and still be able to be comfortable in the clothes she decided to wear. She still wore the gloves though, too afraid not to.

Of course Duke eventually asked about her trouble. Why come to Haven if you weren’t troubled. It’s not like people were taking vacations to Haven, Maine, spook central. She tried explaining it but that wasn’t enough for Duke Crocker.

“I don’t believe you can drop a man with emotions.” She wanted to laugh, she really did. Except she knew just how well her trouble worked.

“I’m telling you Duke, you don’t want to experience it.”

“Except I really, really do.” He gave her that crooked smile with that wicked glint in his eyes and she caved. She felt Duke’s eyes on her the rest of the night but she said nothing. The minute the doors of the Gull were locked, Duke was standing in front of her reaching for her gloved hands.

“Wait, Duke.” She took a deep breath, trying to put into words exactly what was going to happen when she touched him. “When I touch you, not only will you feel what I feel, but you’ll feel it ten times as strong as I do.”

“That can’t be all bad,” he interrupted her. She figured he wouldn’t listen to what she was saying until he experienced it, so she motioned for him to sit down while she removed her gloves. Once he was sitting, she tried to think where to touch him. She settled for his arm, right below where his sleeves were rolled up.

“I’m not saying this won’t hurt, but it won’t be pleasant at all.” Before Duke could rattle off some sentence like ‘I can take it” she placed her palm flat against his skin, fingers wrapping around right below his elbow. His eyes went wide, his breath catching in his lungs, face white as a sheet. She held it there for only a second before Duke’s eyes closed and he slumped over in the chair. She removed her hand, hastily putting her gloves back on before adjusting him to where his head was resting on the table.

She grabbed a glass of water and a cold rag from the kitchen. Some of the people she had touched since the troubles returned woke up nauseous or just straight up puked the minute they regained consciousness. Duke was beginning to stir as she returned to the table. She placed the glass of water directly in front of him, placing the cold rag on his neck. She made sure the only contact she had was through her gloves. She didn’t know what would happen to someone if she touched them with bare skin back to back, and she wasn’t about to find out with her new boss.

“I told you, it’s not fun.”

“Fuck, that’s what you feel? All day?” He was sitting up now, the rag falling from his neck as he took a swig from the glass of water. All She could do was nod, trying to hide the embarrassment rising on her cheeks. He must have noticed because he began to reach for her, stopping short of her wrist, “Why do you carry so much anxiety?”

“I constantly have to worry about if I’m going to make people pass out, just from my touch Duke. I have to constantly be vigilant. If I focus really really hard, I can handle passing glances with only minimal emotional transfer. What you just felt is what happens if I let my guard down for even a second.”

“I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do, to help with the anxiety?” She couldn’t help the smile rising on her face. Of course he would want to help her. Pure, selfless Duke always thinking about others. She knew, from stories, that he hasn’t always been this was. Apparently Nathan and Audrey had been really good for him.

“I just, I can keep the wall up as I call it, during the day. But when I’m done with work, and we just relax and have a drink, that’s when it’s really hard. Just promise me you won’t touch me without warning? I couldn’t handle it if something happened to you because of me.” Duke nodded, drinking from his glass of water again. “I’m gonna head back to the hotel. This has been an interesting day.”

As she was grabbing her things to leave, she could feel Duke’s eyes following her every move. Ignoring it was easy at first as she had to gather everything up but when she began to head to the door, she couldn’t ignore it any longer. “Did i do something wrong?”

“No, of course not,” he replied quickly, shaking his head as if to gather his thoughts. “I just, uh, if you’re planning on staying in Haven, you should really have a proper place to live.”

“I’ve been looking, but surprisingly the market isn’t that great here,” she ended on a laugh, her bag beginning to slip off of her shoulder. “I live on a boat,” Duke stated. When he didn’t continue she nodded, a soft “I know” leaving her lips. “I live on a boat, and I have like 4 spare rooms. You could rent one of those if you wanted? It's got a kitchen and a couple bathrooms and everything?”

“Knowing what I can do,” she gestured to her gloved hands, “you not only want me to work with you, but you want to share a living space with me?” WHen Duke simply nodded, she shook her head as she readjusted her bag strap. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. I’ll check out of the hotel in the morning.” With that, Duke offered her a ride to what would be her new home. As Duke helped her into the truck, she made sure he only came into contact with the covered parts of her arms.

Duke showed her around the boat, showing her which room and bathroom would be hers. He was pleasantly surprised when the extra rooms all had sheets and blankets with them. She honestly expected just a mattress and a random throw blanket he had lying around. Once he was done showing her the rest of the boat, he decided he was going to head to bed. She figured he was exhausted from the night's events. Knowing she should get some sleep instead of exploring, her curiosity got the better of her. She changed into loose pajama pants and a tank top before heading to the kitchen to make a drink.

Exploring the boat was actually scarier than she expected it to be. She didn’t remember which floor she was on now but she knew she’d gotten turned around. The hallway she was in was dark so she ran the hand not holding her drink against the wall looking for a light switch, or honestly a switch of any kind. She followed the wall until she found the steps leading up. She ascended them in darkness, her heart beating so loud she assumed the neighbors could hear it.

When she was back on level ground, she reached around, sure she had to be in the common or kitchen area. Instead of a counter or couch, she touched a bare chest, not able to silence the scream that tore from her throat. Whoever she had touched dropped to the ground in a heap, no more than a strangled noise making it from their throat.

Trying to quell the panic rising in her chest, she eventually found a counter, setting her drink down and flipping any switch she could get her fingers on. The lights came on just as the person on the floor began to stir. Her panic ebbed away as she realized the person was none other than Duke. She ran to him, kneeling next to him and reaching for him. She caught her hands at the last second, sitting down on the cold floor and tucking them into her pajama bottoms to prevent any further urge to touch.

Duke was sitting up now, leaning against one of the couches she was looking for. He pushed the hair out of his face, gathering it into the band around his wrist and tying it low on his head. When he was done he just looked at her and laughed.

“Remind me to never, ever scare you again.” His laughter was breathless and it did weird things to her stomach that she tried desperately to ignore.

“I’m so sorry Duke,” she began apologetically. “You were supposed to be asleep and I was just looking around. I wasn’t snooping, just getting a feel for the place.”

“I don’t know if you’ve ever been on a boat before, but there's absolutely nothing you can’t hear on here.” She laughed, not able to help the nervous energy rolling off of her. Duke got to his feet, offering her a hand and then thinking better of it. She used the couch and the space he had given her to get back to her feet before offering an awkward goodnight and heading towards what she hoped was her room.

From that night on, she never walked the boat without making sure Duke knew first. It had been a couple of months since that night and luckily, they had had no more accidental touching and passing out. She worked full time at the Gull and when she wasn’t working she was either with Duke on the boat, or Audrey and Nathan working on cases. In the past month they began to realize that her trouble wasn’t all bad. If she focused hard enough, she could use her trouble to calm other people. It came in handy the most when other troubled people were dealing with anxiety, fear or even grief. She’d worked a few cases so far, and almost every case she was able to keep the person calm long enough for Audrey and Nathan to explain what was going on and how to fix it.

She had just got back from helping with someone’s fire trouble when she found Duke sitting on the deck of the boat, two drinks in hand. He offered her one without a word. She accepted, setting her bag down before flopping in a chair next to Duke. They had developed a close enough friendship that silences like this were comfortable. SHe enjoyed just being near him, his presence having some sort of calming effect on her. She noticed the more time she spent with Duke, the less anxiety she actually felt.

On extremely busy nights, leading to some of the worst anxiety she had experienced, they would just sit on the boat and share a drink in the quiet of the night. By the time they said their goodnights, she didn’t feel even an ounce of anxiety. SHe told Duke as much, when the thought popped into her head.

“You still avoid me like the plague,” he offered, his beer tipped towards her. She couldn’t figure out what was different tonight. He wasn’t drunk. They’d been there before. He wasn’t angry or sad from what she could tell, but there was something lurking behind those brown eyes that she couldn’t put her finger on.

“Duke, I don’t avoid you. I just, you don’t understand what it’s like.” She tried desperately to keep the irritation from her voice, but the look on Duke’s face said she didn’t succeed.

“You’re right, I don’t. But that isn’t for lack of trying.” SHe could hear the tone in his voice changning and the last thing she wanted after a long day was to argue. They’d had their fair share of arguments over the past months but never over her trouble. Or his trouble for that matter.

“Duke, it’s been a long day. I’ve told you everything I know about this trouble. I don’t know what more you want.” She rose from the chair, her beer discarded on the floor, preparing to head to bed, that being her last word on the subject.

“If you don’t have anxiety around me anymore, why do you pull away anytime I almost touch you?” He reached for her then, proving his point as she recoiled like she’d been burned.

“Duke. I literally wear my heart on my sleeve. I can’t have any emotion without worrying if someone is going to feel it, to know how i feel all the time, or worse. What if I’m having a bad day and we touch, Duke? I can’t be the reason you drop stone cold in the middle of a work day.”

“Sometimes I just wanna know how you feel.” His voice was so quiet she almost didn’t hear it. Their beers were long forgotten next to their seats, too focused on the conversation at hand. “You never talk about how you’re feeling. So sometimes the urge to know is just there. I eventually pull away because I can see what the thought of me touching you does. I just,” he trailed off and she had no idea what she could say to make the situation better.

“You wanna know how I feel?” she decided on, and Duke just nodded so she pushed forward, afraid she would chicken out if she didn’t get it all out right now. “Promise me I’ll still have a job once you know?” He tried interrupting but she put her hand up, “Just promise me Duke.”

“I promise.” She didn’t wait for him to say anything else, just reached out and touched his arm. It was just a bare touch at first, just so he could get a taste of the emotions warring inside of her. When he didn’t pull away she pressed her hand firmly against his arm. She held it there for two, three seconds before pulling away, afraid of what would happen if she kept her hand on him.

Duke was still sitting upright when she was done, eyes kind of glassy but still open. She said nothing, just sat back down in her chair and watched as Duke processed all of the emotions she just threw at him. After several minutes of silence, she couldn’t take it anymore so she just started talking.

“I know the more you're exposed to it, the less it affects you. Probably why you didn’t pass out this time. And I wasn't terrified or anxious. I can’t promise those emotions won’t make you pass out.” Duke was staring at her and now she felt fear. She’d kept to herself for the past few months because if he knew how she felt, that she was in love with him, their friendship would be over. He’s in love with Audrey and She knows that, knows that she can never have him. But the longer she spent with him, the harder it was not to love him. Duke tried to act like he was this bad guy, but she saw beneath that exterior to the heart of gold within. And well, once you’ve seen Duke Crocker’s heart, it was next to impossible not to love him.

“That was,” he looked around as if trying to figure out what he wanted to say. He stood abruptly, grabbing her hand, tugging until she was standing with him as well.

“Duke, don’t.” But he just shushed her, holding onto her hand like his life depended on it. His eyes were no longer glassy but she could tell he was still feeling what she felt. She tried to put a lid on her emotions, lessen what he was feeling but when he was touching her, holding her hands, it was next to impossible. SHe knew he could feel the love rolling off of her in waves and she would have to deal with what happened next.

“Can you feel me?” His voice was strained but determined.

“I’ve never tried. Been too afraid.”The curiosity had always been there, if her trouble worked both ways. She’d never tried it, for fear of overwhelming the poor soul who agreed to help her.

“Try now.” She could hear the desperation in his voice so she focussed, digging through the emotions she was feeling. From what she could tell, they were all hers. She didn’t feel anything unfamiliar. SHe continued searching, trying to find something that didn't belong to her. Right when she was about to give up, a wave of affection hit her. She didn’t know how or why, but she knew that belonged to Duke.

“Duke,” she tried to speak but more emotions began to flood her senses, more affection, love, admiration and so many others she couldn’t name. She basked in the feelings, not even trying to hide the smile on her face. “Are those?”

“Mine,” he interrupted. “They’re mine.” A laugh bubbled out of her throat, a little wet with the tears she was holding back. She wanted to say so many things, but Duke released her hand, cupping her jaw and forcing her to meet his eyes. “I know,” he said as if he could understand her. And she guessed, like this, with all of the contact between them, that he could understand everything she couldn’t say. “When I’m projecting what I feel, it doesn’t overwhelm my senses as much. Kinda puts us on an even playing ground.” She couldn’t help the smile on her face, or the sparkle in her eyes.

“I need to know,” she broke off before she could finish, the smile falling from her lips at what she was about to say next. Duke said nothing, still holding her hands, giving her the time she needed to gather her thoughts. “What about Audrey?”

“Audrey,” he questioned, like she had no reason to worry about her. “I’m not in love with Audrey. I thought I was but then I met you. It’s like I was waiting for you.” She didn’t even try to hide her sigh of relief. She was smiling again, and now Duke’s face matched her own. “I don’t know when it happened, but it did. I’m in love with you.”

She couldn’t believe Duke was the first one to say it but she was so grateful he did. “I’m in love with you too, even though that goes without saying,” she gestured to where their hands were still laced together. “I know, the more we touch, you’ll eventually get used to the wave of emotions, hopefully,” she ended in a laugh.

“I’m willing to find out if you are.” Before she could even speak a reply, Duke’s lips were on hers, his hands snaking around her back to come to rest just below her butt. He lifted and out of instinct she wrapped her legs around his back so she didn’t fall. She knew there was no way he was getting them down the stairs like this, but she didn’t care at that moment. Duke continued to kiss her as he laid her down on one of the many tables on the deck. He pulled back with a smile before trailing kisses down her neck, pushing her shirt to the side to reach her collar bones.

“As much as I love where this is going, I would really love it if our first time was not on a dock where anyone could see us.” Duke just laughed before stepping back, offering a hand to help her up. He continued to hold her hand, even going down the ladder, only letting go when he ushered her into the room and locked the door behind them. She had no idea where her trouble would take her, but she was glad Duke was the one she would be finding it out with.

#my writing #my work #duke crocker #Duke Crocker x Reader #Duke Crocker x You #Duke Crocker Imagine #Haven Imagine

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ayamari-no-goshi · 3 years

Text

Eidolon 10 | (T)

ff.net | AO3

Fandom: Danny Phantom (DP)

Summary: AU: What started off as the result of a simple act of rebellion ends up causing his life to spin out of control. How will young Danny cope with the results as well as a past that has a strange habit of coming back to haunt him.

Warnings: rated T for violence, mentions of death, kidnapping, and various other things

Parings: hints of Danny/Sam much later on

Notes: originally uploaded to Ff.net. Cross-posted to AO3 and tumblr

10. Aftermath

"So… What do you think he is?" Tucker asked her as they made their way to the kitchen to grab some lunch. It was about noon, and since Danny was still not awake -or showed any signs of waking, he had decided to put food on the top of his priority list. "Don't get me wrong. I'm thankful Danny went all glowy and beat that thing, but something that weird… And you got to admit, it was pretty weird…. Couldn't have come from a human."

"'Glowy'?" Sam asked while trying not to laugh. Oddly enough, it did help to lighten her bad mood brought on by exhaustion, fear, and paranoia. After Danny had somehow magically transported them back to her front yard and passed out, she and Tucker managed to sneak back into her house while carrying him and make it into her room undetected by her parents. Tiring as that and the chase from earlier was she was unable to convince herself they were safe and began constantly checking the window for any signs of the creature. Needless to say, by morning, she hadn't been able to fall asleep.

He just shrugged as he opened the large kitchen door and allowed Sam to pass through first. "I don't know what else to call it. I guess 'luminous' could work, but it doesn't really fit either."

"And 'glowy' does?"

"Probably not, but at least it's specific."

Though she would never admit it out loud, he did have a point. When Danny had taken a stand against the monster, ghost… whatever it actually was, it almost looked as if tendrils of greenish-white energy was wrapping around him. As it became more noticeable, it gave his body the illusion it was actually glowing. Even more startling was the change in his eyes and hair color. His eyes changed to a toxic shade of green which shouldn't exist in this world, and his hair had become a brilliant shade of white with a silvery sheen. After Danny had passed out, the white color seemed to seep out, leaving behind his naturally black hair after a couple minutes. Hopefully his eyes had returned to their natural color too.

"Anyway… what do you think we should take up to Danny?" By the time he spoke, Tucker had already started putting together a rather impressive lunch meat and mayo sandwich on one of the white marble counters. While Sam could not even look at the growing monstrosity, she was impressed by the knowledge he had of her kitchen. He had been over way too many times.

She thought for a moment as she searched one of the polished mahogany cabinets for some supplies of her own. "Well… probably bland foods like toast or rice would be best. Since he tends to get sick after anything weird happens to him, those are the only types of food that shouldn't cause any problems…"

"I didn't… even think about that…" he replied between chews, much to Sam's dismay. "Whatever that power… or weirdness is, it really seems to do a number on him."

"Yeah… and let's just hope it doesn't kill him in the process."

This particular episode had been particularly bad for Danny. Before carrying him into the house, she had checked his vital signs only to find no sign of life. His pulse was nonexistent, his breathing had ceased, and his body was freezing to the touch. Both of them had begun to panic and tried to remember what they could of CPR. Luckily for Tucker -what was it with guys and CPR? - Danny let out a shaky breath even before they got a chance to start.

Unsure what to make of the situation, they just stood there, dumbfounded, for a moment before deciding to take the seemingly unconscious and not dead boy into the house. If it was any other person, she would have called an ambulance without a second thought, but there was no way such strange events could be explained or probably even treated by a doctor. Besides, if he seemed fine now, it was unlikely a doctor would be able to do anything. Originally, they decided whoever woke up first would make sure Danny was still among the living, but with her being unable to sleep she checked on him regularly. His breathing and pulse seemingly remained steady, but his body, though a little warmer, still remained very cool to the touch; Combined with his naturally pale skin kept causing her to compare him to a cadaver.

An awkward tension filled the air for a moment while they made their lunches. Unnerved, Sam was about to say something, but a strange look from Tucker stopped her. "What's wrong?"

"Sam… this might sound weird, but what if that's the point? What if this power that's taken hold of him really is going to kill him?" he asked as he put his sandwich down and looked her in the eyes. "Didn't Danny say something before about how the ghost you two saw in the cemetery said that he didn't belong to this world? And didn't it also suggest he didn't have a lot of time left? And didn't that thing that chased us last night call him 'Ghost Child'…. I don't know about you, but it just seems like, if you think about it, everything's suggesting he's going to die."

"Tucker, how can you say something like that?" she snapped while trying to prevent any emotion, save for anger, from crossing her face. During her vigil, similar thoughts had crossed her mind, but she tried to completely ignore them. She had noticed Danny always seemed drained and weak after the power manifested, almost as if his 'energy or' life was its power source. It seemed quite possible it could kill him if it continued, but the cryptic hints they kept getting suggested maybe that was what the power needed.

No! She wasn't going to think like that! Nothing as horrible as that was going to happen to Danny. They were going to somehow figure out how to help him, and she didn't need such terrible thoughts floating around her mind. She cringed as she once again tried to suppress them. Having the idea be said aloud seemed to somehow confirm it, even with absolutely no proof. "Let's just focus on finishing so we can get back to Danny. I wonder if he's awake yet…"

"If you say so… but before we do that, can you please explain why your toaster's floating?"

Sam had to chuckle as she watched Tucker begin to panic and quickly put space between him and unassuming yet levitating toaster. Glancing at it to make sure it was actually plugged in and in use; she shrugged and moved over to retrieve its contents. "It's from Denmark. This usually happens."

"Wait… what?"

….

Surprisingly, when they returned to Sam's room, Danny was awake and sitting up on the deep purple bed. He looked terrible. His blue eyes were dull, and the dark rings under them attested to just how tired he really was. His body was also incredibly sore and stiff, but nothing more seemed to be wrong with him. Sam couldn't help but be relieved. As she watched him thankfully accept the tray of food, it seemed as if there would be no lasting problems from the night's events.

After finishing his light meal, Danny hesitantly asked what happened the previous night. Unsure where to start, she looked to Tucker for some help, and within a few minutes, the combined effort of the two got him up to speed. He accepted it silently, though Sam did notice he kept looking down at his hands. It was almost as if he was checking to make sure they still looked the same. It unnerved her slightly, but she tried to push it aside as she suggested a good break from all the weirdness would be a monster movie marathon. Both Danny and Tucker gave her looks suggesting they questioned her sanity, but after a few minutes of persuasion and a mention of the room sized television in the entertainment room, they happily changed their minds.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

It was official. The best way to recover from a mysterious paranormal fight was to sit and watch movies in Sam's gigantic theater. Not only did Danny get to relax in some of the most comfortable chairs he had ever encountered, but the ability to laugh with his friends as they poked fun at the terrible effects further alleviated the stress weighing down on him. Surprisingly, they were able to get through three movies without being interrupted.

After glancing at fancy clock hanging from the wall, he realized it was almost dinner time. "Hey, I should probably be getting home soon. Knowing Winston, he'll be getting worried."

"Do you think you're up to walking home?" Sam asked as she gave him an appraising glance. "You're welcome to stay another night."

A chuckle escaped him as he thought about her parents' reactions to the suggestion. Although he had only briefly met them, something told him the couple was already not too fond of him. "I think I can handle it." That was an obvious lie. His body still felt as if he had been put inside of an industrial dryer on spin mode, but how else was he going to get home? He didn't want to impose on Sam, Winston would start asking questions, and he certainly didn't have the money to call a taxi. "Besides, the walking might help with the stiffness."

"Or it could make it worse. Seriously dude, you should be taking it as easy as you can. Kicking some serious butt can be really tiring." Tucker's tone was playful and encouraging, but Danny knew he was trying to hide his own concerns about the strange event. Judging by how Sam and Tucker were acting when they entered the room after he woke up, the two most likely had a serious conversation about what happened. Though they tried to make him feel as if nothing was wrong, he could sense their worry.

He was about to start arguing but Sam quickly cut him off. "If you really think you should leave, at least I can do is to have my driver give you a ride home. I mean, you did save our lives."

"Thanks… but are you sure..? Wait, you have your own driver?" he asked, unsure if he had heard her correctly.

Sam fidgeted for a moment before answering. "Well, he's technically one of the drivers for my family, but I'm on better terms with him than my parents…. So, he's kinda unofficially mine."

"There's more than one…? Never mind." He cut himself off after a moment. "I don't want to know the specifics." The lives of the rich were hard to comprehend.

…..

After about a half an hour, the three of them were in the back of a stretch limo complete with its own mini bar stocked with several foreign drinks. Neither Sam nor Tucker actually needed to come, but they refused to let him go home alone. Danny just figured it was their way of showing concern. Though he didn't really need it, he didn't mind as their presence made the short ride more enjoyable.

When he arrived home, he was expecting a quite scene. Winston's silver Chevy would be sitting in the driveway, and while Winston himself would either be tending his modest garden or doing some paperwork in the study. But, instead of normalcy, chaos greeted him.

Yellow police tape had been placed around the perimeter of the yard and across the open front door. Several police cars were sitting, not only in front of the house, but also in his and the neighbor's driveway. A few officers were standing in the yard talking to each other while wearing serious expressions. Another was entering the house along with a couple people in white uniforms. Before the limo could even come to a stop, Danny jumped out of it and ran to the house, only to be stopped by some of the officers.

"I'm Danny, Winston's charge," he nearly shouted after one of the officers grabbed him while trying to explain he could not enter a crime scene. "What happened? Where's Winston? Does he know? Is he alright?"

"Wait, you're Wolf's kid?" another office asked as he approached. "We put out an alert saying you were missing. So you weren't in the house last night?"

"No, I…"

"Excuse me, Sir," Sam interrupted as she and Tucker ran over. "Danny was with us last night. He was staying over my house."

"He's not in trouble, is he?" There was a noticeable shiver within Tucker's voice, but he was doing his best not to show any other sign of nervousness. "Because we can totally vouch for him! We were with him for most of the day yesterday."

The officer held up his hand as a signal to let him talk. A trouble look crossed his face as he removed his hat and ran his free hand through his graying hair. After collecting himself, he held his hand out for Danny to shake. "I wish we could have met under friendlier circumstances, but I'm Sergeant Ross. We were called to your house after one of your neighbors called in some concerns about the safety of your dad. They thought they had heard gun shots last night but shrugged it off until they realized they never saw him leave the house today. We even received a confirmation from his work that he never arrived."

Danny bit his lip as he listened quietly. Winston almost never missed work, even if he was very sick. So, knowing that, something had to have gone seriously wrong, and Danny wasn't exactly sure if he was ready to find out what.

"I hate to say it, but it was a good thing we did decided to check on him," Ross continued as he looked him in the eye. "Your dad's currently in J. Marley Central Hospital and is being treated for several severe injuries from… what we think was a home invasion."

"No... That's impossible…" Danny stuttered after a few confused moments. "Winston's an ex-marine… He would have fought back. No one could have done that much damage…"

"Son, take it easy. This isn't the time for this…"

"You don't understand! Winston can take care of himself! There's a gun under his mattress for goodness' sake! He's always been prepared for something like this to happen! Some lame burglar couldn't have put him in the hospital!"

"Wait… did you say that Wolf owned a gun?" Ross asked carefully. "What kind was it?"

"I'm not exactly sure…. It's not like I saw it every day or anything," he replied gruffly as he tried to keep his feelings quelled long enough to try and answer the question. It wasn't like the officer had anything to do with Winston being hurt, but he certainly didn't want to be answering any questions. "I know it's some type of hand gun…. Maybe it's a .28… The box of bullets was sitting in the shelf on the study."

A concerned expression crossed the Sergeant's face as he called over to another officer. "Have any of the men found a firearm in or around the premises?" When the man shook his head, Ross' expression became grim. He then told the man to grab a couple of the other officers and search the area again, as well as finding a record of Winston's gun registration. After the other officer left, Ross turned back to Danny. "Well, I can't say I'm pleased by this new information… But I'm glad you mentioned it." He gave the boy a searching look before he spoke again. "I'm going to need to take you down to the precinct so you can give your official statement and maybe answer a few questions. Then we're going to need to go through your house and see if anything has been stolen."

"Wait… now?" Danny half demanded, half choked. "You're not going to let me see Winston first?"

"He's in the hospital…"

"You told me that, but you haven't told me anything else!" He had to fight to keep his voice and hands under control. Something in the back of his mind told him the officer would not appreciate it if he started waving his hands around while he was agitated. "Winston's all I have! I need to see for myself just how bad it is. I'll answer any question you have afterwards, but please, please let me see him first!"

"I can't let you do that."

"Why? Wait… I know what's going on… You think I did this." His eyes narrowed as he pointed at the officer. "I can't believe you! You're supposed to be trying to find whoever did this to Winston! Instead, you're wasting your time looking at me. I wasn't even home last night!" He took a breath to try and calm down for a moment as Tucker put his hand on his shoulder in a comforting gesture. With each breath, he could feel himself shaking in rage. "If anything, you should be looking at that Masters guy…"

It was the officer's turn to be suspicious. "…You don't mean Vlad Masters, do you?"

"I think so… He and Winston don't seem to get along…"

"And don't forget! He's the one who snuck into your house that one day!" Tucker added as he gave a shudder. "That's the day we heard Mr. Wolf yelling. No offense dude, but he's really frightening when he's mad."

"Tell me about it…"

"Back up a minute," the officer interrupted while rubbing his eyes. "You're telling me, Vlad Masters broke into your house. What business does someone like him have in your house?"

Could this officer be any more irritating? Danny had to bite back a sarcastic reply as he answered the officer. "He said he was checking up on Winston since he had to reschedule a meeting… with I guess one of his assistants. According to him, our front door was open, and he went inside to make sure everything was okay." As the officer wrote down something on a little tablet that was pulled out of his pocket, Danny decided he had enough. "Look! I'll answer any of your questions later, but I'm not doing anything else until I get to see Winston!"

….

After a twenty minute standoff, Danny finally got his way. An irritated Sergeant Ross had escorted him to the hospital after finally realizing he wasn't going to get any answers. After the two stepped into the waiting area, he ran to the nearest available teller and practically demanded to know where Winston was being treated. After an agonizingly slow few minutes, he finally got an answer.

In retrospect, running as fast as he could through the halls was probably one of the worst things he could do in the hospital, but he really didn't care. He easily managed to avoid any obstacle he encountered. Who knew there would be so many movable computers, monitors, and people in those maze-like hallways? When he finally reached Winston's room, he was met with a wall of people. Several doctors all wearing dark expressions seemed to be deep in discussion as they blocked the only door into the room.

Unsure how to interrupt the doctors, he was happy to realize Winston's room had a window. Peeking in, he felt his breath hitch as he realized just how serious the attack on his guardian had been. Winston was unconscious and hooked up to a respirator. Several monitors were hooked up to the man, and two IV bags, one of blood and one of clear fluid, were also put in place. What little bit of skin was not covered by bandage or machine looked bruised and swollen. The overall image made Winston look like he was fragile enough to break if he was touched. Danny had to try and hold back tears as he wondered who could have done such a thing.

"How the hell did you get here so fast?" an out of breath voice asked from somewhere behind him making him jump. He turned around to see a rather winded Sergeant Ross giving him a searching look. "I couldn't go more than a few feet without out running into something."

Danny didn't say anything as he turned back towards the window. He didn't want to have Winston out of his sight for more than a few minutes. He just had this feeling something terrible would happen if he did.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, but are you part of Winston's family?" A person wearing a white coat came into the periphery of his vision. Curious, he turned to see a young female doctor extending her hand to him. "I'm Dr. Sabo, and I'm currently in charge of managing him while he's here."

He hesitantly took her hand and explained who he was. "How… how is he?" Even he could hear the unease in his voice.

"That's the big question, isn't it?" Dr. Sabo frowned as she looked towards the window. "I hate to say it, but it's hard to tell at this point. Winston received several odd wounds from the attack."

"Odd…? How so?" the sergeant asked, surprising both Danny and the doctor.

She bit her lip as she tried to find the words to describe her thoughts. "It's the first time any of us have seen wounds like that. They almost seem to be large bullet wounds, but the edges of them act more like burns. And, to make matters worse, we were unable to locate any residual bullets there might have been. We're really at a loss for what happened to him."

"Will he be able to answer any questions?"

"I'm not sure. Winston, although stable, is in a terrible condition. He's going to have to be watched very carefully over the next several days. We're going to do our best to see that he heals, but it will be up to his body to make sure he recovers. From what I can see of him, he appears to be in very good shape for his age, so we're hopeful… but, you can never tell."

The world started to spin as Danny listened to the doctor go into more details about Winston's condition with the sergeant. He allowed himself to slide down the wall and sit as he tried to get some sort of grasp on the situation. He never thought he would be in this situation. He had once joked that Winston was too strong to ever be taken down by anything other than a renegade bus, but this had shown him Winston was human, just like everyone else.

Danny couldn't take it anymore. In an uncharacteristic moment of weakness, he buried his face in his hands and allowed the tears to come. It was a small comfort, but if he was going to have to deal with the police over the next several hours, he was going to need to be as strong as possible.

=======================================

Anyways, a couple things:

J. Marley Central Hospital is not a real place… at least I think so. I named it to keep in line with the ghost theme of the show. Jacob Marley was the first ghost who appeared to Ebenezer Scrooge in Charles Dickens' A Christmas Carol.

Dr. Sabo and Sergeant Ross aren't all that important. They're really only there for this section.

And, can I just say that hospitals are the most confusing things on earth? Cuz, they are. There are at least fifteen hospitals within an hour and a half of my house, and all of them are mazes. The floor plans are ridiculous. You can't walk through them without encountering workers, movable computers and/or other medical devices, and let's not forget the robots. Don't ask about that last one. It is really funny to see them having a Mexican standoff though.

#Eidolon #fanfic #fanfiction #danny phantom #danny phantom au #dp #dp au #danny fenton #sam manson #tucker foley #vlad plasmius #vlad masters #supernatural #paranormal #fantasy

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wolfofwinchester · 3 years

Note

💘 / I'm getting to ours but I'd like to see what you have in mind uvu!

send me 💘 + A SHIP and i’ll tell you—

where they first met and how

When Lord Phantomhive brought home his bastard, a few key villainous nobles were present to meet her a few days after her arrival. The Undertaker was among them, although he was hidden away and out of her eyesight so she never really seen him outside of flashes of silver and a flow of black. Inevitably, it turned into The Hunt of her trying to find out who this mysterious “Aristocrat” was.

how long their ‘flirting’ phase was before feelings got involved

I could see playful flirtations being part of their aesthetic. It fits, I think! Never serious before and they knew it, they were just messing around with winks and flirtatious comments, sometimes getting a rise out of the other, other times pretending to be one another’s significant other for reasons of their own (let it be getting a free meal for Valentine’s Day or for a cover-up where they’re both in disguise). As such, I think the playfulness went on for a gooooood while, some years of cozy play before things got r e a l.

who fell for who first ( if applicable )

To even their writers, I feel this is meant to be ambiguous. 🙊 They’re That Kind of Couple.

where their first date was and what it was like

I think they both thought it more comfortable if it was a private affair; nothing so public as a dinner at a restaurant, and nothing so closed-in as the manor. I think their first date was something of a very elegant and rich picnic somewhere in the countryisde, lost from civilzation and farm buildings. A little peace of solitude where they got to enjoy one another’s company while Lilac chased the hounds around the rolling fields of green.

A picnic and just wiling away the hours talking, huddled up side-by-side and safe from blinding light beneath an enormous willow tree. After that, I think they went back to Azrael’s Funeral Parlor and spent the rest of the evening there just having laughs and wine. Just a really long, and really good day that ended with both of them snoozing in Azrael’s coffin. It’s not made for two people, so Claudia slept on top of him and he held her the whole night through. They woke to find Lilac sleeping on top of her and a floor flooded with hound dogs + Gelert.

who asks who out and how ( with a sign? spelled out on a cake? just a simple ‘will you go out with me’? )

Azrael steals first proclamation of love and kiss, but Claudia steals these moments. She made the first step after their confessions, asking with a sly grin if he’d like to have dinner with her. It was done very smoothly while they were still in the afterglow of requited feelings, when they were both basking and feeling that glowing mirth. An hour or so after that, I believe.

who proposes first

Claudia, absolutely. Marriage is never a concern of Azrael’s, he’s fine with things as they are! It’s never a required step in his mind. He goes with his lover’s flow.

if they keep / kept their relationship secret or let everyone know right away

Claudia’s rebellion in the Watchdog role succeeded into her relationship. Azrael’s vigilant and he wants them to stay a secret for Claudia’s own good in her public image, but Claudia’s ambitious nature to not let this life control her gently tussles with that. As such, the public sees them as a very odd pair, not there’s no confirmation of their relationship. They’re a forbidden romance waltzing in plain sight who have rumors spark up that end up hushed immediately.

“We’ll be discovered,” He whispers into her lips, earning a sharp-toothed grin that nips his bottom lip. “And so what? I’m already goin’ down in history as the most notorious Bastard of Phantomhive. ♪”

where the proposal happens and how ( kiss cam at a baseball game? on a hillside surrounded by ducks? at a disney park? )

It wasn’t precisely the ideal or dreamy, romantic proposal Claudia wanted it to be. For over a year, she’d been secretly working on the perfect ring for Azrael in her workshop, and it’s led to many rejects she felt were never perfect. The frustration of an artist led to art block, and that clashed direly with her desire to propose to the man! Lots of ring rejects! Despite them all being quite lovely, she never felt they were correct. There were strings of rings around her workshop at this point that she turned to for inspiration.

Finally, she had the perfect ring. Polished, and just right. The hyper glory of having perfected the ring after this long led the very tired, frazzled and disheveled woodworker zipping on horseback into London to that old Funeral Parlor, throwing open the door, finding a VERY befuddled Azrael who hadn’t seen her in days, and proceeding to capture his wedding hand.

For a solid minute, Azrael swore he seen his unlife flash before his eyes with how fast she approached him! He thought he did something wrong, or was falsely accused! You’d never seen a more bewildered man be proposed to by a very exhausted but very passionate woman. From an outsider’s point of view, it was hilarious before it became very tender and quiet. ???? WHAT’D I D- oooh?

It wasn’t scenic, but it was full of heart. Claudia apologized for storming in, but she had to do this right away because she couldn’t hold herself back another minute. She told him how important he was to her, and how important he’s been to her. He’s been her sole companion who didn’t need to be by her side, but he chose to be, despite how dangerous her life is and how loony of a woman she is. He’s been her trusted companion, and in this life, he’d come to be her best friend over so many years of them knowing each other.

It went from flighty to quiet and emotional. She asked him to marry her, and whattaya know, he accepted.

if they adopt any pets together

They’re pretty happy with their fuzzy family already, but I think Azrael’s tendency to take in strays leads to them having a few kits down the road. Any cat of his at this point is extended to being auto-adopted by Claudia.

who’s more dominant

They’re.. both dominant. Unless Claudia’s having a low energy day where she gives Azrael the full reins (which he loves), she’s right there tussling for control and they’re both playfully wrestling and nipping! They both get their time on top before someone gets coherent enough to flip, and the cycle continues.

where their first kiss was and what it was like

It was very cute. Like the rascals they are, they were chasing one another in the forest behind Phantomhive Manor, a fox chasing a wolf. It was Autumn, and the sun was creeping across the sky. There was a chill in the air enough to see one’s breath. Azrael caught up to Claudia and towered over her after she’d hid behind a tree, and they shared a laugh.

The Fall light was hitting her so sweetly, though. The way the orange light danced across her sapphire eyes and skin as she beamed up to him so slyly. He had to kiss her, and it stunned her entirely in the best way.

if they have any matching couples stuff ( mugs? sweaters? pillowcases? )

“If lost, return to [x]” shirts for the modern age, definitely. For a more time appropriate thing, they have matching hand mirrors that they’ve poured their hearts and soul into enchanting. It’s an imperfect enchantment, but it lets them see the other so they can check on one another throughout the day.

They’re mirrors bound with their love. When Claudia died, all other hand mirrors they’ve ever used to communicate their secret messages through shattered, but Azrael’s enchanted hand mirror, and Claudia’s, survived.

On a more casual level, they both have matching sleep shirts. Black poet styled shirts that are very big and drape on their persons so they can effortlessly wear one another’s without issue!

how into pda they are

They’ve always been a connected duo, so it’s not out of the park to see the with joined arms or holding hands. They’re constantly cuddled up, although Azrael becomes very aware of how affectionate they’re being time-to-time, only to be consoled back into comfort by Claudia.

They’re very PDA, but Azrael is sometimes wary when things like kissing begins. They oft hide behind Claudia’s fan for things like that. He’s a lot more eased into the intimate affections when Claudia’s under a glamour or heavily disguised.

who holds the umbrella when it rains

Azrael’s taller. He tends to ask for Claudia’s parasol and holds it for them both, which leads to her ribbing him gently and grinning. “Such a gent!”

where their usual ‘date spot’ is ( if applicable )

In one of their old threads, Claudia brought up an inconspicuous B&B that was in the more rural setting outside of London. Way out of the way of city limits and seeing only light traffic. I think this would be a neat “date spot” for them, as well as a safe location for exchanging information. No one can peep on them, and they both know the owners well enough to know they keep to themselves and give their guests privacy. There’s no reason for either to be nosy about Claudia&Azrael either, they’re just friendly faces who return for a spot of breakfast, lunch or dinner before heading out.

who’s more protective

You’d expect the Immortal to be more protective, but the fact of the matter is, it’s equal. Azrael is protective over Claudia, and she is the same over him. They’re both very heavily laden with grief and know great loss, something that’s a deep level of understanding with them; grief is part of their character, and that’s made them both very guarding individuals who protect the other with everything they got and a fierceness that will, and has, spilled blood.

how long it is before they sleep together ( can be as in ‘had sex’ or as in ‘shared a bed’ )

Sharing a bed is nothing unusual; platonically, they’ve taken many naps together before and one has flopped on the other when finding them in a moment of rest. They’re not stiff and awkward about it, and it flows pretty easily when they enter an intimate relationship. They are THE HUMAN KNOT.

Intimacy, however, is not something they immediately leapt into, especially when Claudia mentioned she’d never been with a man before. Although there’s certainly tension, it’s a good while before they actually do anything outside of kisses and frisky touches, which is fine with both of them. When Claudia’s ready, Azrael makes a very comfortable and romantic scene in the upstairs bedroom she’s fixed up so well for him over the years. It’s a very slow and tender first time.

if they argue about anything

They don’t argue, they have disagreements, even when those disagreements happen to be about something they’re both very passionate about and clashes with their moralities. They don’t escalate into something so careless and uncontrollable as screaming and yelling, accusations and blame. They don’t do that. Claudia’s upbringing and Azrael’s calm stance come into agreement here, and they’ve agreed-to-disagree before, and both agreed to air out the tension by spending a little time away from the other to let the feelings subside.

They’re very mature about this, which is more than can be said for a lot of relationships. Wild individuals them both, but very conscious and thoughtful ones. They’d never seek to hurt or jab at the other.

who leaves more marks ( lipstick, hickeys, scratchmarks etc. )

Claudia. Without a doubt, it’s Claudia. She loves to mark him up with hickeys and scratch marks, but seldom does anyone see anything due to his cassock riding high in collar. Sometimes, someone might see a mark, or a purple lip stain, peeking from above the white though, if they’re perceptive enough.

Also, she just loves to pelt him with kissy marks. That man oft has to clean his face from mulberry lipstick when he leaves her!

who steals whose clothes and how often

Claudia’s more curvy than Azrael (lanky boy) so his clothes don’t exactly fit proper, but that doesn’t stop her from slipping on his shirts and leaving a few buttons undone. Azzy, on the other hand, enjoys stealing a plethora of her shirts because they fit him without issue - baggy on him, if anything! They’re very cozy and he enjoys the fabric, from cotton to silk! He has more of her shirts in his dresser than she does of his.

However, they do tend to swap their coats whenever Claudia’s on Watchdog duty and wears her leather duster. His is more flowy and baggy, hers is more protective and thick, but no less stylish with a popped collar. They look really good when they swap.

how they cuddle ( spooning? facing each other? )

Absolutely mushed and tangled together, preferably laying down because Claudia can throw a spanner into the height gap that way. They’re usually face-to-face, noses nuzzled and forehead crowned together. It’s easier to smooch (and bite) this way!

what their favourite nonsexual activity is

The world can burn and fall to ruin, and they’ll be sweeping through the flames with their transcendental waltz undeterred. Dancing is, and will always remain, these two’s thing. They’ll dance through Death and they’ll dance through Spring, making Persephone & Hades proud.

If you can get them to stop for two seconds, they also enjoy traveling and seeing what the world has to offer two wicked goblins like them. Wanderlust is something they both share, or perhaps it’s something Claudia’s infected Azrael with! But they do like getting out of the country.

how long they stay mad at each other

Not long at all. They’ve had their moments of clashing before, but the anger doesn’t really last that long at all. They step away from one another to let the other have their space as I said before, to let the feelings subside since they’re both passionate individuals who do not budge at all, but.. they just don’t stay mad at one another. They’ve gone to bed before without meeting up right away due to their lives preoccupying their time, and every morning afterwards they’ve found one another’s company.

I just. cannot see them as a couple who stay mad at one another for a long time, or carry anger. Individually, they don’t strike me as the personalities that do that with loved ones, and they certainly don’t do it together. Distance makes the heart grow fonder? It makes them a little anxious, to be honest. Just a little. They get a little jittery when life circumstances keep them from coming back together after a disagreement.

Very attached couple. But of course, I could be wrong about this for Azrael! I don’t want to assume. Claudia definitely gets a little jittery for sure.

what their usual coffee / tea orders are

They’re an order you’d prefer not to mix up on the general. Claudia likes three spoonfuls of sugar with a hint of rosemary and no cream in her pine-needle tea, Azrael likes two drops of cream and no sugar. They will notice immediately and kind of swivel their heads like, “Whoa!”. One’s too sweet, and the other’s not nearly sweet or pine-y enough!

if they ever have any children together

They are a happy conjoined family with furbabies, thank you very much!

if they have any special pet names for each other

Claudia is notorious for pet names. “Mr. Callows” always remains the first affectionate term of endearment that has evolved through the years from platonic to romantic, and she never drops it when addressing him. For Azrael, it’s always a sweet french pet name woven with “wolf”. She thinks that is absolutely precious, by the way. Loves it.

However, for fun, a list of pet names she’s made for him so far

Bonekeeper

Loveweaver

Coffinweaver

Sugarpuss

Lover

if they ever split up and / or get back together

Nope.avi

what their shared living space is like ( messy? clean? what kind of decor? )

Azrael’s cottage out and away from everyone is pretty much the perfect insight to how their living style is mashed together; it’s incredibly rustic and you’d swear you walked straight into a witch’s cabin, which is only half true! Dried herbs hang around the place, acting as passive aromatics mixed with the lovely scent of pine incense, but it’s all very light as they keep the windows open to allow for a nice breeze. There’s wicker baskets filled with mushrooms, berries and other foraging goods, there’s dried & salted meat hung up in the kitchen area, and a cauldron that always seems to be bubbling with something delicious.

There’s chairs Claudia’s made for them both around the Hearth, covered with knitted blankets they’ve made with forest embroidery - foxes and wolves, cats and hounds. Baked apples or some sort of fruit lay beside the fireplace on sticks. Azrael has Lilac’s area primmed and proper here, her own cozy corner with little feather toys the couple made.

It’s clean, and it’s a cozy clutter of goods. They’re not suffocated, but it’s obvious they have treasures here and lots of stuffed shelves. Outside they have a hammock they both made from scratch. :’)

what their first christmas / hanukkah / etc as a couple was like

Azrael never really knew how to celebrate the Holiday, and never really had reason to in earlier years until Claudia pulled him along for the ride of Yule, and this was long before they were ever an item. She taught him tradition, she’s taken him hunting for the perfect Yule log, they’ve sat side-by-side making wreathes and making feasts with their own two hands in the manor, and they’ve both kept the log burning while hanging bits of evergreen around. Not to mention, the fun of decorating a pine and the tales of how they’d hang treats and food on the branches for spirits to nibble on in good favor.

However, their first Yule as a couple allowed Claudia to sneak in the cheekier tradition of Kissing Boughs. For the first time, they made little doll versions of Claudia & Azrael to hang in the middle of these boughs, and entwined mistletoe at the bottom as is tradition for making. Every berry on the mistletoe is a kiss promised, and one plucks off a berry for each kiss given. They both had to do their damnedest to not pluck off every berry right away, and it’s become one of their favorite parts of Yule. The purposefully look for mistletoe with the most berries because of this!

what their names are in each other’s phones

On Claudia’s phone: “Mr. Callows ⚰️ 🖤” / “Big Spook 👻” / “Love Goblin 1 🖤″ On Azrael’s phone: “Ma louve 🐺 💚” / “Little Spook 👻” / “Love Goblin 2 💚“

if they have any ‘couple traditions’ ( buying a new mug for their collection every year? baking every friday evening? )

The escape to Azrael’s cottage is absolutely tradition, and prized at that. Come Hell or High Water, they will have their time where they escape the life as Countess and Informant to be domestic - to live a slice of a normal life together, no matter how short-lived. That time is so precious to the both of them. Normalcy, peace, togetherness, and no one else around to tarnish their Elysium. It’s good for their critters, too. <3

who falls asleep first and who wakes up first

Claudia falls asleep first, but she’s always the first to always wake up, too. Azrael tends to sleep in and has his small wife peppering him awake with kisses and bites, leading to a grouchygami who tries to trap her in bed and snuggle. He can never win against her wake-up calls. v_v

who’s the big spoon / little spoon

It depends! They both are fans of switching. Sometimes Claudia will be found with Azrael curled up as small as can be, tucked away in her frame with his face in her neck, hugging her waist and humming delightfully as she nuzzles into the top of his crown and covers it in kisses, holding him very tight and very protectively (as she loves to do). Other times, you’ll just see Azrael curled up around something because she straight up vanishes beneath all that hair and the long overcoat LMAO. He hides his smol spook very, very well, and she does like that.

who hogs the bathroom

Claudia has to spend quite a while when it comes to fixing her hair in the morning; straightening it and then putting it in a braided bun with all those pearls takes time! Meanwhile, Azrael has a lot of hair maintenance of his own. I think they just make it work in the bathroom, no matter how crammed it is LMAO? Even if the mirror is itty bitty they just. make it work! It’s chaotic when they’re using the tiny bathroom at Azrael’s place, but they do it! With playful nudges and hip bumps, of course. Outta the way, you’re hoggin’ the mirror!

And with showers / baths, I still stick with an old way I answered this question; Without warning, Claudia hops in and joins, especially if she’s in a rush. Azrael’ll be minding his own business when OH HELLO NAKED WIFE FANCY MEETING YOU HERE.

There’s not as much hogging as there is Invasion.

who kills the spiders / takes them outside

It’s a fucking race to who gets it first. Will Azrael eat it first, or will Claudia swipe up the little eight-legged nightmare and whisk it away outside? IT ALL DEPENDS, especially when they both spot it!

#(( these are just my ideas of course! nothing is solid unless you want it to be. :'> I definitely don't want to be #dishonest with Azrael's character #but ye! here's what I got! <3 I had a blast filling this out for them #lemme know what you think! these are just my ideas. :D #sorry it took a hot minute - I like to go into super detail with these memes lol.#and it's way too easy to write about these two.. for hours kdfgk.#which I did #I love them tick. :c #I hope you like it!! ))#casketdweller #【 &ship. 】 ¦ ní féidir le haon uaigh mo chorp a choinneáil síos; fillfidh mé dó.#【 games. 】 ¦ you might even win.#【 asks. 】 ¦ what all that howlin’s for.#long post

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belleoumoi · 3 years

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je l'aime à mort, je l'ai ma mort

she heaved at every hack, the tune of march of the hoodlums muffling the sound of each chop. eyes blinked incessantly at the splatter of blood landing on her face, until there were more drops on it than the birthmarks she had and her stare became devoid of the horror it was filled with just moments ago. once the deed was done she's down on the floor, legs sprawled in exhaustion. it was a huge body she had to drag along. not to mention her expertise were guns and firearms, only today things took a turn for the worse. she had to improvise. a task it was indeed.

there was nothing gratifying about it. just another one to rack up her body count. but one thing she did enjoy from the job was the souvenirs. she took the liberty to secure one, thinking it was well within her rights to. like a little trophy for once again fulfilling a commission; a silly consolation, if anything. after all, to desensitize your conscience you had to ease into the bed of guilt. she did it constantly even beyond all these years. she was still uncomfortable by this trade. she will never not be. and what is it if not a very, very human thing to lie awake rolling every mistake you’ve ever made around inside you like marbles? and to make those mistakes in the first place? humans are mostly just mistakes and wishes and bones.

tonight, those mistakes and wishes and bones felt like crumbling. she had become more fragile as the years have gone and it all reflected in her work at present. it was all the resistance. being told that that resistance was directly proportional to love. being told that on the other side of that massive aversion was a tremendous love waiting for her; that the opposite of love wasn't hate but rather indifference. and if that isn't the most harmful piece of 'wisdom' she had ever heard, there's no telling what is.

she knew better and yet she found herself stuck. in the same ways, the same bad habits. in the same bar that she melted in and moved around as the smoke, forming curls in the gloom illuminated only by the age-speckled bar lights. the whiskey was pretty darn good, she would reason, and it was sacrilegious to be anywhere else than here: her place of salvation, intoxicated by spirits and the moments all the same.

it's a new face that snapped her out, a handsy one at that. it wasn't easy to catch her attention. this time it was something like coming back home from a full and burdened day in her shadowed life, shoulders hung and face low, ruffling through belongings looking for the house key. once it's found, it falls on the ground and becomes the last straw for the day. except in this scenario it was the pawn piece, the hunting trophy from today's kill, being dangled in front of her face. she's startled and frozen for a second, vigilant of the next move. and in the second that followed, she pretended not to be bothered as much as she was in actuality.

there was something about this 'intruder' that held her consciousness more than just the soul-elevator kind of laughter; like some enigmatic spell that scattered as if they were sequential words upon a page. she felt lightheaded wondering how this arrangement came to be, and how this unfamiliar face was led by the universe to say the right things and ask the right questions despite the initial attempt at pickpocketing during one of the worst hours of her life, no less. she was still alert, however—her alcohol tolerance saving her from fully freefalling further down the mind games. it was a few more drinks before she finally dismissed those meddling thoughts and claimed back her souvenir.

next thing you know she's walking up the steps of her house, but not alone. chaeyeon was no stranger to one-nighters but this person managed to break beyond that road gig. it kept happening until it was unbearable when it didn't.

sumin.

chaeyeon carved this name in the deepest parts of her mind. and in the coming months, she found herself full of regard for song sumin. the kind that she would talk to the flowers with.

her life was filled with bad habits and she had fallen into another one. it was only less daunting because it was an old one. it was a lull that felt endless and it manifested once again in everything that she did. even her social life. she would spend days cooped up in her condo, finding ways to work at home and excusing herself from gatherings, save for the really important ones. she would spend her nights hoping that her paramour was coming to rush back to her arms, even dying for the aroma of the night underneath the covers of her bed. for a sense of mutual rest, or for the right kind of play.

in a way it was self-preservation. she needed to know, for her own sake, if she felt the same, if this was something she wanted, if sumin will keep her, or if she'll want chaeyeon to keep her. she needed to know where she stood. it was addiction. it was unhealthy and she knew it. and it only lasted long enough before she could stop it from moving faster.

sumin had started to say no to her, a lot more than chaeyeon would have minded. her memory and attention to detail was a flaw. she wanted to know everything but she was being kept in the dark. this would send her spiraling into doubt and anxiety, wondering if it was something she had done. but she was good at convincing herself otherwise, and she was good at proving that too.

the signs were all laid out. chaeyeon felt it coming and it made her feel the most desperate she had ever been in her life. in a drunken stupor one night, sumin had joked about wanting to get rid of her brother. chaeyeon, being stern and resolute as she was, sensed that it was more than just a simple jest. she recalled this specifically and figured what exactly she needed to do to catch sumin's attention back, this time: a grand gesture to rig the feelings that she was sure were fading right under her nose.

memories harked back to the night of when they had first met. it was all so poetic. it was the same old book, only with notes on the pages marked and written down this time. song jaemin sat unconscious and tied to a chair from sumin's dining room. she had to make sure he was asleep, because torture was not the purpose. chaeyeon worked to give him a swift end, not so much a cry. and just like that, dispatched; never aware of his own end. but still, her methods felt akin to a crazed serial killer more than the assassin that she was. it was against her morals, but there were times to follow tradition, and times for change. she couldn't help but feel this was a tale at its start.

#pages #prodeux101

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earthendandinbetween · 3 years

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Gong tries to talk to Makoton about going off after Madfang,

“You’ve been out here all night,” Calle’s voice called out, footsteps slowly approaching the sandy hill he had been keeping watch on, “Please. I’m sure he’ll be back by morning-”

Gong simply held a hand out to silence her, gripping his scythe slightly tighter. The hint of exhaustion was prevalent, but this wasn’t something he was not used to. He had stayed watch much longer than this before.

“And I will be here when he returns,” The response was short, hoarse. Speech wasn’t exactly the first thing on his mind at the moment.

“Or,” She stepped slightly closer, voice soft and uncertain, “You can rest, and I can keep vigil for the rest of the night for you.”

“No.”

Typically, the general’s words would not be so short, so curt and without an air of respect to them. It’s different, though, when it’s in-regards to one’s own tribe. When one sees the same error repeated time and time again. Gong’s gaze shifted temporarily, eyeing the deity’s every move with a hint of skepticism in her intentions at the moment. Did she not see the direness of the situation? Surely she had to have. This soldier was a friend of hers as well.

“...It has to be me,” He stated after an uncomfortably long silence, “If it were one of your soldiers, I’m sure you would wish to be the first to greet them as well.”

There was a dip of the head, a sigh followed by a quiet, “If you insist.”

And then, his focus was turned back to the horizon, looking past the scaling trees that surrounded the field just outside of the hideout’s reach. The dark blues were slowly beginning to fade to a lighter color, leading him to believe that sunrise was just around the corner.

A hand gripped his shoulder lightly, bringing an odd sense of feeling grounded. He hadn’t realized the shift between consciousness over the monotonous, ever watchful gaze he had held for hours.

“Gong?” Calle half whispered, “...I’m sure he’s going to be alright.”

The general gently shrugged the touch off, offering a chuckle and a sarcastic tone, just to appear as everything was normal. That the ever looming stress of the end of the world was not as severe as it seemed.

“Do not patronize me, Almighty. I am strong enough to handle this on my own.”

The deity’s soft stepped picked up again, returning back towards the hideout, fading off into the rest of the sounds the night brought. Silence once more reigned, bringing a maddening worry that had been present the entire time.

Questioned lingered and split off into different outcomes, running into the endless train of thought that--- Perhaps the soldier he was waiting for would not come home. That he had once again foolishly put himself in harm and danger instead of waiting for a proper command or answer.

Though painful, it would not be surprising. No, it would be quite inline. Headstrong and stubborn, but incredibly loyal. He admired those traits with a slight frustration present.

To be young and believe one is stronger than anything due to that. Foolish, but admirable. Of course he would think such, he was the same once upon a time. But, everyone must grow eventually. Whether they learn the hard way or not.

And as the night faded to day, a faint figure came from the forest, black and reddish tones noticeable even through the distance. Alive, and most likely dejected and angry. That, from what Gong had heard, was typically how he returned in the mornings. A fiery rage filled with demands for revenge for what had been done to his loved one. The question that perhaps, if he had been there to stop the other---

Many other sentences, curses, and hurt.

Unfortunately, he knew he was only about to contribute to that anger, even if only for a moment. His orders needed to be known.

This could not continue like this.

The yariton’s gaze was cast downwards as he marched--- slogged up the hill, dirt kicking up from the effort it took to raise himself high enough to reach the edge. His arms twitched slightly, a barely known acknowledgment that he had seen the general as he tried to continue past towards the tents in the hideout.

“Makoton,” Gong’s tone was firm, but held an air of hesitation to it that he tried to push down. This needed to happen, “We need to talk.”

A pause in step, yet the zigoton in question refused to turn, to make eye contact. Form hunched, riddled with exhaustion and a numbing anger that could not be quelled easily.

“I have nothing to say to you,” Was the response growled, “You can’t stop me from going after him.”

A twinge of annoyance rung in his form as he stood, inhaling sharply to regain his patience. This was common between the two as of late. An attempt at reasoning that was always quickly scorned or shoved away like it was a foolish or unneeded opinion.

“Listen,” The general kept back the bite in his tone, trying to prevent the situation from escalating more than necessary, “I understand the wish to chase after Madfang, believe me I know the power those masks have over one. However, Makoton-”

“Aiton. His name is Aiton.” Makoton had turned slightly, enough for the glare he held to be seen, “Do not call him that. He’s apart of our tribe. You know his name. I don’t call you ‘Ravenous’ now do I?”

With a sigh, Gong slowly shook his head, “I apologize. I had grown used to that name. Aiton. I remember him well, of course I do, I have not forgotten a single one of you. Now, please, listen to me without interrupting.”

A silence hung in the air, signaling the urge to continue in his words before the yariton lost interest and fled once more.

“I know you love him. I get the want to protect those you hold close, but--- What you are doing is foolish. You are running away alone, without backup, and--- You are risking your life every single time.”

“And? I don’t care what happens. I’m going to bring him back. I’d do anything to keep Aiton safe! What does it matter if I’m risking myself? It’s no different than anything in the past! Isn’t that the ‘warrior’s way’ or something?”

Gong winced slightly at the mockery of his own words, his motto of life and death, how every battle and every choice is just how a warrior must live. This was different. This was preventable.

“Yes. A warrior’s life is full of strife and choice,” He held his breath for just a moment, shaking the exhaustion from himself, “But your death is preventable, and therefore I must keep you from making this choice.”

Makoton gave a harsh laugh, casting his spear aside with a stomp of his foot, “Oh? Preventable? Just like you prevented your own death back in our territory? You preach the need to give up certain battles, to sit back sometimes and think things through--- But look at you! You’ve died once and constantly push into situations that aren’t your business.”

“Makoton, I am your general! I have to make sure my tribe stays alive. Aiton made his choice when he took that mask-”

“Made his choice?” The raise in tone was enough to take the general slightly aback, “You mean when he was tricked and pulled in by the rest of them? Just like you were? You tell me not to get in the way of the Dark Heroes, not to fight them! You tell me that the mask’s effects have to be broken on their own, that he will come back when he’s ready-”

“And he will, I assure you,” Gong lifted a hand passively, pleadingly, “Aiton truly loves you. He is hiding to keep you safe from harm. You have always looked out for him, and you have to let him go for now.”

“Let him go? Let him go?” Makoton’s tone had boiled over, unleashing all the pent up rage he had most likely built over the night, “You’re telling me to let him die out there? You of all people? Telling me to let someone go? The same general who went off on his own to make friends with someone from the same demonic tribe that helped cause this entire mess? Hah! You decided that since the akumapons were once apart of the zigoton tribe that it was perfectly logical and sensible to entrust one of their generals! You, the same zigoton that saw what their little leading star had done to me! And you! You! You’re telling me to let Aiton go off on his own, with the possibility of him being gone forever?”

“Makoton-”

“No, don’t you dare speak over me. What have you done for this situation? You at anytime--- You could’ve talked sense to him when you wore your mask! You could’ve done anything this whole entire time he’s been on the run. But no. You sit here. You do nothing. You preach that this is just how things have to be, that it’s up to him to break free- that chasing him will only lead to further harm.

What--- What kind of general abandons one of his own soldiers like this?”

The last line struck a nerve with the zigoton general, causing his posture to stiffen, muscles tense with a hurt and anger that tore away the monotonous night he had. He had always been there to care for his soldiers. This was no different. It wasn’t his fault that the yariton couldn’t see the whole of the picture.

“I,” His breath was sharp, edging on his own break in rage that he forced back, “I have not abandoned Aiton. I am truly sorry that you do not see why it’s important to let him be for now, but I promise I have always had the tribe’s best interests in-mind. I could not bare to see unneeded death again. Not like this.”

“You,” It was a weak laugh that died off in the other’s throat as he turned back towards the hideout, “You’re pathetic.”

And as Makoton’s footsteps carried off into the distance, the general fell to his knees. Exhaustion, frustration, and a bit of hurt lingering. This wasn’t how it should be.

...In the end, perhaps he should heed his own advice.

To let one make their own choices. This, this was just how it had to be. There was no use talking sense into one whom already has their heart set on something.

That did not mean, however, that it did not hurt.

#Writings (oneshots)#Risk Taker (Makoton)#Wise General (Gong)#Loyal Almighty (Calle)

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lena-in-a-red-dress · 4 years

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Supercorp Anastasia AU #1

I have more than one Anastasia supercorp AU, of varying levels of historical accuracy, but this one is mirrored against the Broadway musical, and casts Kara as the youngest and much celebrated daughter of the ruling family, though her much younger cousin Kal is the heir.

Lena is the bastard daughter of a disgraced count, who died shortly after her birth, leaving behind a disgraced wife and son who soon spearheads the communist movement. Though the family’s disgrace was a reasonable response to the unethical and horrific experiments Lionel conducted, his heir Lex holds a grudge against the royal family for his sudden change in circumstances. He calls for their removal, with violence if necessary, and is brilliant and charismatic enough to soon rise through the ranks until he is the head and face of the revolution.

After her mother dies in Lena’s early childhood, Lena grows up on the streets, hungry but smart and resourceful, causing no harm but taking no shit. She doesn’t know her half-brother, but Lex recognizes her easily– she is the spitting image of the family’s former chambermaid, and what parts of Lena are not her mother are all Lionel.

But Lex keeps the knowledge to himself, and remains a mysterious and ominous figure in Lena’s life, the majority of which sees the societal and cultural upheaval following the abdication and eventual execution of the royal family, which plays out much like the Romanoff’s. It’s presumed that most of the family perished, save for the Grand Duchess Astra and her husband Non, who were abroad at the time of the coup, and now remain in exile.

But one child survived– Kara.

With no memory and no clue to her past save for a pendant around her neck and the jagged scars left by the bullets that nearly killed her, Kara works relentlessly to survive a treacherous regime until she can cross a border– any border– and find a new life elsewhere.

In her journey she meets Lena, now a woman endeavoring to escape Russia for Paris, where she and her best friend Jack Spheer hope to attend a prestigious university and study science. They earn money by facilitating forged papers and visas, constantly vigilant of the Red Army and the threat of being outed by neighbors just as desperate to survive.

Kara goes to them in the hopes of finally escaping the country, only to learn that the army has recently updated their visas to be counterfeit-proof– Jack and Lena no longer have the means or technology to manufacture fakes. The only way to get visas now would be to bribe an official into giving them blank ones, which Lena and Jack aren’t averse to, but would leave them too destitute to enroll in university once they reached Paris.

But Lena and Jack are both giant softies, and when Kara tells them her tale, they search for a way to help. Then Jack gets an idea: the Grand Duchess Astra has long offered a reward for the return of her niece. If they can pass Kara off as the lost princess, the reward would more than make up for the cost of the visas, and would get them all out of the country.

Lena is hesitant at first– it’s too risky, and–

“There’s no proof that she isn’t! Look at her! She is the spitting image!”

There’s no denying that. Lena often finds herself staring at their new friend, as though she’d somehow recognize her if she gives just one more look.

“And you know everything there is to know about court life,” Jack continues, sensing Lena’s imminent relent. “And honestly-- even if we don’t have the money to go to university, at least we’ll be out of here.”

Ultimately, Lena agrees to the plan, out of desperation more than anything else. So does Kara. The next year passes in a blur of working/stealing for enough money to cover the extra visa fee, and an endless stream of memorization of names, faces, and etiquettes.

Somewhere in the mix, Lex gets wind that Lena is in the final push to leave– he starts to take an interest, and offers her a job. Lena resists at first, but accepts when Lex’s offer turns dangerous and the money he offers is enough to get them out in half the time. Lex doesn’t know about Kara or their ultimate plan to abscond with her, and believes that he has Lena under control.

It’s not until Lena fails to show up to work one day that Lex learns the truth about everything– that Lena had been using him as deftly as he’d believed he used her, that she’d found a claimant to the throne, and that she intended to return her to her rightful place. He goes after them himself, enraged by Lena’s gall and the risk Kara poses to his position and that of his regime. He strikes out with the intention of bringing Lena home-- and to kill the imposter who would be princess.

Meanwhile, as the trio travels out of Russia towards France, Jack starts to suspect two things: that Kara is more than she seems, and that Lena is entirely taken with her. Kara remembers things– not true memories, but she draws on information she shouldn’t know. Names and details that no one has told her.

By the time they reach Paris, it’s easy to convince Astra’s lady-in-waiting Cat Grant of their suspected truth.

“Not just because of your uncanny resemblance and exhaustive knowledge, which we all know can be fabricated,” the sharp woman delivers, eyeing Kara with a cool gaze before turning her gaze on Lena. “But because of you.”

Lena stiffens abruptly. “W-what do you mean?”

Cat lifts an arch brow, but ultimately obfuscates. “That’s a conversation for another time,” she says. “Astra no longer receives prospective claimants, but should a cultured party such as yourselves wishes to meet her, she will be found at the ballet in two nights’ time. Should you also find yourselves there, I can arrange an introduction.”

That night, Kara suffers a violent nightmare, one wakes her abruptly and sends her sobbing into Lena’s arms, who comes to check on her. It takes several long minutes for her anguish to pass, but when she calms, Kara diverts attention from her tears by asking if Lena ever met the princess.

“No,” Lena says softly. “Not exactly. But I did see her, once.”

When Kara prods, desperate for a distraction, Lena explains how once, when she was nine, there had been a grand parade to celebrate the Tsar’s birthday. The entire royal family had ridden by in a motorcade, and Lena had taken one glimpse at the youngest princess before darting forward with a nicked flower in her hand. She’d dodged between guards and called out the princess’ name, and when their eyes met, the princess gave her the most radiant smile Lena had ever seen before or since.

She confesses, then, that some nights she still dreams of that day, and the smile she received.

Kara swears Lena tells her story so well she can almost feel herself there too. When Lena urges her to lean into it, to add the memory to her own story, Kara begins to tell it again, from her own perspective.

How it had been too hot, and her dress collar too tight. It made her itch, but she’d only waved to the crowds as expected. She talks of catching sight of a ragged girl almost her age– how even dirty and threadbare, she’d envied freedom of the girl’s trousers.

How to her surprise the girl had darted forward, a flower in her hand appearing from nowhere, and dodged between vigilant guards nearly unseen, until she’d gotten almost close enough to catch up with the car. But instead of reaching out to climb aboard, as Kara assumed she might, the girl had stopped short, and bent into a deep bow, presenting Kara with a plain but perfect daisy.

Kara had smiled, and pulled an equally dazzling grin to the lips of the urchin girl. The car had pulled away to be swallowed by the crowds further ahead, but she had kept her eyes on that girl until she was out of sight, and had hoped against hope that they would one day meet again.

When she finishes, Lena is stunned and silent. Under the shocked stare, Kara realizes the details she’d echoed that Lena hadn’t shared– the trousers, the bow, the flowers… the lingering gaze that had filled Lena’s belly with butterflies.

Certainty hits them both at the same time. Kara can barely breathe under the weight of it, and almost bursts into tears when Lena shoots to her feet.

“Lena, wait! I swear I–”

But Lena doesn’t leave. She steps in front of Kara, staring with wide eyes before lowering onto one knee, head bowed and hand clasped against her heart.

“Your Majesty.”

—-

The next morning, Cat Grant visits them for tea. As they sit, Kara learns what happened after the parade traveled on that day. How Kara’s mother, Alura, had seen the exchange between the two girls, and how wide her daughter’s smile had been. How Alura had asked her lady-in-waiting, Cat, to locate the girl, and bring her to the palace to be Kara’s handmaiden and playmate.

Of course Lena would need training and lessons before she could be presented, so she had lived some time with tutors at the Grant Manor, meeting Cat only rarely, accounting for Lena’s lack of recollection (she remembers her tutors, but not Cat Grant). But the coup and the family’s execution had ended those prospects for Lena before they could begin. Lena had returned to the streets, head full of new knowledge and personal experience that the ruling class weren’t all heartless monsters.

“It seems you two found your way back together after all,” Cat remarks with a final sip of her tea. “If you should still desire to study, Lena, I will sponsor your tuition to any university you desire.”

For now, Cat simply takes them shopping. She sets Jack up with suits and a tuxedo for the ballet. Kara accepts any dress that Cat thrusts at her, but Lena seems out of her element. It’s too opulent, too rich, and the dresses are so light against her skin she feels naked.

In the end, she too walks out with trousers and blouses, which Jack teases her about mercilessly. She earns stares on the street, but Kara doesn’t know if it’s because the sight of a woman in trousers is so uncommon, or because Lena is simply breathtaking.

When it comes time for the ballet, Kara expects to find Lena waiting in a tuxedo as sharp as Jack’s, but Kara finds herself the first of them to be ready. Jack joins her minutes later, and they watch in simultaneous stunned silence as Lena descends the stairs in a beautiful gown, a rich green velvet that makes her look regal and imposing. But her features are uncertain until she catches Kara’s eye, and finds a dazzled smile staring up at her, at which point her chest and neck blooms in a crimson blush.

They spend the ballet sitting too close together, hands clasped tightly together as they sit in Cat’s box and stare at the Grand Duchess Astra. Neither of them are aware of the dark glower of a familiar face staring up from the orchestra below.

Astra recognizes Kara immediately the moment Cat announces her, confirmed by the necklace Astra had once given her twin sister, now hanging around Kara’s neck. They both fall together in a cloud of tears and embraces. Lena and Cat slip away to grant them privacy, and Cat watches as Lena’s features slowly fall.

“She’s gone,” Lena remarks softly.

“Don’t be absurd,” Cat chides. “She’s just on the other side of the curtain.”

“She’s a princess. And I– I’m just…” Lena’s mind fills with the curses and shouts that had dogged her entire life. Trash. Gutter rat. Thief. Bastard. Whorespawn.

Cat regards her carefully, and then slips Lena an old creased letter from her purse. “It took me some time to track this down. In fact, it’s one of the reasons I visited Astra when I did, before the coup.”

“What is it?” Lena asks.

Cat scoffs. “I’m certain the tutors I hired informed me you’d learned to read in three languages before you disappeared into the wind. Why don’t you take a stab at that.”

Lena unfolds it, and begins to read the contents of the letter. It’s a mix of situational reports, mindless gossip, and speculation, but the final paragraph catches Lena’s eye.

In her final letter to me, Elizabeta has written that she has delivered of me a daughter. I am told the girl has dark hair and green eyes, and has a smile like the sun. In the year since, I have received no further word, and I fear the worst. I have dispatched men to search for them both, but to no avail. How could there be, when we have no details to search with but her name:

Lena.

She shakes her head. “I don’t understand.”

“This letter was written by Count Lionel, to a cohort in the imperial army. It, and the birth records I tracked down before the fall, confirms that you are the daughter of Count Lionel Luthor. The search he details here constitutes his claim on you.”

Lena blinks as the paper starts to tremble in her shaking fingers. “What does this mean?”

“It means you are of noble blood,” Cat tells her plainly, “and that while a commoner may no longer associate with the princess… You can.”

—-

Cat’s prediction holds true: Lena and Kara barely spend a moment out of each other’s sight. Astra is more than agreeable to formalizing Lena’s position and her inheritance of Lionel’s rights and titles, and Kara insists that Lena be presented to the world alongside her.

A press conference is arranged in short order, and during the chaos on the day of, Lex finds his opening. He slips into the decadent townhome, blending easily with the mix of staff and reporters and security. He finds Lena and Kara sharing a quiet moment together in the solarium, calming each other’s nerves before they face the press.

Lena bolts to her feet in recognition and fear, planting herself between him and Kara, who rises more slowly with confusion in her features. Her hand touches softly against the small of Lena’s back; Lena’s arm extends to one side, corralling Kara to stay behind her.

“What are you doing here?” Lena demands.

“I’ve come to bring you home, comrade,” Lex returns smoothly. “You have been sorely missed in the motherland.”

Lena shakes her head. “I am home.”

She doesn’t mean the opulent house around them, or even Paris– wherever Kara is, Lena is home.

Lex doesn’t intend to give her a choice. He grabs her by the arm and pulls her to him. Lena knows how to take care of herself, but the skirts make it hard for her to move, and when a gun cocks in Lex’s hand, Lena freezes.

He aims directly at Kara’s head where she’s frozen mid-stride in an effort to help Lena. Her eyes go wide and glassy at the dark barrel bearing down on her. Her breath comes quicker and quicker, shortening with every inhale.

On the other side of the trigger, Lex smirks at her. “The false princess… Although, I admit you do resemble her.”

“Stop!” Lena cries. “Don’t hurt her please. I’ll go with you, just let her go, she won’t stop you.”

“Lena--” Kara gasps. “No!”

“I have no interest in bargains,” Lex says. “I cannot suffer the princess to live.”

Lena shakes her head. “Why? She hasn’t done anything!”

“Not yet. Nor did she or her family do anything to help our people while we starved and died in the streets!”

Lena scowls. “Yeah? And what’s changed there?” She wrenches herself free, almost. Lex manages to keep hold of her wrist, but Lena glares at him without fear. “My belly didn’t fill when the Tsars were murdered. I was just as cold as I was the night before and the night after.”

“You know nothing--”

“Face it, Lex! Russia is no better than it was. She traded one autocracy for another-- the only thing that’s changed is that now YOU’RE in power. That’s all you ever cared about.”

Lex’s grip turns bruising, causing Lena to gasp in pain. “I see you learned much from those pretentious scholars.”

Lena blinks. “How do you know about that.”

“Did you think I wouldn’t keep track of my bastard baby sister?” Lex pulls Lena closer. “Did you think I would stand by and watch as she was welcomed to the court that cast my family to the streets?”

“You’re…?”

“Yes,” Lex hisses. “Our father died in disgrace, and yet they would take you, a bastard from the gutter into their arms. It was unconscionable. That was when I knew it was time to strike.”

Fighting tears, Lena renews her struggle. “You murdered an entire family-- started a war-- because you were jealous?”

“They believed themselves gods!” Lex shouts. “They would have seen Russia wither to nothing if it meant keeping their grip on our throats! I have liberated us!”

“You’re insane-- augh!” Lena’s growl stops with a sharp cry, as Lex whips the butt of his pistol against her skull. The cry snaps Kara out of her fear, and the world refocuses around her. She sees Lena sag, staggering when Lex tugs her into his chest and traps her there with an arm of steel tight around her shoulders.

Kara takes a step forward, but pulls back when the gun returns to aim directly at her forehead. Heart pounding, she forces herself to look away from the barrel, instead locking her gaze on Lena, still struggling to regain her senses.

She swallows thickly.

“I know my family made mistakes,” Kara pleads, lifting her hands placatingly. “I don’t intend on repeating them. I am no threat to you or to Russia, and Lena certainly isn’t. Please-- you don’t have to do this.”

Lex pauses, his frame relaxing slightly. “I don’t have to do this,” he echoes. “Funny.”

His finger settles on the trigger.

“That’s what you said the first time I killed you.”

Lena launches herself at the gun before he can fire, sending his shot wide. Kara’s entire body flinches from the flash of combustion, the zing of the bullet that sinks into a wooden beam off to her right. But Lena folds hers around the gun itself, controlling its line of fire as she struggles to take possession of it.

The struggle ceases entirely when a second gunshot cracks through the solarium.

Kara screams.

Lena staggers.

“No!” Lex cries. Drawn by the first gunshot, guards finally spill into the solarium, wresting Lex away from Lena. The gun clatters to the ground at Lena's feet, its muzzle glistening with blood.

Lena collapses, and Kara drops to her knees beside her, giving no thought to their finery even as blood pools beneath them both.

Kara can barely breathe through the flashbacks pressing against her eyelids: suddenly Lena has joined her in Yekaterinburg, and Kara watches as her lifeblood joins that of Kal, her mother, her father… even her dog, Krypto.

But when Lena lifts a trembling hand to Kara’s cheek, the warm gloss of blood grounding her in the present.

“We’ve come a long way, haven’t we?” Lena coughs. “Kara–”

“Save your breath, Lena, please. There are doctors, they can help you…”

Lena smiles with paling lips. “You’ve become a part of my story. I– I’m so glad it ended this way.”

Kara tightens her grip sharply, scoldingly. “It’s not over. Not by a long shot. We still have happily ever after.”

“I– found you. Think– that qualifies.”

“Lena–”

“Kara!” Astra rushes into the room, entourage in tow.

Kara looks up with streaming eyes, hand clamped tight around Lena's slackening fingers.

“Please, Aunt Astra. We have to help her, there must be something--” Her voice cracks, and a sob heaves from her chest. “I can’t lose her too!”

—

Hope doesn't return for days. Lena lingers on the brink of life, stubborn even at death’s door. Doctors attend to her day and night, and Kara doesn't leave her side but for the time it takes to refresh herself. But then, finally, the doctors give their final prognosis: Lena will survive.

The damage is great, but Lena is stronger, and motivated--Kara suspects-- by spite and sheer cussedness. After all, if the streets of St. Petersburg weren't enough to kill her, a lousy bullet sure isn't.

It's several days more before Lena opens her eyes, but when she finally does, green eyes blink blearily at Kara as she leans forward intently. She gathers Lena's cool hand in both of her own.

“You’re going to be okay,” Kara promises.

Lena’s brow crinkles with muddled confusion.

“Who…. are you?”

The breath freezes in Kara’s chest as the world slows around her. No… no, no, no not this. Anything but this!

Lena’s features crease into an exhausted smile.

“Too soon?”

Kara chokes on her relief, and punches Lena’s arm indignantly. “Don’t you ever do that to me again! You sick, perverted–!”

“Marry me.”

Kara blinks. “What?”

“Marry me,” Lena rasps again. “Please. I had a whole plan to ask, after the press conference, but I don’t want to risk being interrupted again. Kara Zor-el, Grand Duchess of Russia and queen of my heart– will you marry me?”

Tears burning in her eyes, Kara nods. “Yes, you big dummy. You didn’t think you’d get rid of me so easily did you?”

Lena laughs, then winces in pain. Kara kisses away her grimace, and in a matter of moments they’re both a mess of tears and laughter.

Their happily ever afters surpass that of any fairytale to come before.

#supercorp #anastasia au #broadway version #kara as anastasia #blood warning #mentions of historical violence #happy ending #warning for historical inaccuracies

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inevitably-johnlocked · 4 years

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Hi Steph, do you have any fics with the 3G moment? I’ve been looking for them everywhere but it’s a bit scarce. Thank you so much in advance you always are helpful.

Hi Nonny!!

I actually do, but I’ve only recently been keeping track of which of my hundreds of fics have that moment in it, so the list is a bit sporadic right now but constantly growing as I re-read fics and in turn re-tag all my fics :) Here’s what I have for you so far! If any of my Lovelies have their own recs, please add them!

JOHN IS SHOT/STABBED/HURT AND SHERLOCK LOSES HIS SHIT (”3 GARRIDEBS” MOMENT)