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hargrove-mayfields · 3 years

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Everyone likes to pretend Billy was never even there. Life goes on, people change, the past gets forgotten.

A year isn’t enough time for Max though. Right now it feels like the rest of her life wouldn’t be enough time, but Neil and Susan, they were doing just fine.

It’s almost like they like not having him around, that extra burden they couldn’t shake. The plan only Max knew was that Billy was going to stay at home until she was old enough to go with him so she’d be safe.

She knew he was fed up and looking at some local apartments within walking distance of Cherry Lane anyways, but then July happened, and Billy died.

Now it’s July again, and her hair is in twin braids of red with pure white ribbons on the end, and her and her mother are wearing matching blouses. There’s bruises under the bangle on her mothers wrist and one under Max’s own sleeve, and she just wants her brother back.

It’s a holiday they told her, her father (he’s not her fucking father, they never made her call him that when Billy was around) is a veteran, they have to celebrate. Better just dry her eyes and get over it.

Her mother invites all the family they have in the area over to their house for a little get together picnic, and they do their little happy family routine for a while, but Max can only handle so much of it.

Billy should be here by her side, flicking watermelon seeds at her face and putting ice cubes from the cooler down the back of her shirt, being an asshole to distract her from the reality of her family.

And that was that she didn’t really have one, a family. It was always just her and Billy.

Even at these events made for bonding with family, they were off to the side, messing around while the adults talked like they weren’t even there, and she knew she was a little naive then, but it stung more than ever, knowing that even after she’d lost her brother, nobody even stopped to say hi or check up on her, it was just straight into gossiping about the neighbors and those disrespectful bastards across the street who weren’t flying a flag for the holiday and family members who couldn’t be there.

But Max never heard Billy’s name come up even once, and not even in a respect to the dead boy and his grieving sister type of way, but rather, in the way that they just didn’t want to acknowledge his existence. None of these people had come to his graduation in May of last year, or his funeral two months later.

Billy was a taboo that the Hargrove-Mayfields didn’t dare taint their celebrations of freedom and justice with. The irony made Max sick to her stomach.

Or that was at least, until Neil couldn’t help himself.

His words are slurring already, with an excuse to party he’s on what Max would guess to be his fifth or sixth beer that afternoon, and someone just made the mistake of mentioning their own son, Billy and Max’s third cousin or something, and it spurs Neil off on a tangent about his.

“That boy was always good for nothing anyways. It’s almost the same now that he’s dead, ‘Cept maybe now I get some more quiet around the house.”

Nobody knows what to do when he says that, there’s a couple awkward laughs and one shocked gasp, that one was probably from her mother, but Max knows exactly what she wants to do.

What she wants is to watch Neil choking on his blood instead of her brother, his body being lowered into the ground instead of Billy’s, and in the moment she feels like she could be the one to make that a reality, but instead she just stands abruptly, a plate of the food her mother worked so hard to prepare for them she’d been too queasy to eat falling off her knees to the grass, and she says everything she’d bottled up for the past year.

“Don’t talk about Billy that way!

“Now, Maxine-“ Neil starts, but Max is livid, can’t hold back all the things she wished she had said before Billy died, when she got grounded after the funeral, when Neil started beating her, “No! I’m not going to let you do to me what you did to my brother! You don’t get to control me like you did him, it’s your fault that he’s dead!”

It’s her mother’s turn to try to stop her, slender hand covering her mouth painted red, “Maxine..”

“Stop trying to reason with me! I’m sick of pretending to be a family when I had to watch my own brother die! And I’m sick of being treated like I’m crazy for being the only one that cares about Billy!”

More than one person chimes in on that one, offended by the notion they don’t care about family, though it’s Neil that insists, in that faux calm, close to snapping voice of his, “We do care, Maxine. We’re all grieving in our own ways.”

She fires back, “Grieving what? The loss of your punching bag? You hated Billy! You don’t care that he’s dead, all that matters to you is having someone to hurt, and you no trouble adjusting to beating up on your wife and step-daughter instead!”

She catches a backhand to the face for that, and all the background chatter comes to a halt, Neil gritting out through his teeth, “Inside. Now.”

There are tears in her eyes that sting almost as much as the knuckle marks on her cheek, but Max feels like she won, getting her step dad all riled up in front of their family, she feels almost invincible, and she sneers all smug like and bitter, “I can’t go inside yet. I’m celebrating your service to our country, dad. You know, as a family.”

But when Neil's face turns as red as the blood that dripped from his wife’s nose the night before and he stands from his chair and drags her inside by the wrist himself, she realizes that it wasn’t exactly a win.

And when her brain goes numb trying to focus on both the repeated slaps and punches that explode like firecrackers across her skin and the way Neil is yelling and lecturing her until his voice is raw, giving her the same lessons her brother had burned into the back of his mind, she feels like she’s lost everything instead.

When she has to choke back her tears and apologize for embarrassing Neil and for making him hit her as punishment, she realizes, this isn’t a game that can be won or lost at all.

Max isn’t allowed to go back outside to the party. That rule goes unspoken, but words aren't necessary with the way Neil storms off without another word, slamming the back door behind himself. She’s slowly starting to figure out what the things her step father does instead of says mean.

She misses being allowed to be clueless, having someone to protect her or take what punishment she had earned. She wishes she wouldn’t have asked so much of Billy though.

Her own room isn’t safe anymore, what once had been the place she’d be ushered off to when Neil got bad had become more like a trap, the place Neil went to first when he was angry. Everything that had been hers felt wrong, so she goes to Billy’s room and doesn’t come out for the rest of the night. Even now that he’s gone, he still kept her safe.

There’s a welt on her face and fresh bruises forming everywhere, hot tears wetting her sunburnt cheeks and the pillows that smell like Billy, or at least used to before Susan decided his room needed cleaned and washed away every trace of her brother.

All night long there are fireworks going off, a big show put on by the city downtown has her shaking, unable to close her eyes for fear those distant explosions would take her back to the mall, bring back memories she’d never forget, and covering her ear with her hands.

The cracks and booms that shake her windows and her entire life, a headache and a heart break even stronger.

She tries her hardest not to think about Starcourt though, so instead she thinks about how Billy would’ve been proud of her for standing up to Neil. He would’ve called her an idiot, but he would’ve cleaned up her scrapes and held her through the panic attack after, and he probably would’ve liked to see the person Max was becoming too.

That makes Max’s heart hurt, the fact that he won’t get to. She cries harder, and she feels so alone without Billy.

Some part of her knows that she isn’t though. She isn’t the only one that lost somebody last July.

Hawkins’ cemetery was alive with flowers and wreaths and decoration, and more than anything the grieving. All of the victims had families, or in the case of the Holloway’s where their whole family was killed, they had friends and neighbors in the tight knit community who remembered them. El was still grieving Hopper, and Max knew Billy had people like that too.

Billy was popular, his death had a huge impact on the younger population of the town, but not only that, he had his closest friends, Steve and Tommy and Carol and Nicole and Adam from the pool, and of course Heather couldn’t be there, but those people were all keeping her brother alive.

As much as it felt like everyone was trying to forget him, they weren’t, and that brought Max a little bit of hope.

Hope that Billy would be remembered for the things he did right, and who he was behind the boy he had to be to keep them safe.

Hope that with his memory kept in the hearts of so many, the burden of grief wouldn’t fall solely on Max forever and make things a little easier.

Hope that the wound would someday heal, and she could look back on the time she did have with Billy, those seven too short years, with a smile on her face.

For now, she wraps herself in Billy’s jacket and comforter, listening to his music to drown out the distant fireworks, and dreams of the day when things won’t be like this, when she can leave Hawkins and all it’s bad memories and the “family” holding her back to live a life her brother would be proud of, a life that would honor his.

Max decides then with determination, flinching when a bright flash lights up her window, a loud echo through the quaint neighborhood, that she was going to do what Billy hadn’t been able to and break the cycle.

Tomorrow, she’d tell the school counselor she’d been assigned when her depression was at its worst all about Neil Hargrove.

#billy & max #max mayfield #neil hargrove #billy hargrove #ej writer #story by ej!#tw child abuse #also on my ao3!#is this me projecting? pfft no way

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readyplayerhobi · 4 years

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Flower | 33

; Hoseok x Reader

; Genre: Fluff, angst

; Word Count: 6.1k

; Warnings: Discussion of car accident, brief sexual content mention, depiction of a PTSD/panic attack

; Synopsis: You finally decide to take a dip into the world of online dating and find the Flower dating app. One of the top matches for you proves to be a guy who looks to be your complete opposite; tattooed, pierced, a metalhead and oh…incredibly handsome. What happens when you throw caution to the wind and reach out to him?

; A/N: This is a bit earlier than usual but I want to get it out while it was done and I was feeling okay about it...work and job rejections have been hitting ol’ self-confidence hard so writing is a bit tougher than normal. I’ve gone through this for grammar but I haven’t properly proof read. I hope you all enjoy this though and please send me comments and feedback so I know what you think! I love to read them and it helps to boost me :)

; Flower Masterpost

Straightening up, you winced before rubbing at the small of your back before stretching. It was summer, which meant the sun was shining strongly. As much as you like the sun, you weren’t so much of a fan when you knelt in the grass for hours on end. The sunhat on your head helped a little, as did the sunglasses but your skin was shiny with the veneer of sweat.

You were hot, and with a deep sigh, you wiped across your forehead with your arm. The thick gardening gloves on your hands were covered in dirt and compost, keeping your hands clean but also making them incredibly warm. As much as you enjoyed gardening, it felt like a chore in the heat of a summer’s day.

But at least you had some company for your misery today. Your mom was knelt next to you, leaning forward and diligently weeding her beloved flowers. Hoseok and you had come over for the day, intending to feast yourselves on your dad’s famous pot roast before heading home with a bag full of leftovers that would be eaten at work.

Watching your mom closely for a moment, you felt a surge of warmth and love for her. You never really noticed how much older she looked now; the lines on her face that were deepening and the greys in her hair that were multiplying more than you liked. It was easy to miss the passage of time on your parents when you weren’t paying attention too closely, but now that you stopped and looked at her closely you could see it.

You hoped she was happy with how her life had turned out. Even if it wasn’t the best, that’s all you wanted for your parents. To be happy and proud of you.

“So, what’s your plan for your yard? Are you going to get that porch built that you wanted? I wouldn’t bother trying to do any of your gardens and flowers at the moment. Unless you’re planning on planting flowers that will bloom in autumn and winter. Though there are some pretty ones. I’ll have a look online for you and find the best ones if you want? Maybe we can get your garden looking all nice together, a little mother-daughter bonding time.” Smiling at her, you nod your head slowly.

“Sounds good. Though we haven’t bought it yet. Officially. I mean, they’ve accepted our offer but now it’s all that legal stuff, you know? So I don’t feel too comfortable changing anything just yet, just in case anything goes wrong.” There’s a slight hesitance to your tone. So small that you don’t even realise it’s there, but your mom recognises it.

Sitting up, she stretches as well before shifting until she’s sitting cross-legged and facing you. There’s a wince on her face from overused joints that are ageing but she doesn’t complain, instead just looking at you intently.

“What’s wrong? I can tell there’s something. Is there something wrong with the house or anything like that?” It’s amazing how easily she picks up on things like but she did raise you. Cleaned you up when you were younger and you fell over, taught you everything you know and helped to make sure you grew to be the best version of yourself.

“No. No, there’s nothing wrong with the house. Or with Hoseok, before you ask. It’s just...I feel a little stressed. Or worried rather worried that’s better. More accurate. It’s just...a house, you know? It’s a big purchase, really expensive and it’s permanent. If anything happens with Hoseok and me then we have to go through the whole process of selling it and splitting the proceeds. And then we have to move out and I wouldn’t have a home anymore and-” The gentle pressure of your mom’s hand on your arm causes you to pause.

She has a gentle smile on her face and an understanding expression which soothes whatever frayed nerves you have. This is probably one of the few times you wouldn’t feel comfortable talking about this issue with Hoseok, being too worried he might take offence or something. But your mom understood.

“Sometimes...I think you get way too caught up in your thoughts. I want you to consider something, okay? Yes, it might all fall apart and it might not work out. But what if it does work out? What if everything is perfect and you get a nice house? And then Hoseok proposes and you get married. Then in fifty years, you can be telling your grandchildren all about meeting their grandad and falling in love in your lovely home.” Snorting slightly, you can’t help but roll your eyes slightly as your lips quirk.

“We’re not having kids, remember?” She makes an expression indicating she’s remembering what you’d told her. Your parents hadn’t been surprised to find out Hoseok didn’t want kids either. If anything, they’d been pleased because they knew how much you wanted to remain childfree.

“Yes, yes, but you know what I mean. Sometimes you just have to go with it. Enjoy your life in the moment sweetheart, you’ve spent far too long focusing on the negative aspects of life in my opinion. Just...take the time to enjoy the fact that you’re able to buy a house with the man you love and who loves you back. I can’t predict the future or anything but...I think you’re both going to be happy. So just focus on that, okay? You’ve got a nice little house to work on together, two cars, a cute cat, a good job and a great relationship. Focus on the positives.” Letting go of your arm, she took your hand before squeezing in reassurance.

Taking a deep breath, you let it out slowly before shifting and reaching out to carry on gardening. You know that your mom is right, but it’s still a worry that buzzes in your stomach continuously. That something will go wrong and you’ll have no home along with no Hoseok.

The very thought of not having Hoseok in your life anymore makes your breath stutter, lungs freezing until you’re pressing a hand against your chest to try and coax them back to life. One of the reasons you’d been so nervous about getting into a serious relationship had been because you were terrified of falling in love only to have it all stolen from you.

It still scared you, the idea that one day you might wake up alone and that you’d never see or talk to him again. But that was just because you loved him so much that the very idea of not being with him anymore hurt. You wondered if Hoseok felt the same, deep emotions that you did.

“I know...I know. I can’t help it, you know? I’m trying, I promise. Hoseok’s finally convinced me to give therapy a try. The antidepressants are working well but I still have moments, you know? I don’t feel entirely settled and this whole house thing is getting me a little stressed. Not because of the house itself but...just everything it symbolises. So I’ve got an appointment for one next month, the earliest I could get.” Shrugging, you smile at her before digging back into the soil to make a hole for the flowers your mom had bought.

“Good, I’m glad. I hope it works. My advice to you is to just take everything a day at a time, okay? It’ll all work out for you.” There’s a quiet reassurance in her words and you can’t help but relax, knowing that for now at least you can just enjoy yourself without any negative thoughts.

A loud groan leaves her as she stretches once more, a loud crack emanating from her back as her bones move and you wince slightly. Reaching over, you rub at her back soothingly and laugh as she lets out a deep sigh before thanking you.

“Okay, finish that flower off and then we’ll head inside. My back is killing me and I just want to sit down for a bit.” Nodding at her, you let her go before finishing off the flowerbed and packing up all the gardening stuff into the small shed your dad had built last year.

Hands grasping at your waist cause you to shriek in surprise, spinning around and getting ready to push at the intruder. The sight of your boyfriend, his expression full of mischief, causes you to relax to the point your eyes are rolling.

“Hoseok! God, I thought you were some rando.” Hissing, you push lightly at his stomach and pout. A tiny bit of an over-reaction but if you couldn’t be dramatic with Hoseok then who could you be? He knew you weren’t truly bothered by his playfulness, especially when you leaned into his body a little.

“Bit weird for a rando to be in your parent’s backyard,” His arms slide around you, hugging you tightly and practically moulding your back to his front. “But no, it’s just your loveable weirdo.”

Snorting, you continue to carefully put away everything into their specified areas. Your mom liked things to look neat and tidy at all times now, which meant you were having to find where everything belonged. Otherwise, you’d get a phone call that would result in you being berated for leaving the shed messy.

“Is the door finished then?” Hoseok had volunteered to help your dad repaint the front door and start varnishing the porch steps. That had been around three hours ago, so you could only assume that not only were they finished but that he was probably famished. You’d discovered he seemed to have that stereotypical guy’s stomach in that it was a black hole which would eat anything and everything.

Burrowing his face into your neck, he hums in acknowledgement. Closing the drawer, you twist around until you can slip your arms around him in turn. Unlike the normal smell you’d come to adore, today he smelled of the overwhelmingly strong chemicals in the polish he’d used. It didn’t smell great and you wrinkled your nose, unhappy at the fact it wasn’t what you were used to but unwilling to move away from him.

“Thank you, for helping him. He’s been wanting that porch done for years now but his knees are so bad.” None of that is new information to Hoseok and you suspected that was why he’d volunteered to do it. To the point that he’d even headed out with your dad to the local DIY store to grab everything that they would need.

The look of happiness on your dad’s face when he’d realised that he was finally going to get one of his jobs finished had made you almost want to cry with emotion. You hadn’t though, but you were giving Hoseok a tight hug to convey your gratitude to him for being a good person. The quick kiss was just an afterthought, but he’d earned that too.

Wandering hands tell you that he’s more frisky than you’d thought he would be after the work he’d been doing, and it’s only when he squeezes a good handful of your ass that you pull away with laughter. While you still weren’t a big fan of your ass, it was still a little too big for your insecurities, Hoseok was very much a fan.

What some people call ‘an ass man’.

“Hoseok, come on. We have to go in and I am not doing anything with you in my parent’s shed. Plus, you got a blowjob this morning! I need to go help sort the vegetables out for dinner an-” Warm lips pressed against your own interrupt you, their softness making you give in almost instantly as you just enjoyed him.

Little butterflies were fluttering in your stomach as he just lazily kissed you, no urgency to his movements despite what you’d just said. Still, you didn’t push him away. He still remembered, even after over two years, that you enjoyed just kissing. Catching up on all the times you’d missed out on as a teenager and the intermittent years.

So you were loath to pull away from him; especially when he was doing what you imagined a loved-up teenage couple would do when out of sight of their parents. It was fun. Plus, Hoseok was a great kisser.

Finally, though, he stops and leans back to grin at you. It’s a testament to how much you are attracted to and love him with how strong the urge to drop to your knees for him right then and there. Maybe he could have two blowjobs in one day.

“Okay, we can go in now. Do you need help with the vegetables?” The way he changes the mood so quickly has you almost experiencing whiplash, eyes widening as you watch him turn around and walk out. Bringing a hand palm up, you squint at his back and mouth out ‘what the fuck?’ before following him.

By the time you manage to catch up to him, giving him a slightly sullen look even if you’d been the one to deny anything was going to happen, he’s already entering the house. The air is rich with the scent of slow-cooking pot roast and you sigh in contentment, heading into the kitchen.

“You can help if you want. Hey mom, it’s okay. We’ll do that for you.” Gently, you push her away from the counter and take the peeler from her hand. She looks between you both with a quizzical look, her lips quirked up into a half-smile when Hoseok just starts to wash his hands with no complaints before taking control of the carrots.

Thankfully, she doesn’t say anything except for thanks as she leaves you both to it. You get the strong feeling that she’s bemused he’s helping you without complaint or further prodding. As much as your dad likes to cook on occasion, he usually takes a little bit of convincing to get him to help out.

“Oh hey, there’s stuff to make my mom’s roast potatoes...do you want me to make them?” You don’t see the curious expression on your mom’s face as she tilts her head, watching as Hoseok lifts a bottle of soy sauce and the grinder full of black pepper. Instead, you’re too busy making an excited face at him as you nod eagerly.

“Oh my god, yes! My parents have never had them before. I think it’ll go well too as my dad always likes to put everything in the cupboard in his pot roast…”

“You know...you weren’t kidding when you said that there was a high chance that I could end up getting the shits from your dad’s pot roast. That was a spicy ass meal. God, it tasted so damn good though. I’m glad he made so much for us to take back.” Hoseok was sat, or rather slouched, in the passenger seat of your car.

A hand was resting on his stomach, which looked to be holding a significant food baby. Snorting with laughter, you nodded in agreement before grinning as he let his head loll on the backseat. You’d been telling him about your dad’s infamous pot roast for a long time now and he’d finally gotten to experience it.

On top of that, your parents had been wowed by the roast potatoes Hoseok had made using his mom’s recipe. To the point that your mom had begged him to tell her how to make them, at which he’d made a big show about having to ask his mom for permission.

Somehow, that had all led to her calling his mom to formally ask for it. Even though Hoseok had been joking about it and fully intended to let her know how to make it. An hour after that, when you’d finally left after bidding your dad goodnight and with a bag full of leftover roast in Tupperware, your mom’s were still chattering away to each other.

You didn’t have too much experience with how parents were supposed to interact with each other but you were pretty sure becoming close friends wasn’t too normal. But again, you didn’t have any relevant experience here so maybe it was.

“Have you ever seen Step Brothers?” The question comes out of nowhere but Hoseok’s used to it by now. He doesn’t even look over at you in confusion or amusement, just answers you like you’d asked him what his favourite colour is.

“Yeah, why?”

“I think our moms just did that whole ‘did we become best friends?!’ thing.” Now he’s the one letting out a snort, his smile big enough that you can spot it out of the corner of your eye. He knows exactly what you mean, nodding even though you can’t see him properly.

“I think they did. You know, I’m not sure if this is a good or a bad thing. We’ll never be left alone now, you know that right?” Shrugging, you flex your fingers on the steering wheel and enjoy the texture of the leather beneath your hands. You were already approaching home, the roads quiet in the warm evening sun as everyone probably spent time in their yards.

“I like your mom. And I like my mom...sooo, I don’t see any problem with that.” Given you’re focusing on the road, you don’t notice the droll stare he gives you. Which is probably a good thing, because you’d just poke him if you had seen it.

“Are you kidding? Okay, maybe it’s just me that won’t be left alone then. I’ll never be able to do anything wrong. Whether it’s trivial or something serious.” There’s a serious whine to his voice and a glance over shows you that he’s pouting almost comically, causing you to giggle at his protruding lower lip. He may be a little dirty and sweaty from his day’s work, covered in tattoos and piercings but he just looked adorable.

“Well...I guess you’ll have to be on your best behaviour then, won’t you?”

“Very funny. I tell you, I’m going to hear about everything tiny thi-” He’s cut off by your loud cursing, the words coarse and filled with vitriol as you glare at the asshole who almost hit you. Slamming on the brake, you jerk forward hard as the car stops far quicker than you expected and the seat belt feels almost like it’s choking.

“Fucking hell, these brakes are sharper than I expected.” You exclaim, resting your hands in the perfect driving position on the wheel while letting out a deep breath to calm yourself. Glaring down the road, you note that the other car isn’t even there anymore and you can’t help yourself from flipping the bird in the air.

You were at the last intersection before your street, the opening just ahead of the traffic lights that had been green for you. Which meant that they had been red for whoever that ass was. It hadn’t stopped them from speeding as they ran their red, coming within inches of hitting your side of the car if you hadn’t braked so suddenly.

Shuddering, you crack your neck and wince as you rub at it, hoping you hadn’t caused yourself whiplash. Setting off again, you scowl before realising you were hearing a weird noise. Frowning deeply, you look over the display to see if any warning lights have come on before realising it’s coming from your side.

It takes one look to realise Hoseok is very much not okay.

He’s paler than you’ve ever seen and that immediately startles you, but what’s even more worrying is the way he’s got a death grip on the door handle and his seat cushion. You have to look away from him sooner than you would have liked given you were still driving, turning into the street with the house in sight now but you could hear him.

And you weren’t sure that you’d ever heard something so...haunting.

It was like he couldn’t breathe properly; his chest constricted or something while pained noises were being dragged out of his throat. You don’t even realise that you’ve sped up, subconsciously trying to get home and park so that you can help your boyfriend with whatever’s going on.

He’s still making those horrible sounds and breathing like he’s run a marathon when you pull into the drive, putting the parking brake on and turning the engine off before turning to him. Reaching out a hand slowly, it’s only when you can feel his bicep that you realise he’s trembling. No, not trembling. He’s shaking almost violently despite his death grip on the car.

“Hobi...Hoseok. Baby, what’s wrong? What’s wrong?” You didn’t know what to do, and you didn’t understand what was happening. Why was he acting like this? Like he’d just seen a ghost or something.

And then it clicks in your head. The intersection, the idiot who almost hit you, the way you’d slammed on the brakes and cursed a storm. For you, it had just been an annoyance and a near miss. But Hoseok had been in a situation like that when he was a child, and it hadn’t been a near miss.

“Oh, shit. Shit. Fuck,�� Muttering, you look around the car as you wonder how to break him out of whatever attack he’s suffering. “It’s okay, Hoseok. It’s okay, I’m here. You’re safe, you’re okay. I promise.”

As you try to find something to jar him out of his memories, you talk to him constantly. It’s utter nonsense what you’re saying but you want to make sure he can hear someone he loves, reassures him that he’s not alone. Glancing over to him, you swallow thickly at how panicked and frightened he looks.

Pulling out the tube of hard peppermints that had been living in your bag for probably two years at this point, you thrust them into his nose. It’s probably a dumb thing to do but something you’d learnt since your panic attack had been that a good way to get people out of the looping fear was something unexpected.

The strong scent of the hard-pressed mints was probably hard to miss given you jammed it against his nose a little too hard. There was white powder left, which wouldn’t look too great if anyone happened to see him, but you didn’t care. It worked.

Yanking his head back suddenly, Hoseok took a deep breath that sounded more painful than you like before looking at you with wide eyes. Letting the mints drop to the floor, you shift until you can reach and cup his face in your hands.

He feels cold yet the apples of his cheeks are so hot, his breath still faster than you liked but there’s coherence in his gaze. The Hoseok you know and love is back, no longer trapped in the memory of an eight-year-old. Guilt overwhelms you as you realise that you’d probably caused this.

“Hobi…” Is all you manage to get out before you’re stopped once more. Only this time, it’s by the way his face crumples and his eyes glisten as tears bank in them. It makes your chest tighten painfully to see him hurting; especially given how he so clearly tries not to let himself fall over the edge.

It’s only when your thumbs gently stroke at the skin of his cheeks, soft yet ever so slightly prickly from his evening shadow that was beginning to make itself known, that he cracks. The tears slowly slide down his face, each one shining in the evening light while his lips wobble as he tries to keep them pressed together.

“Baby, it’s okay. You’re okay, we’re okay.” You’re pretty positive that you’ve never seen anything more heartbreaking than watching Hoseok slowly break down. The rock in your turbulent emotions and mind, eroding as the dark currents of his mind hit at his weak points.

He just stares at you for a moment before he’s grasping at the door handle, breathing heavily before almost throwing himself out of the car. For a moment, you just stared out of the open door, watching as Hoseok practically scrambles for the porch of your house. It takes a few seconds for your brain to finally catch up, propelling you out of the car to follow him.

Crouching down, you reach out slowly to see if he’d be okay with you touching him. He’s sat down, the faded white paint on the old porch looking chipped and dirty as he rests a hand on it. When he doesn’t push you away, you carefully sit down next to him and rub his back in slow, soothing movements.

You can feel the muscles there shaking, his limbs still trembling slightly from the traumatic memory he’d probably had. Not a word has passed from his lips, only heavy breathing that he’s slowly managing to regulate once more and worry fills you.

“Hoseok...it’s okay. You’re okay,” Shuffling a little closer, you move your hand up to stroke the short hair at the nape of his neck. “I’m okay, you’re okay. We’re home. Nothing bad happened. I’m sorry for triggering bad memories.”

Hoseok shakes his head suddenly, the movement fierce and firm. Eyes widening, you let out a small ‘eep’ as he wraps his arms around you and hugs you tightly. This gesture is much different from his earlier embrace in your parent’s shed. There’s a little more urgency to this, the way his hands run along you isn’t sensual but more like he’s reassuring himself that you’re real.

That you are okay.

“You’re not hurt, you’re okay. Right? No pain, n-no injuries? You’re okay?” His voice quivers, breaking halfway through his words and your heart contracts at the sight of the fear in his eyes. The tears are still falling down his face, almost like he doesn’t realise and you gently cup his cheeks once more, wiping away at them.

This time, he seems to recognise your touch fully and leans into it, pressing his forehead against yours as a choked sob sounds from his throat. Cooing to him, you rearrange him until his head is buried in the space between your neck and shoulder, his larger frame seeming so small as you wrap your arms around him protectively.

“Hey, hey. It’s okay, I swear. Nothing happened. That asshole ran the red light but I braked quick enough. I was just angry at him, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to...to do this. I’m so sorry.” Now it’s your turn for your voice to crack, emotions tumbling together at seeing him so afraid and upset.

“S’not you. It wasn’t you,” He mumbles against your hoodie, squeezing you a little tighter. “It was...it was just the sound and the feeling. The brakes screeching, the cursing, being thrown forward. It was...I was back there. Then, back then. It was just so similar. The intersection and it all just...I guess my mind just got lost in it. It was like I was reliving that moment in my head; both here and back then. I could hear you but I could hear my parents, my sister. I couldn’t figure out what was real.”

You didn’t have any experience with this, with any of it and you didn’t know what to do. From your limited experience of watching shows and movies, you guessed he’d had some kind of flashback to his childhood accident. The sounds and movements of the incident throwing him back decades into that traumatic moment. You felt stupid that you’d never even considered he could still have some form of PTSD it.

At least, you assumed that’s what it was.

“You’re here. Here with me and we’re okay. I don’t...I gotta be honest baby, I don’t want to say. Or do. What do you need from me?” You hated having to ask that, putting the onus on him to figure out what you should be doing to help him. But you had no idea, you’d never dealt with this. You couldn’t even manage your panic attacks, nevermind one caused by a flashback.

“It’s okay, it’s okay. Don’t stress about it. You got me out of my head, that was good. Quick thinking,” Pulling away from you, he laces his fingers together before lowering his head till it’s between his knees and just breathes slowly. “Fuck, I’ve not had one of those in a long time.”

“You’ve had them before?”

There’s silence for a few minutes as he just breathes slowly, his eyes closed as he forces himself to relax. Twisting his lips, he rolls his head and the crack of his neck is loud in the quietness of the street. You don’t push him, letting him take his time to get to terms with what had just happened.

It was a good thing because you weren’t entirely sure what you were meant to do.

“Yeah. I used to get them when I was a kid. It took months for my parents to convince me to get in a car after it happened. Certain things would just...trigger a panic attack or a flashback like then. I can’t listen to the song that was on the radio at the time and...well as you’ve just seen, a sequence of events like that sets me off. A lot of my behaviour when I was younger, was a result of the PTSD from the accident. I thought I’d pretty much got past having these incidents as it’s been forever since I’ve had one.” Wiping at his face, he looks away from you and down towards the end of the road.

Wiggling over to him, you lean against him supportively before carefully taking his hand and linking your fingers. He lets you, his hand mostly limp except the slightest tremble of his fingers. Running the fingers of your free hand along the back of his, you rest your head on his shoulder.

“Don’t be angry or upset or anything, you can’t help it. I know very well that we can’t control what our brains do. It probably thinks it’s trying to protect you somehow but...you got through it pretty quickly. You’re okay and you’re here, talking to me rationally pretty quickly. Maybe you had this because you weren’t driving, right? So you weren’t able to do anything about it. When you’re driving, your mind is usually focused on something else.” Part of you recognises that you’re just rambling crap to him but you want to keep him listening. Make sure that he doesn’t fall back into his mind.

Turning to look at you, Hoseok gives you a weak smile and you feel pain in your chest at how tired and sad he looks suddenly. All signs of your happy and boisterous boyfriend have vanished for the moment. You’ve never felt more useless.

“Yeah, probably. You’re probably right. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ruin-” Cutting him off with a sharp gesture, you gently poke at his arm before smiling.

“Don’t apologise. Please don’t apologise for something you can’t control. You tell me this all the time, so now I get to tell you. It’s okay to not be okay, remember? All I care about is that you’re okay, that you’re not hurting or scared. That’s it. I don’t care that it happened, I only care about you.” His eyes look a little watery again at that, his smile weak yet a little happier than before.

“I know it’s early but...can we just go to bed? Just nap or something? I’m so tired. From working on the porch earlier and from this, I just want to cuddle you and sleep.” Tilting your head, you scan over him slowly and sigh softly.

Hoseok looks tired, his shoulders slumping and back slouching from the weight of everything. It’s the least you can do for him, especially if that’s all he wants. So you nod, smiling at him before squeezing his hand.

“Sure. You go head in, I’ll grab the stuff and put it away then come up.” Standing, you head over to the car to grab everything your parents had given you to bring home. The sound of Hoseok’s keys jangling together as he opens the door is familiar, as is the door closing to prevent Kasumi from getting out. A glance back tells you that he’s inside and you let your head drop, hands resting on the cushion of the backseat as you take a deep breath.

Taking the time to just inhale and exhale slowly, you tell yourself to relax as well. Just as you’d told him that he was okay and safe, you had to acknowledge the same for you now as well. Seeing Hoseok like that was scary and you would be happy if you never saw anything like that again. It hurt to see him afraid, to see him cry and struggle with himself. Was this what it was like for him when you were experiencing a bad mental health day?

Shaking your head, you blow the air out of your cheeks before looking up at the sky. The colours are starting to become more extravagant and vibrant, the blue deepening into purples, pinks and oranges as the sun sets. It’s still warm out but there’s a pleasant breeze that cools you, blowing gently through the grass and the branches of the trees that line the road.

It all looks so peaceful and calm, so unlike what you’d been experiencing not even ten minutes ago. Swallowing, you grabbed the bags and pulled them out, closing the door and locking the car before heading inside.

His shoes are alongside the others but there’s no sign of him downstairs. No noise coming from the bedroom either and you look up the stairs with a concerned expression. You didn’t know what to do, what was right to do. So all you could do was what he asked.

Quickly putting away the leftover food and baked goods your mom had given you, you head upstairs to the bedroom. The curtains are already closed, leaving the room darker than in the hallway and a glance at the clothes hamper lets you guess he’s probably gotten into some comfy pyjamas.

The shape underneath the covers doesn’t move, but you smile at seeing Kasumi laid alongside him with wide and unblinking eyes. Quickly pulling your clothes off, you get into a fresh pair of pyjamas as well before heading over to the bed, placing your phone on the bedside table.

“Hey, pretty girl. Are you looking after daddy?” Whispering, you slide into bed and stroke at her soft fur. Hoseok’s eyes shine slightly in the dim light, the covers pulled up to his chin in an almost protective way as he watches you shower love onto Kasumi.

Turning your attention to him, you take him in for a moment with a soft smile. Gravity makes his cheeks softer and rounder while lying down, his lips pouting a little more than normal while his hair half flops onto the pillow. He looks adorable, yet there’s still that vulnerability in his eyes.

“Do you want to be the little spoon?” You ask, grinning when he nods quietly. It takes no time for you to shuffle forward, meeting him in the middle of the bed and wrapping your arms around him. He nuzzles his head into the space below your chin, his arms trapped between both your bodies while you throw your leg over him as well.

Grinning to yourself despite the serious situation earlier, you can’t help but find some peace and happiness at this moment. To know that he loved you enough to feel safe in your embrace like this, to feel protected and not silly. You were smaller than him, yet you knew that you would keep him as safe as you possibly could.

Reaching up, you alternate between running the strands of his hair through your fingers and massaging his scalp in the way he likes. A quiet rumble of appreciation leaves him at the feeling, his body relaxing in your arms. It would never fail to amuse you how easily you could get him to sleep just by playing with his hair. And you wanted him to sleep right now, to have good and pleasant dreams to rid himself of the anxiety and panic from earlier.

Pressing your lips to his head, you sigh quietly and tell him something that you rarely vocalise. Normally it’s hard to get the words out, but today they flow easily and you can practically feel the way he relaxes even further.

“I love you.”

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ncssian · 3 years

Text

A Favor: Part Four

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n: hey y'all. my new job has been draining the life out of me so i have very little energy left for writing, which is why these updates are taking so long. im still very passionate about this fic though, it just takes me more time to write :(

in other news, this chapter is saturated with descriptions of pain, both physical and emotional. i hated writing it but it was worth it.

***

Nesta, 14

Sometimes it all becomes too much. Feyre asking for help with homework and Elain begging for more money to go to the strip mall, and their dad ignoring them all as if they aren’t even there. Sometimes she wants to leave it all behind and pretend she isn’t anchored to three other people, wants to pretend she is a lone being in a lonely world.

When she needs to go away, she comes here.

Cherrywood House is quiet, as it always is this time of year. One of several expensive vacation homes in the Smokies, Cherrywood is Nesta’s favorite for a multitude of reasons— it’s empty for ten out of twelve months of the year, it’s the only house with a clear view of the nearby lake, and cherry blossoms bloom on trees out in the back every spring.

It’s early June, and she has a few more weeks left with the house until its owners return. The family that owns the place never leaves a trace of themselves behind when they leave each August, so Nesta returns the favor by never leaving hints of her inhabitance either.

She takes her worn Converse and socks off at the back porch and climbs in through the unlocked window barefoot. This is where she belongs. A ghost roaming the empty halls, with no one to care for and no one to care for her.

She makes her way upstairs to her preferred hideout spot: an airy bedroom with a bay window seat that looks out onto the cherry blossom trees outside. Cracking the window open to let the fragrance of flowers in, she settles into the bench seat with her book of the week and starts reading.

Absorbed in dreams of deep love and deeper kisses, Nesta doesn't notice the sun going down until she can barely make out the words on the page before her. Glancing up with sore eyes, she realizes she needs to leave soon if she doesn't want to take the wooded path back home in the dark.

“Damn,” she sighs, but she gets up and shuts the window firmly.

She keeps her nose in her book all the way down the hall and down the stairs, and doesn't sense anything off until a large shadow flashes in the corner of her eye. Her head whips up, and the face that greets her looks just as surprised as she is.

Nesta freezes.

“Um,” the guy says. He’s maybe a few years older than her, seventeen or eighteen, and tall with shaggy dark hair. The front door of the house is still cracked open behind him. “What the fuck?”

Nesta unfreezes. And then she runs.

All the way through the main hall and to the back door, while the boy’s shouts chase her through the house. “Hey, wait up!”

They weren't supposed to be here this early—

Her hand wraps around the back door handle and she flings it open, shoving through the second screen door and shooting right down the porch steps. Heavy steps behind her ignite a panic in her, and she gains a burst of speed.

“HEY!” he calls again. Soft grass becomes dirt and twigs beneath Nesta's feet, and she knows she's reached the tree line. Dark shadows fall over her as she darts into the safety of the woods.

Still standing on the back porch and waving a raggedy pair of Converse, Cassian tries calling for the girl one more time. “You forgot your shoes!”

Cassian wakes up at five in the morning to the sound of the house’s pipes creaking, a telltale sign that someone is using one of the faucets. Blinking his eyes open, he hears the distant sound of the shower running.

Who would get up in the freezing cold at this hour just to take a shower? He checks the time once more to make sure he isn't imagining things, and gets up to peek his head out of his bedroom. Sure enough, light leaks out from under the bathroom door.

Cassian walks up to the bathroom and listens closely for any sound beside running water. He knocks hesitantly. “Nesta?”

Her muffled voice calls back to him, but he can't make out a thing.

“Are you alright?” he asks. “How long have you been in there?”

There’s no response, and now he’s concerned. Raising his voice, he says, “I’m going to come in to hear you better, is that okay?”

A soft affirmative answers him, and he tries the doorknob. It’s already unlocked, which is odd, but he pokes his head into the steam-filled bathroom cautiously. “Nesta?”

From behind the curtain of the shower, a pale, tired face appears. She’s sitting on the floor of the tub, he realizes. “Hey,” she attempts a feeble smile at him.

Cassian fully enters the bathroom, the humidity dampening his skin. “Are you okay? When did you get up?”

“I’ve only been in here for an hour, maybe.” Her voice is weak enough that he has to move closer to hear her. “Don’t worry about your water bill. I’ll pay it, I swear.”

He shakes his head, confounded. “I don’t care about the water bill. You still haven’t told me if you’re okay.” He moves to crouch beside the bathtub, the opaque shower curtain the only barrier between them.

Nesta rolls her eyes, looking embarrassed. “It’s just cramps. I get really sick on my periods, and I would have warned you that they suck ass, but that would imply that my period could affect you. It doesn’t have to affect you— if you just leave me to myself for a few days, I won’t even be a bother.”

Cassian blinks, not really knowing where to start with that, so he just says, “But why the shower?”

Nesta shifts uncomfortably behind the curtain. “Sometimes hot water is the only thing that helps with the pain. I already tried getting out of the shower, but it hurt so bad— I had to go right back in. I’ll get out eventually, don’t worry.”

Cassian frowns. This all sounds incredibly worrying. “This is normal for you?”

She’s about to answer when her face pinches in a look of discomfort. “Cassian,” she says, strained.

He leans closer, wanting to help. “Yeah?”

“Get out.” She doesn't look like she has the energy to add anything else.

Cassian wants to defy Nesta and stay right there, but that would require arguing with her, and she clearly is no longer in the mood to hold up a conversation.

Reluctantly, he nods. “I’ll be right down the hall. Yell if you need anything.”

Nesta is already sinking lower into the tub, trying to get more fully under the burning hot spray. Her eyes drift closed and she hums in answer.

Cassian doesn't return to his room like he said he would, but heads downstairs instead. He spends a good ten minutes reading the drug labels of various painkillers from the medicine cabinet before carefully arranging a nonlethal cocktail of them on a tray. He adds a cold glass of water and various handpicked snacks before returning upstairs to set the tray by Nesta’s bedside, and turns the heat all the way up to combat the chill in her room, just in case.

Then he goes back to his room and waits. He tries to listen closely for the sound of the shower stopping, but he’s not used to being up this early on a Saturday, and his bed is so warm…

He falls asleep waiting.

***

Nesta stumbles out of the shower long after Cassian leaves her and downs a handful of pills without thinking too much about who left them for her. She already has an idea of how the next few days will go, and she just hopes Cassian will allow her the dignity to suffer through it alone.

She crawls into bed exhausted and shuts her eyes tight. The next time she opens them, sunlight is streaming weakly through the windows. Jarring pain lances through her abdomen, and she brings her legs all the way up to her chest and whimpers. From the edge of her consciousness, she notices the snack tray has been replaced with lunch— some leftover lasagna from the night before. Sneaking out her hand from her mountain of blankets, she goes for her phone. A text sent nearly an hour ago waits for her.

Cassian: please eat.

Nesta glares at the lasagna because she knows better. She might have spent this morning eyeing the bathroom tiles to determine if they were clean enough for her to curl up there and die, but she's not at a point to abandon her dignity just yet. The last thing her roiling nausea needs is solid food. Instead, she gathers the focus to text back Cassian: Leave me alone today.

It's only after she sends the message that she realizes it sounds harsh, but she can't bring herself to explain further or to soften her tone. Her pain always has a way of stripping her of any defenses and formalities and leaving only a primal creature behind.

Turning her phone off, she closes her eyes and inhales tightly through her nose. A wave of cramps that feels closer to what a brutal stabbing victim would feel like overtakes her, and— no, she has to get up.

During times like these, the bathroom is Nesta’s favorite place in the whole world. Cool tiles to rest her head on, hot water just a foot away, and a spacious tub if she ever feels like passing out. Heaven. Naturally, she escapes there first.

After maybe another hour of restless writhing and moving about, Nesta decides the suffering isn't worth it and hobbles downstairs in search of some Nyquil to knock her out. She’s got the medicine cabinet halfway open when a broad hand slams it back shut, and she turns to find Cassian standing behind her with a stern look. “You haven’t eaten anything all day. You can’t take meds on an empty stomach.”

Nesta wants to cry at the denial of pain relief, but she grips the counter behind her and manages a glare instead. “You can’t tell me what to do.”

“I will absolutely tell you not to wreck your liver, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

A desperate whine escapes her, and she can’t believe Cassian has to see her like this. Even worse, she sees sympathy soften his face as his hand slips off the cabinet next to her head. “I made soup,” he offers. “Can you have soup?”

Nesta hesitates. Her insides don’t hate the idea of soup. She nods.

***

Nesta insisted on avoiding Cassian for the rest of the day, and Cassian graciously eased off her back once he knew she’d eaten. He kindly pretended he didn’t hear her running back and forth from the bathroom all day because she couldn’t sit still, and only interrupted her once to make sure she took more Tylenol before bed.

Now, long after night has fallen, Nesta is truly alone. Her medicine either hasn’t kicked in yet or isn’t strong enough to do its job tonight. She can barely think straight, and this is when the most primal part of herself comes out.

Despite her age, despite everything, she still cries. She cries as if anyone would bother listening, physical pain intertwining with the pain and humiliation of being ignored. “Papa,” she calls into her pillow, again and again.

She hasn’t trusted her papa in years, and yet she still expects him to rescue her. She still waits for him to show up and make everything better.

A hot tear leaks from her eye, and the catharsis of it distracts from her cramps. She curls up into a ball and cries harder, as if she can weep out everything that’s wrong with her body.

A soft knock interrupts her helpless whimpers, and Nesta hears the door open a moment later. “Nesta? Were you calling for me?”

Somebody came. No one’s ever come for her before.

A sigh of relief escapes her, and she forgets to put her walls up. “I’m just—” she tries to say, “so tired.”

She hears Cassian come farther into the room and curse. “Fuck, it’s an icebox in here.”

A hand nudges at her mound of comforters, giving Nesta’s shoulder a shake. “You should’ve told me the heater wasn’t working. Are you okay?”

That question sets her on edge. “Do I look okay?” her voice cracks. She wants to cry even harder now that he’s here, for some reason.

“Obviously not,” he mutters. “You’re staying in my room tonight. Get up.”

Nesta groans and burrows further into her freezing cocoon of sheets. “Don’twannamove.”

“It’s either that or I’m carrying you. I’m good either way.”

Nesta finally cracks her eyes open, glad that Cassian is only a tear-blurred figure in the dark. She doesn’t want to read whatever is on his face right now. Gathering her heavy comforter around herself, she gets up and lets Cassian lead her down the hall to his room.

Toasty warmth hits her as soon as she’s inside, and she makes an exhausted sound and drops the comforter. In a blur, she’s tucked into Cassian’s bed, enveloped by his scent and his lingering body heat on the sheets. Under the dim lamplight, Cassian seems to finally take notice of the tear tracks on her face. Clicking his tongue in sympathy and concern, he rubs his thumb over the sensitive skin under Nesta’s eyes. Her whole body shudders under the gentle touch. Who knew just the pad of his finger could combat this inescapable agony?

“This isn’t normal,” he murmurs. “I’m taking you to a doctor as soon as this storm clears.”

If Nesta was in the right state of mind, she’d tell him absolutely not. However, she’s barely comprehending his words as it is, so she watches him click the lamp off in silence. Darkness fills the room, but she can hear him moving.

“I’ll be right back,” his voice rumbles, and then she’s alone again. More tears leak at the feeling of abandonment. She’s so sick of herself.

After what feels like an eternity but is only a few minutes, she hears Cassian return. The mattress dips behind her as he climbs under the blankets with her, and then Nesta feels something hot and dry being pressed to her side. A towel. “Does this help?” he murmurs, his voice surprisingly close to her ear.

Wordlessly, Nesta reaches down and takes his hand holding the hot towel, dragging it beneath the hem of her sweater so the heat burns against her bare skin. She sighs and allows her tensed body to sag, leaning back into the hard cradle of Cassian’s chest and arms.

In her ear, Cassian’s breathing has gone shallow. His hand slips from her side, only to find her back and start rubbing up and down.

Her eyes flutter shut.

“My mother was a Muslim immigrant from Algeria,” Cassian whispers out of nowhere. “And whenever I felt sick as a little kid, I would crawl into her lap and she would rub my back just like this, and say some prayers and blow on my face, and I would feel better.”

Nesta makes a weak sound of acknowledgment. That sounds nice, nicer than anything she ever knew growing up.

“I’m sorry I don’t know any prayers,” Cassian says. Then, Nesta feels a whoosh of breath tickle the side of her face. “Does that help?”

It feels weirdly good, and Nesta's shoulders start shaking. She doesn't know if she's holding in a laugh or a sob. Cassian’s hand stills on her back. “Nesta?”

A sharp wave of pain sets her straight. After she breathes through it, she tells him, “You don't need to pray. Just… keep talking to me.”

His hand resumes drawing circles on her back. “Alright.” And he whispers stories into her ear for the rest of the night, until she's fallen asleep and long afterward.

The next morning, Nesta is feeling much better. Cassian knows this because she’s sitting in the living room when he comes downstairs, straight-backed instead of hunched over in pain, and she’s regained the energy to glare at him.

Cassian’s relief at seeing Nesta okay hesitates at that glare. He slows on the bottom step. “How’re you feeling, sweetheart?”

“Don't call me that.”

He blinks, not sure what he did wrong. Before he can ask, Nesta says, “You didn't listen to me.”

“Excuse me?” He strolls deeper into the living area.

“I told you to leave me alone while I'm on my period, and you didn't listen. You dragged me to your room and made me spend the night with you.”

“You were crying for help,” Cassian says in disbelief. “What was I supposed to do? Ignore you?”

“Yes.” She looks even angrier. “It’s humiliating for me to have you see me like that. It's humiliating to have my own family see me like that.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way, but you’re—” He almost says overreacting, but some deep instinct tells him that word won’t fly well with Nesta. “You’re wrong,” he decides. “Whatever you think I’m thinking of you after last night, you’re wrong.” Cassian has no problem going into caretaker mode for Nesta; it's his natural state of being most of the time anyway. Besides, last night was… a new experience for him. For a multitude of reasons. “You can't tell me you go through that every month and have never had anybody take care of you.”

“I haven't, and for good reason,” Nesta seethes. “You had no right to see me like that.”

Cassian leans on the arm of a chair and crosses his arms, considering her. “Have you ever seen a doctor about your period?”

“That’s none of your business,” she snaps. Here is the Nesta that Feyre is always talking about: quick to anger and always on the defense, to the point that she comes off as unreasonable. Nothing like the helpless woman in tears from just the night before.

It brings out a rougher side of Cassian, one that wants to nip and bite at her boundaries instead of letting her be comfortable all the time. “That’s no way to talk to someone who stayed up all night to wait on you hand and foot, you know.”

“Don’t you dare hold that against me.” Nesta’s voice is dangerously cold.

“I’m not holding it against you. I’m taking you to a doctor.”

“No.”

“I already made an appointment.”

“Cancel it.” Her voice is brittle and she’s now trembling with restrained rage. Cassian doesn’t know if it’s because he’s refusing to give her a choice or if she just really doesn’t like doctors. Either way, it doesn’t change how Nesta ran out of bed at four this morning to puke her soup up. If it wasn’t for all this snow, he would have dragged her ass to the ER by now.

“I don’t have health insurance,” Nesta admits when she sees that Cassian won’t back down. “And I’ve made it this far without any cause for concern; there’s no reason to go.”

“Then I’ll pay for it,” he says simply. Her lack of care for her health astounds and angers Cassian at the same time. How is it that nobody, not even her family, has looked at this woman before and said You’re not okay, do you need help? How many times has she cried in pain with no one to listen?

Nesta has now stood up and is turning red in the face. “Absolutely not. Stop it.”

“Stop what?” Cassian smirks and straightens up.

“I’m not going to the doctor,” she barks. “Cancel the appointment.”

“No.”

“DO IT!”

In that moment, Cassian sees it. He sees how beneath the adult manner and adult words, the carefully crafted facade of cool, there is an explosive, tantrum-prone child. And he’s about to reveal her for good.

“It’s this Wednesday. I hope you don't mind skipping class.”

An enraged shriek shatters the air in the room, and before Cassian can even be shocked Nesta is verbally pouncing on him, yelling, “How fucking dare you, you complete shithead—”

“Nesta.”

“You have no right to— You’re so useless, this is why I didn't want to stay with you, this is why I never talked to you—”

“Nest—”

“You egomaniacal manipulative bastard— just because you let me stay in your house doesn’t mean you can tell me what to do—”

“Damn it Nesta, can you just shut up and LISTEN TO ME FOR ONCE!”

Nesta freezes and blinks, taken aback. Cassian immediately snaps his mouth shut, wondering if he’s finally crossed that line he’s been so cautiously toeing this whole time.

He watches her face closely, looking for signs of upset— or worse, fear. She only says, “Fine.”

He’s confused. “Fine, what?”

“Fine, I’ll go to the doctor’s.” Just like that, her fight is gone and the facade is back in place. She sets her jaw, but a hint of surprise and newfound discovery lingers in her eyes. “But I’m not letting you pay for it. It’ll have to come out of my own pocket.” She doesn't look happy about that part.

Cassian wants to argue her, but he knows how to pick and choose his battles. For now, he’s just baffled that he demanded Nesta to do something, and she listened.

He raised his voice at her. God, he yelled at her in anger and she only blinked in response, and now she’s listening to him. What kind of sick alien shit is this?

***

a/n: i love talking about these characters so if you ever get sick of waiting for part 5 just shoot me an ask and ill gladly discuss nessian with you

tagging: @ladywitchling @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @sensitiveillyrian @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @everything-that-i-love @awesomelena555 @julemmaes @wickedqueenoffantasy @poisonous-bloom @observationanxioustheorist @gisellefigue08 @courtofjurdan @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @wolfiixxx

#a favor #nesta archeron #cassian #nessian #ncssianwrites #nessian fic #nessian au

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howtosingit · 3 years

Text

Fic: Ice in My Veins, Fire in My Heart

An unexpected, once-in-a-lifetime ice storm in Austin leads to a chaotic day for Carlos and the 126.

Written for @911giftexchange | For @charlie-bradburyss

6K | Also on AO3

A/N: Happy Holidays, Holly! I hope this fulfills all of your “tarlos + fire fam/found family + hurt/comfort (emphasis on the hurt)” wishes. May the New Year bring you all the love and light that you deserve!

❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️

The thing is, no one’s really expecting Austin to be pummeled by a once-in-a-lifetime freak ice storm.

Though rare, it’s not unheard of for the Texas panhandle to get hit by the southern tip of major storm systems that move across the Midwest, but Austin is typically too far south to really experience that kind of intense winter weather. Sometimes, they’ll have icy nights that lead to dangerous morning commutes, but that’s mostly because the majority of Austinites aren’t experienced with driving on ice-covered roads. There’s always a surplus of vehicular accidents to respond to on those mornings.

But, this is way more than that.

When TK first looks out the kitchen window, he has to do a double-take to confirm what he’s seeing, his coffee burning the back of his throat as he swallows quickly in shock. Every single inch of the world outside is covered in a shimmering layer of ice - every tree branch and leaf, every fence post and door handle; individual blades of grass find themselves trapped inside a shell of frozen water, and the back patio has turned into a miniature ice skating rink, complete with furniture coated in long, thin icicles.

He takes a moment to admire the ethereal beauty of a rare, wintery Austin, how the early morning sunlight dances across the rooftops of the neighboring houses. Then, realizing what all this ice is going to mean for the rest of his day, he glances down at his watch, cursing when he realizes what time it is.

“Babe!” he calls, grabbing two thermoses from the cupboard. He transfers his coffee into one, then fills the other. “Move faster, we’ve gotta get to work!” He quickly preps Carlos’s coffee the way he knows he likes it, then grabs a few protein bars for each of them to eat on the way to work. “Babe!” he calls again when he doesn’t hear anything from the bedroom.

“What the hell are you yelling for, TK? We still have an hour before our shifts,” Carlos gripes as he comes around the corner, uniform already on and shoes in hand. He gives TK a look of mild annoyance, his signature sass on display, and TK honestly adores him even if he is being obtuse at the moment.

Instead of answering, TK just points out the window, watching as Carlos takes in the icy spectacle, his eyes widening as his jaw drops. “Wow,” his husband breathes out, clearly in awe. Then, having the same realization that TK did, he glances down at his own watch. “Oh, fuck.”

“Yeah, I thought you might say that,” TK laughs, moving towards the hall closet to grab their coats. He reaches towards the back, finding the ice scraper that Carlos kind of made fun of him for buying a few years ago.

“You made me coffee?” Carlos asks when he reappears, holding his green thermos.

“Of course I did.”

“Have I mentioned that I really love you?” his husband questions, pulling on his coat.

“If this is your way of apologizing for getting sassy with me, I’m going to need you to work a little harder, babe,” TK jokes, sliding up next to him and raising his chin. Carlos rolls his eyes, a smile pulling at his lips as he ducks down to press their mouths together in a gentle kiss.

“How about I give you a ride to work?” Carlos suggests, still close enough that his lips drag against TK’s as he speaks.

“That’s a very sweet offer,” TK says, staring into his husband’s twinkling brown eyes, “but you were going to do that anyway.” Carlos’s police cruiser drives better on ice, so he always drives TK to work if there are hazardous conditions. “Try again.”

“How about,” Carlos starts, his voice going deeper as he trails his lips along TK’s jaw and up to his ear, “I drive you to work now, and then when we get home later, I run you a bath to help warm you up?”

TK hums, his heart rate picking up. “Make it a bath for two, and I’ll consider all of your indiscretions forgiven.”

Carlos huffs out a laugh, moving to press another kiss to his lips. “You are quite the negotiator,” he says, stepping away and grabbing two protein bars off the counter. “I accept your terms.”

The drive to work takes twice as long as usual, Carlos driving as carefully as possible through Austin towards the fire station. The roads seem somewhat deserted, and TK wonders if most people got stuck in their driveways before they could get far enough to cause mayhem in the streets. For the most part, the ice seems to be sticking around longer than it usually does. Carlos pulls to a stop outside Ladder 126.

“See you later?” TK asks, leaning over the console to give him another kiss.

“Probably sooner than that, I’d guess,” Carlos says, knocking their foreheads together gently, the way he always does when they’re saying goodbye at the start of a workday. TK smiles, reaching for the door and climbing out onto the slick pavement. “Be careful out there.”

“You too, officer,” TK responds, giving him a wink before closing the door. He turns, heading into the station to being what will no doubt be a non-stop day.

❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️

Carlos is right.

Almost immediately after his husband texts him that he made it safely to the police station, they’re called out to an accident on Lakewood Drive. When they arrive, TK spots Carlos in the distance, directing cars to use an alternate route.

A large semi-truck takes up the middle of the bridge, the trailer sitting nearly perpendicular to the tractor section. It still seems to be standing upright, so TK doesn’t immediately understand what accident they’re responding to.

“Officer,” his dad calls when Carlos spots them and starts moving their way, careful on the patches of ice that still remain on the bridge. “What’ve we got here?”

“Semi swerved a bit on the ice into the lane of oncoming traffic. Passenger car coming from the north then swerved to avoid it, completely lost control on the ice, and hit the guardrail on the passenger side,” Carlos reports, pointing in the direction of a mangled section of the barrier. “Car flipped and slid down the embankment.”

“How many passengers?” his dad clarifies, and TK can tell the way he tenses, his brain already working on a plan of action.

“Just the driver, an adult woman,” Carlos answers, his breath visible in the cold morning air. “My partner made it down to her and she’s responsive, but definitely stuck.”

“Okay,” Owen says, turning to face his team, jaw tight. “Jaws of life, everyone down. Medical will be here in a minute, let’s try to have her out for them.”

There’s a near-collective nod from all of them, but before they can move, they hear a crash in the distance. Turning, TK watches as the line of traffic becomes a danger zone of its own when an approaching car is unable to stop before it runs into the car ahead of it. Like, dominoes, the line begins to splay, cars trying to move to avoid being hit.

“Damn,” his dad sighs, shaking his head. “Change of plan. Ryder, Strickland, Strand-Reyes, you’re down with the jaws of life. Marwani and Chavez, let’s see if we can keep things from getting worse up here.”

TK follows Judd and Paul to the truck, grabbing everything that they might need. As they head towards the damaged guardrail, he passes close to Carlos, nudging him in the side.

“Have I ever told you how much I love to watch you work?” he says, giving his husband a wink as he moves past him. Carlos follows after him, laughing softly.

“TK, for God’s sake, will you stop flirting with your husband for one day,” Judd cries, and TK looks over to find him smiling at him, his eyes dancing with mirth.

“Now, come on, Judd,” Paul adds, his tone teasing. “They’re just being newlyweds.”

“Newlyweds?” Judd scoffs, rolling his eyes. “They’ve been married for two years!”

“Oh, wait, you’re right,” Paul says exaggeratedly, like he’s just remembered. He turns back to TK and Carlos, now walking side-by-side, his face morphing into a look of disgust. “Stop being so in-love, it’s getting weird now.”

TK huffs out a fake laugh, his breath swirling through the air as he sticks his tongue out at his friends. They reach the top of the embankment, looking down at the wreckage. The car still seems to be pretty intact, so TK is hoping this won’t be too bad. He feels a solid hand on his back, turning to find Carlos looking at him, his face serious.

“Don’t do anything reckless down there, or I will arrest you,” he jokes, beginning to walk away.

“On what grounds?” TK gasps, his jaw dropping.

Carlos pauses, his eyebrows furrowing as he thinks about it. “Trying to give me a heart attack before I’m 35,” he finally decides, shooting TK a wink before leaving them to go help with the traffic pile-up.

It’s slow-going, but TK, Paul, and Judd finally make it down the hill to the overturned car. Paul moves over to the window, speaking to the woman, while TK and Judd set down their bags. From what he can see, it looks like it’ll be a pretty straightforward removal.

They’re just prying the door open when his dad radios that medical has arrived. TK moves back to one of his bags over by the bridge, looking for more gauze to press to their patient’s shallow head wound, when there’s a loud crack to the right. He looks over, watching as a somewhat large icicle drops from the bridge and shatters onto the frozen creek below. Looking up, he watches another icicle detach itself and rapidly fall to the ground.

“Shit,” he says, jerking to the side to avoid another one. He feels his feet slide out from under him, unable to gain traction on the ice, and before he knows it, he’s falling flat on his back, his head slamming hard against the solid ground beneath him.

His vision swims, pain coursing through him. His stomach turns, and he feels like he’s going to be sick. He closes his eyes, trying to breath. He thinks he hears a voice in the distance, maybe Paul or Judd calling to him, but he can’t make it out. There’s another loud crack from above, and he opens his eyes just in time to watch a rather large icicle grow larger as it flies towards him.

Pain bursts from his abdomen as he lets out a gasp, his vision swimming once more as his body tries to handle all of the trauma it’s currently experiencing. He clenches his jaw tightly, refusing to let out a yell. He can handle this, he’s done pain before. Between a gunshot and falling through the floor of a house and then falling off the roof of a house just last year, he can handle this. It’s no big deal, so he’s not going to make it one.

He lifts his head, blinking to clear his vision. There are voices around him, fuzzy shapes moving in his peripherals, coming closer. He ignores them, instead looking down towards his stomach. The sight causes him to gasp again, the pain coming back full force now that he has eyes on the source.

There’s an icicle buried inside of his abdomen.

From what he can see, it looks to be as round as his fist and about two feet long, the top of it gleaming threateningly in the sunlight, almost as if it’s proud of itself for the damage it’s just done.

“Fuck,” TK moans, lowering his head as Paul and Judd finally reach his side. He still can’t hear what they’re saying, so he just looks up at the clear blue sky instead. A thought pops into his head, almost making him laugh.

Carlos is totally going to kill him for this.

❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️

Sometimes, Carlos really hates living in Texas.

Well, that’s an oversimplification. It’s more that he hates the kind of stereotypical attitude that many straight men from Texas possess. The kind of “I’m built Texas tough” mentality that leads to reckless, dangerous, and truly annoying behavior. The kind of attitude that causes a fully-grown man responsible for a six-car pile-up to scream in his father-in-law’s face about how stupid and moronic everyone else is, including the firefighters currently fixing the mess he’s made, forcing Carlos to handcuff him and stick him in the back of his cruiser just so that they can all get a moment of peace.

“Did you see the size of that vein in his neck?” Mateo asks as they move from car to car, making sure that everyone’s okay. “I thought he was going to collapse or something, his face was so red.”

“TK’s gonna be so upset that he missed you wrestling him to the ground,” Marjan pipes in from his other side, elbowing him in the ribs. Carlos just rolls his eyes, shaking his head.

“You know that’s not a turn-on for him, right?”

Marjan scoffs. “Sure, okay, I definitely believe that.”

Captain Strand approaches the three of them, effectively ending the conversation. “No one’s injured in those three cars, so I told them all to sit tight until the tow truck gets here. We may be able to help them once we’ve got the driver down there stabilized.” They all nod in agreement. “Marjan, Mateo, why don’t you keep making the rounds, keep people from trying to get out of their cars. We don’t need any unexpected accidents or falls.” The two firefighters accept their orders, moving away. “You’ve got someone directing traffic further down the road?” Owen asks Carlos.

“Yeah, at Lakewood and Carpenter,” Carlos says, pointing in that direction. “We shouldn’t have any traffic through here from now on.”

Before Owen can respond, they hear a sound from the bridge. They both turn to see the ambulance arrive and begin to walk towards it, eager to fill Michelle and her team in on what’s happening. At his side, Owen radios to his team that medical has arrived and will be down soon.

They’ve just made it onto the bridge, Michelle already making her way towards them, when they hear a shout from down below. They both freeze, trying to listen, but then can’t make out the words. Then, Owen’s radio crackles to life, Judd’s voice coming through, his words rushed.

“We need medical down here ASAP, I’ve got a firefighter down.”

Carlos feels the blood rush from his face, his heart slamming into his ribcage. He shares a look with his father-in-law, and it’s clear that they both know who Judd’s talking about.

“Talk to me, Judd. What’s going on?” Owen says, already heading to the edge of the bridge, Carlos following right behind him.

He stops short when his eyes land on the scene below. He doesn’t even need Judd's report to confirm what he’s seeing. At the bottom of the embankment, almost under the bridge itself, he sees TK laying on the ground, unmoving, a giant shard of ice sticking out of his midsection.

He doesn’t even think before he takes off down the slope, moving as quickly as he can without falling.

“TK!” he shouts, not even sure if the other man can hear him. He finally gets to the bottom, rushing over to his side. “TK!”

Paul moves aside, allowing him to kneel down by his head. He takes his face gently in his hands, watching as TK’s eyes blink dazily, his pupils unfocused and his mouth slack.

“Nobody jostle him,” Michelle yells, and Carlos looks up to find her and her team closing in. “We don’t want that thing to shift an inch. Paul, hold it steady for me if you can.”

Carlos stares down at the two-foot icicle currently buried in his husband’s gut. Every time TK breathes, it pulses, almost threatening to fall over. Paul reaches out and wraps his hands around the top, keeping it vertical.

“What happened?” Michelle asks, kneeling on TK’s other side as she assesses the situation.

“He slipped on the ice and fell, then the icicle came down on him before he could move out of the way,” Judd explains.

“He might have a concussion from the fall,” Michelle mutters, moving to shine a light in TK’s drooping eyes. “Seems likely. Rosewater, take over for Paul, Gillian, see if you can stabilize our patient in the car over there. Carlos,” she says, and his eyes snap up to look at her. “I need you to talk to him okay, try to keep him awake and responding. He could go into shock at any minute, and that’s not going to help us.”

He nods, ducking down to press his face closer to the one that he gets to wake up to every day. “Hey, baby,” he says softly, stroking TK’s forehead. “Hey, it’s me. Can you open your eyes for me? Just open your eyes for a minute, okay?”

TK moans, his eyes blinking rapidly a few times before he opens them enough for Carlos to see those green irises that he loves so much. “Carlos?” he mumbles.

“Yeah, hey, it’s me, I’m right here,” Carlos says, his voice a little unsteady as he tries to stay calm. “How are you feeling?”

“Cold,” TK mutters, his breath creating wisps of steam in the air above him.

“Any pain?” Carlos asks, his eyes shifting down to glare at the icicle for a moment.

“My head hurts,” TK admits, letting out a small gasp.

“Anywhere else?”

TK shakes his head, his eyes darting everywhere.

“That’s probably the adrenaline,” Michelle interjects. She stands up, surveying the bridge above them. “I’m worried his body heat’s going to start melting that icicle faster than we want it to. We’ve gotta get him up there.”

“I don’t think we can get him up the slope without jostling him too much, there’s too much ice,” Tim says.

Michelle turns to Owen, her face grave. “Get the ladder ready, Captain, we’re gonna have to lift him.”

With only a quick, wide-eyed glance down at his son, Owen shoots back up the hill, Judd following him. Off to the side, Carlos sees that Paul and Nancy have managed to remove the driver from the vehicle.

“Carlos?” TK says, and he quickly looks back down at his husband, running his thumbs along his cheek.

“Yeah, Ty, I’m right here,” Carlos assures him, his bottom lip wavering.

“I’m a little scared,” TK admits, his eyes glassy as he stares up at him. “It looks pretty bad, doesn’t it?”

“You’re gonna be okay, cariño,” he says, his voice hard and clear.

“You look scared,” TK tells him, raising a hand to touch Carlos’s mouth.

“I’m not scared, I promise,” Carlos lies, leaning in to press a kiss to his forehead. “I’m never scared when I’m with you.”

TK doesn’t respond. He just stares up at Carlos, eyes still unfocused, a wide smile taking over his face.

Minutes later, the team loads TK up on a stretcher with no major problems, and for one shining moment, Carlos thinks everything’s going to be fine.

He climbs up the embankment as fast as he can to meet him at the top, Michelle at his side. She’s telling him that she’s called for another medical team to come for the driver, who thankfully doesn’t appear to be in critical condition, when they hear a shout from Tim.

“Damn it,” Michelle says, running towards where TK’s stretcher is now laying on the pavement. Carlos follows, his heart back in his throat, and the sight that greets them nearly causes him to collapse.

“Tim, apply as much pressure as you can,” Michelle says, throwing her hands on TK’s abdomen, blood rushing from where the icicle has shifted. “We have to get him in the van, we’ll have a better chance of stabilizing him there.”

Carlos watches as TK’s head lists to the side, his eyes dropping closed.

“He’s crashing, let’s move people!” Michelle shouts.

There’s a mad rush all around him, but Carlos barely comprehends it. All he can do is stare at his husband, his unmoving body, the blood draining from his face while simultaneously gushing from the wound in his stomach.

He doesn’t feel the way his knees hit the pavement, or Marjan’s arms around him. He doesn’t feel the tears falling on his cheeks, or the way he starts to shake. He doesn’t even feel the cold, unfamiliar Austin air.

As TK is pulled away from him, he doesn’t feel anything at all.

❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️

TK wakes up in the hospital.

At this point, it all feels very familiar. Every hospital room seems to smell the same, sterile and uninviting. The sheets are scratchy, which coordinates nicely with the scratchy hospital gown they have him wearing. He can hear the gentle beeping from the monitor next to him, and feel the pinch of an IV in his left arm.

TK opens his eyes slowly, staring up at the ceiling as he assesses his current state. The lights are low, but it still takes him a minute to adjust, his head faintly throbbing. He recalls how much his head hurt on the scene, how his vision went blurry, and assumes he got a concussion from his fall.

He shifts slightly, gasping as the movement pulls at his midsection and an intense pain radiates throughout his entire body. The sound causes a weight against his right arm to shift, and he looks down, his eyes immediately softening at the sight before him.

Carlos is seated next to the bed, his body bent so that he can rest his head against TK’s arm, which he’s also gripping with one of his hands. His other hand is awkwardly linked with TK’s own, their fingers threaded tightly together. Carlos’s face is turned towards him, his eyes closed as he rests. TK notices how puffy his eyes are, and how his skin is more pale than usual. His heart sinks in his chest, an intense guilt masking his own pain as he stares down at the man he loves more than anything.

Before he can even think about how much pain it might cause, he lifts his left arm across his body to run his fingers through Carlos’s dark brown curls. It’s his favorite thing to do on the rare occasions where he’s the first one to wake up in the morning, and he knows his husband absolutely loves it. Sure enough, Carlos lets out a soft moan, unconsciously tilting his head towards TK��s fingers.

He can tell the minute that Carlos realizes what’s happening by the way his whole body tenses. His eyes fly open, his brown eyes wide as he sits up straight. His gaze finds TK, drinking him in, and TK can’t do anything but smile back at him, squeezing their hands together.

“Ty,” Carlos breathes, his eyes filling with tears.

“Hey, baby,” TK says, pulling gently on Carlos’s hand until he gets the hint.

His husband stands, shifting closer to the head of the bed, before bending down to press a soft kiss to his waiting lips. Carlos tries to make the kiss quick, but TK reaches up to grip the back of his neck, keeping him close.

“How long has it been?” TK asks when they separate, rubbing their noses together. At this point, it’s their traditional question when one of them is in the hospital.

“They rushed you to surgery when you first got here, which took about four hours,” Carlos explains, his voice shaking as he runs his fingers soothingly through TK’s hair. “You’ve been sleeping for about five.”

“So, still the same day?” TK confirms. It’s an odd question, but after going through one multi-day coma in his life, he’s hoping to never have to do another. Besides, he knows Carlos wouldn’t handle it well.

“Still the same day,” his husband confirms, the first sign of a smile pulling at his lips.

“That’s good.”

“Very good,” Carlos agrees, leaning in to kiss him. This one feels a little more heated than the last one. “You know how I get when I don’t get to kiss you goodnight.”

“You become the equivalent of a child who’s told he can’t have ice cream right before bed,” TK supplies, enjoying the shocked look that appears on Carlos’s face. “Or so I’m told.”

“Told?” Carlos cries. “Who told you that? Give me the traitors’ names, Tyler!”

“Just for that, I’m not going to,” he laughs, gasping for air when the movement sends a flare of pain through him.

“Are you okay?” Carlos asks, worry written clearly on his face. He reaches out, his hands fluttering around him but too afraid to touch.

“Yeah, I just,” TK grits out, holding his side. “Fuck, that does not feel good.”

It takes a few minutes of deep breathing for him to finally settle back down, reaching for Carlos’s hand when he’s sure that his grip won’t break his fingers. Carlos gingerly takes a seat next to him on the bed, running his free hand through his hair to soothe him.

TK’s just about to ask exactly what the damage is when there’s a knock on the door. They both turn to find his dad poking his head through, an apologetic smile on his face.

“Hey boys, sorry to interrupt,” he says, glancing behind him at something they can’t see. “There’s just some people here who wanted to say a quick hello.”

TK rolls his eyes, sharing a smile with Carlos. This happens every time someone from the firehouse ends up in the hospital - though to be fair, it’s usually him.

“You know you can always let them in, Dad,” he says, his fondness clear in his tone. Carlos just scoots a little closer, pressing one last kiss to his lips.

“I love you,” he mutters, his eyes shining.

“I love you, too,” TK whispers back as the door is thrown wide open and the equivalent of a clown car files into his room.

Judd and Grace lead the way, followed by Paul, Marjan, and Mateo, then Michelle, Tim, and Nancy. His dad, the last one, closes the door behind him. Strictly speaking, this is way too many visitors to have in a single room at a time, but there are nurses at every hospital who are willing to bend the rules a bit for familiar first responders, as long as they’re discreet about it.

TK looks around at them all - Grace, with her hand on Carlos’s shoulder, and Michelle at the foot of his bed, her eyes glinting with happiness; his dad standing next to her; Mateo, Marjan, and Paul all standing to his left, Paul reaching out to punch him lightly on the shoulder, a bright smile on his face.

They’re his family, all of them. And they all saved his life today.

“I, um,” he starts, his voice thick with emotion as he looks around at them all. He feels Carlos’s hand slide up his arm, his thumb gently caressing his bicep in support. He turns to look at him, noticing how Carlos still has his back to most of the room as he faces him on the bed. They share a look, just between the two of them, and Carlos nods, a tear falling down his cheek as he squeezes TK’s arm.

“I, um, I wanted to thank you all,” TK says, looking around the room again, his eyes hovering over every face that makes him feel safe and loved and whole, “for saving me today. I - we - will never be able to tell you how much it means to know that we have all of you by our side, looking out for us.”

He feels a tear fall onto his cheek, but before he can reach up to brush it away, Michelle shifts from the end of his bed, coming around the side to stand next to him. She reaches out for him and Carlos, drying his face and gripping his husband’s arm tightly.

“Don’t be silly. You boys are our family,” Michelle says, “so we’re always going to be here for you. No matter what. It’s as simple as that.”

“She’s right,” Judd pipes in, his arm around Grace. “Though, full disclosure, we are gifting you a bulk-size roll of bubble wrap this Christmas.”

“Hey now, c’mon Judd,” Paul says, his hands buried in his pockets. “You weren’t supposed to tell him.”

“Ignore Judd, y’all,” Grace adds, rolling her eyes as she pats her husband’s chest. “He doesn’t do Christmas shopping, and I have much better taste, trust me on that.”

TK huffs out a laugh, wincing at the way it pulls at his injury. No one else catches it, too busy laughing at Grace’s comment and Judd’s offended expression. He glances over at Carlos, seeing a tightness behind his eyes, and knows that his pain didn’t go completely unnoticed. TK reaches over, squeezing his thigh where it’s pressed against his own. Carlos gives him a small smile, grabbing his hand to press a kiss to his fingertips.

The tightness in his eyes doesn’t go anywhere, though, and TK’s heart caves.

❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️

The team stays until visiting hours are over, laughing and joking as they fill TK and Carlos in about the rest of the work day. It seems that much of the ice started to melt by the middle of the afternoon, making the end of the day much easier than the beginning. Finally, a nurse comes in, shocked to find so many people in one room, and tells them that visiting hours are over. One-by-one, they come over to hug TK and Carlos, Grace even pressing a kiss to each of their foreheads.

When only Carlos and his dad remain, the nurse checks his vitals, telling him that everything appears to be normal. Carlos stands by his side, hand on his shoulder, as TK honestly answers her questions about his pain levels. She helps him to adjust his position on the bed, showing Carlos how to help him so he’ll feel the least amount of pain. His husband listens closely, his face set and serious.

She leaves, and Carlos excuses himself to the bathroom, leaving him alone with his dad.

“How’re you feeling, kid?” his dad asks, sitting next to him.

“A little tender,” he admits, running his hand lightly over the thick bandage on his stomach. They’re quiet for a moment, TK biting his bottom lip. “It was pretty bad, wasn’t it?” he finally asks.

His dad looks at him, his eyes softening, before reaching out and taking his hand. “You crashed right before they got you in the ambulance. The icicle hit a pretty major blood vessel near your liver, and you lost a lot of blood when it shifted unexpectedly.”

TK is quiet, thoughts rolling through his mind. “He saw, didn’t he?” he confirms, his voice barely more than a hushed whisper.

“Yeah,” his dad admits, his tone heavy. “He wasn’t in a good place when you left, so his partner drove him here and Michelle stayed with him until I could come.” TK nods, his eyes filling with tears. “He’s gonna be okay, though, TK. You both are.”

His dad stands again, looking around the room. “I’m going to head home,” he says, reaching out to run his fingers through TK’s hair. “I know you’re in good hands for the night. I’ll come back first thing in the morning, okay?”

“Yeah,” TK says. Then, he gets an idea. “Can you help me shift a little?”

His dad smiles knowingly before reaching out again to help move him to the left side of the bed, TK breathing deeply through the pain.

Carlos finally comes out of the bathroom and his dad gives them both a hug, TK watching as he whispers something in his husband’s ear before pressing a kiss to his temple. Then, with a final wave, they’re alone again.

“Hey,” TK says, breaking the silence.

“Hey,” Carlos parrots back, his voice thin and uneven.

“Come here,” TK says, patting the now open space beside him. Carlos moves across the room, glancing down at the spot doubtfully.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Ty,” he says, his eyes full of so much pain.

“Well, I don’t want to go another minute without you laying by my side, so get your ass up here.” The hard tone of his voice leaves no room for questions, so his husband sighs, sliding next to him as gently as possible.

They lay there for a moment, just breathing together. Then, like a dam breaking, Carlos turns onto his side, placing an arm over his chest as he tucks his face into TK’s neck. In no time at all, TK feels tears soaking the collar of his gown, and his own tears finally fall at the evidence of Carlos’s silent pain.

“I’m so sorry for scaring you today, baby,” he sobs, bringing his hand up to press against the dark curls near his cheek. “I’m so sorry.”

Carlos doesn’t respond except to shake his head, his sobs continuing. TK holds him through it, his heart shattering into a million pieces in his chest. Throughout the past four year, Carlos has had a few nightmares of TK bleeding out in front of him - caused by him getting shot before they even started dating - so he knows that today had to be especially brutal for his husband.

“I know it was an accident, and that you’re going to be okay now,” Carlos finally mumbles into his neck, “but I was so fucking scared that I had lost you there for a minute. I’ve never seen Michelle so intense before, and I really thought this was it.”

“I know, baby, I know,” TK says, trailing his fingers along the back of Carlos’s neck. He digs his nails in just a bit, knowing that the feeling will help ground Carlos. Sure enough, his husband shivers against him, letting out a shaky breath. “You didn’t lose me, though. I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

“You promise?” Carlos asks weakly.

“Babe, look at me,” TK says, pulling his head back to look down at him. Carlos’s eyes are red-rimmed, his face puffy from crying so much today. He looks so small, so cut open and raw, that TK wishes he could take all of his pain away. “I promise that I am going to do everything in my power to come home to you in one piece at the end of every day, okay?”

Carlos nods, his eyes falling closed. TK stares at his long, gorgeous eyelashes now soaked with tears. Leaning forward, he presses a kiss to each eyelid, feeling the way that Carlos relaxes further into his side.

“I’m sorry that our bath plans got ruined for this evening,” he says after a few minutes, recalling their conversation from this morning.

“That’s okay,” Carlos says, his fingers lightly tracing TK’s collarbone through his hospital gown. “Once I get you home, I’m probably never going to let you leave again, so there will be plenty of time for baths.”

TK laughs, ignoring the pain when Carlos joins him. “I like the sound of that,” he admits.

Their gazes lock for a moment before Carlos presses up until their lips meet, the kiss igniting a fire inside of him from head to toe. It doesn’t matter how many times he gets to kiss Carlos, TK thinks that each one feels new and different and life-affirming, his body and soul practically singing at the chance to connect with his husband in a way that no one else can. That no one else ever will.

It’s something that he knows he’ll never get tired of for as long as he lives.

Which will be a very, very long time.

He’s sure of it.

❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️

#911giftexchange #tarlos #tarlos fic #911 lone star #tk strand #carlos reyes #I wrote a thing #charlie-bradburyss

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keanureevesisbae · 3 years

Text

The alluring charm of Henry Cavill - Chapter 7

Summary: It’s time for the final challenge of the Celebrity Project.

Henry Cavill x Adelaide Park (ofc)

Wordcount: 3.9k

Warnings: None

Masterlist // Previous chapter // Next chapter

Our final challenge is going on a survival for three days. I feel like that is something we can actually do, though I’m not entirely sure what I’m doing is right. When the first night falls, I made a fire and even suggested to Henry that we could try and catch a fish tomorrow. ‘You know how to fish?’ he asked me.

Little did he know that I have tons of tricks up my sleeve. ‘Of course,’ I told him, though I think he didn’t believe me and I can’t really blame him for that.

Weirdly enough, we fell into our trusted routines again right away. It made me realize that it doesn’t matter where we are, we can work together just fine wherever we are and we are able to make every place a home.

While he sets up the tent, I warm up in front of the fire, watching him from a distance. During the night, I curl up beside him, my limbs as cold as ice. Before I really fell asleep, I would push up his shirt and place my hand on his bare stomach, my fingers toying with the little hairs. I normally wouldn’t do this, would not be this bold and forward, but with Henry, it all feels so familiar, so safe. Like I can actually do this without being judged.

The first morning we spend together, I made us breakfast, while he folded the tent back into the small bag. It’s nice being with him out in the open like this. Him being surrounded by nature, makes him look so handsome, so normal and approachable.

We run through the woods, we have to do ridiculous things again, that involves trusting one another, yet again eat disgusting things, but I don’t even think about winning that prize. Now, that was never my initial goal to win the prize, but I never thought that I would gain another close friend, someone who is definitely more than that. I like being around Henry, being able to hold his hand when I’m blindfolded. I trust him so much, here and back at our cottage and I know that even outside of the Celebrity Project, I’m going to trust him with my life.

It’s weird being around someone like him. Being around someone that brings out this side of me. Around my parents I’m myself, but I’m the self who I taught me to be. My parents didn’t need a smart ass on top of their worries. My parents needed someone responsible, that would help them out and just do what she is expected to do, though it’s not ideal.

Hiding my feelings became my normal and despite earning a ton of money and not having to worry about anything anymore in life, that normal never changed. I never opened up, I never was myself and I hid everything about myself.

But now I have met this amazing human being, told him about my true self and I know he is going to stay. It’s quite relieving though, not having to bottle up my emotions.

However, after all we were able to handle during this camping trip this far, Henry is now crouched down in front of me, as tears fill my eyes. ‘Does this hurt?’ he asks, after carefully removing my shoe and trying to move my foot, to see what movement is possible and what not.

It feels like he is stabbing a knife through my ankle. ‘Stop, that hurts,’ I whine. As the big fat idiot I am, I misstepped and with the way it swells, I feel like I bruised my ankle pretty bad, especially since it’s swelling already.

‘Stay here,’ Henry says, rummaging through his bag. He hands me a painkiller with a bottle of water, before pulling out a shirt. ‘I’ll be right back.’

‘Where are you going?’ I ask. ‘You promised me that you stay here with me.’

He smiles, before placing his hand on the side of my thigh. ‘I’m just going to the river, so I can improvise an icepack with this shirt, Addy. I’ll be right back.’ He can’t help but chuckle. ‘You can be a big baby, you know that?’

I pout. ‘I know, I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be, I actually think it’s quite adorable. I’ll be right back.’ His large hand squeezes my upper leg, before he stands up and walks to the little lake, to drench his shirt. I swallow down the painkiller and I pull up my better leg, before I place my head on my knee. I let out a sniffle.

He sits down with me again, carefully taking off my sock and placing the cold wet shirt on my ankle, causing me to shiver. ‘I’m sorry,’ I whisper again.

Henry simply shakes his head, placing a hand on my calf, soothing me a bit. ‘No need to, Addy. Please, don’t feel sorry.’

‘Then what should I do?’

‘Stop crying when there is absolutely no need to,’ he smiles, laying a hand on my cheek, wiping away my tears. ‘Sweet Addy, listen to me. I don’t care about winning. I only care about you and your wellbeing. And right now, I’m going to take care of your ankle and hopefully in twenty minutes you can smile again.’

He grabs the first aid kit out of his backpack and bandages my ankle. When it’s done, he helps me to put on my sock and shoe again. Henry pulls me up, but I can’t seem to distribute my body weight onto both of my feet.

‘Come here,’ Henry says, pulling me into a hug. I place my chin on his chest and smile. I feel so safe, how does he manages to make me feel like this? ‘You hop on my back,’ he says with a smile. ‘So we can continue.’

‘We’re adults,’ I say frowning.

‘I am fully aware of that,’ he chuckles, ‘but that doesn’t mean that you can’t hop on my back.’

I roll my eyes, but I jump on his back anyways. Wrapping my arms and legs around him, I lean with my head against his. He continues to walk, trying to find a spot where we can sleep for the night. I push my nose against his cheek, feeling his five ‘o clock shadow against my skin. ‘Thank you.’

‘You don’t have to thank me every single time I do something for you,’ he says. ‘I like doing things for you.’ He looks to the side and smiles. ‘I like you.’

‘I like you too, Henry Cavill.’

When we finally found a spot, he sets up the tent again, while I have a thicker branch, strapping a knife on it with some rope. I hop around the water, looking right into it. Henry walks over to me and asks: ‘You think that works?’

‘Of course I think that works,’ I say to him.

He sits on a rock, leaning his elbows on his knees, a smug grin on his face. ‘Sorry to break your bubble, Addy, but I don’t think it’s going to work.’

I bite my lip, as I stare into the water again, before sticking the brach and the knife right into it. I hold it up and turn around. ‘Henry, look, look!’ I exclaim.

‘That actually worked?’ he asks, totally flabbergasted.

‘Of course that worked.’ I cock an eyebrow, before I pout. ‘Why did you underestimate me?’

Henry starts to stammer. ‘I… No… I didn’t… Sorry… But… Why are you laughing?’

‘I understand,’ I chuckle. ‘When I was younger, my dad could actually catch a fish with his bare hands. I could never, but we also couldn’t afford a rod. So I did this instead.’

He stands up and holds out his hand. ‘Come on, let’s get dinner started. You know how to prepare a fish?’

‘I do,’ I say, as I limp back to the tent. Henry starts the fire, as I remove its organs and clean the fish with water. When I look up, I see he hasn’t done anything. ‘Henry William Dalgliesh Cavill, you are useless.’ I wipe my hands clean.

‘I am useless?’ he repeats.

‘Don’t act surprised. You haven’t even started the fire, you stupid idiot.’

‘You call me a stupid idiot?’ He walks over to me and why do I feel like that can’t mean any good? I crawl back a little, a mischievous smile on my face. ‘I can’t believe,’ he says, crouching down in front of me, ‘that you called me a stupid idiot.’

‘Henry, what are you doing?’ I ask, leaning back on my hands.

He licks his lips, before he leans over to grab my wrists, causing me to fall back. I let out a squeal, almost thinking that I’m going to fall flat on the back of my head. However, he is always faster and I should’ve known that he would take good care of me. He places his hand on the back of my head, softly guiding me into the grass.

‘Henry,’ I whisper, as he leans on his underarm right next to me, almost as a warning for him not to do something he is going to regret. There are camera’s everywhere.

He places his hand in my waist, after he nodded at me and starts to tickle me.

‘No, Henry,’ I scream, ‘stop it now.’

‘What did you call me?’ he chuckles. ‘I think you called me a stupid idiot. Not just stupid, not just an idiot, but a stupid idiot.’

I try to wiggle out of his grasp, but obviously I fail miserable. ‘You are a stupid idiot,’ I say, tears running over my cheeks from laughing this hard. ‘Stop!’

‘Only if you take it back.’

I try to push his hand away, but yet again, I’m not strong enough. ‘Okay, okay, you are not an idiot.’

Henry halts his tickles, but he is still holding his hand where it was. ‘Then what am I?’ he cockily asks.

I smile, place my hand on his cheek and whisper: ‘You are amazing, Henry. I’m so lucky that you are my partner. I wouldn’t have wanted any other way.’

‘That’s quite romantic, miss Park,’ he chuckles. ‘But you smell like fish and I can’t focus on your lovely words anymore.’

‘Shut up.’ I push my hands in his face and after I use all of my body, he tumbles back, but pulls me with him. ‘You should be thankful that I know exactly how to prepare fish. Otherwise you would be starving.’

He places his hand on the small of my back and says: ‘Go wash your hands, so we can eat.’

◎ ◎ ◎

I have this nightmare a few times every year, where my mom doesn’t survive her car accident and there is nothing I can do to help her. I’m glued to the pavement, unable to catch my mom as she rolls over the car and drops to the ground. I gasp for air when I wake up the next morning, rubbing my eyes. I’m still underneath the sleeping bag, securely pressed against his warm body. I place my chin on his chest, looking at his beautiful face. He is still asleep and it’s actually one of the first and only times I see him sleeping. He is always awake when I wake up. I push my hand underneath his shirt, as I prop up on my elbow. My hand raises up from his happy trail to his chest, placing it on his heart.

The one thing that I like about this tent, is that there are no camera’s. No eyes that watch me. That watch us. I lean in to give him a kiss on his cheek, only for him to turn his face and kiss me right back.

‘You were awake?’

Henry nods. ‘I was, from the second you woke up. You okay, Addy? It seemed like you woke up a bit abrupt.’

‘Just a bit of a nightmare,’ I confess. ‘I have it from time to time. It’s no big deal.’

‘Are you sure?’ he asks.

‘I am.’

He pushes back a strand of hair, letting his thumb linger on my cheek. Henry smiles and I blush. ‘You’re so beautiful,’ he whispers.

‘I look like shit.’

‘Shut up,’ he says. ‘You are beautiful. I like your puffy face in the morning, I like it when you’re hair is all over the place. I like your morning breath.’ He pulls me closer to him and gives me a kiss. ‘Waking up to you is the best thing that has happened to me in a long time.’

‘Shut up.’

He sits up straight and pulls me with him, even grabbing my leg to pull me on his lap. I shiver when the sleeping bag isn’t covering my shoulders anymore and he pulls it up to keep me warm. ‘You think the camera guys are still asleep?’ I ask him.

‘I think so,’ he says. ‘I can’t wait for this to be over. No camera’s, just you and me. Do you have to go to Switzerland right away?’

I shake my head. ‘I was planning on going to LA for a few months, while the movie preparations are getting finalized. Why?’

‘Just wondered if we could spend more time together.’

‘Of course,’ I quickly say, slipping my hands underneath his shirt again. ‘I would love to.’

Henry smiles, bumping his nose against mine.

‘But I was planning on visiting my parents,’ I say. ‘You could come with me if you want, but I get that you think it’s a bit too soon. You know, I don’t actually know about it.’

‘What are your hesitations?’

I sigh deeply. ‘It’s just that I’m a bit scared. My parents were my only friends growing up, the only ones I can count on. It’s not that I’m embarrassed of you, it’s that I’m not used to bringing people home with me. I don’t know if it’s too soon and maybe you think it’s too soon. I mean, I totally get if you’re not ready and—’

‘Okay, wait a minute,’ he says. ‘I’m ready, but only if you are. I would love to see where you grew up, who you grew up with and your relationship with your parents. I want to get to know you even better, at your pace.’

I shake my head, as a chuckle of disbelieve leaves my lips. ‘You are too good to be true, did you know that?’

‘I’m not,’ he whispers, placing a kiss on my lips. ‘What’s with the frown, Addy?’ he asks me, once he looks in my eyes again. ‘Are you okay?’

‘I’m good, I’m good,’ I say. ‘It’s just that I’m infatuated by you, Henry Cavill and it’s scaring me.’

He looks genuinely confused. ‘Why is it scaring you?’ His voice is so soft, so vulnerable.

‘I have never been in love before,’ I say. ‘Have you?’

He nods. ‘I have.’

‘What is that like?’

‘Scary,’ he admits, ‘because you do things that you never expected you would do. You opened up, I showed the entire world that I’m a big softie. And that can be scary, but what I always remember, is that it’s all worth it, because you and I are in this together and in it for the long run.’

‘How romantic,’ I chuckle. ‘It helps to know that you are scared as well.’ I lean in to give him a quick kiss, before I tell him that we should get ready.

The two of us get ready, but I can’t help but to look over my shoulder every now and then. When I first starred on Remembering High School, I had a crush on Jeff, the guy who played Tom, my love interest. However I never pursued any further. I was scared and back then I let fear stop me. Now I’m scared too, but I’m not letting it stop me.

At least I’m trying not to let it stop me. I shouldn’t be thinking about all the possible things that could go wrong, because it is not going to go wrong, right? I clench my jaw when I look at him again.

‘Everything okay?’ he asks me.

‘Just my foot,’ I lie. I sit up straight and smile.

‘You hop on my back in a second,’ he tells me.

Once I’m securely seated on his back, I wrap my arms around his neck.

‘Maybe, Addy, he says, ‘you persuaded me into thinking about auditioning as your love interest.’

‘Really?’ I ask him. ‘Why?’

‘So I don’t have to be away from you again. I don’t ever want to stay away from you and filming with you means being with you.’

I don’t mean to do it, but I simply press a kiss on his cheek. ‘I would love that too.’

We have one challenge and that is to reach the top of the hill, answering questions along the way, hoping that gives us the right clue. I moved from his back, to his neck, sitting on his shoulders as if I’m a child. I run my fingers through his soft curls, leaning forward every now and then, to send him a smile. ‘I like you,’ I say, when he takes a right on the hill again.

‘I like you a lot too, my sweetheart.’ He says it so carelessly, but little does he know that it goes straight to my heart. I never had someone outside my parents who called me nicknames, to show me that they cared about me. Sure, Angela Bassett called me ‘darling’ every now and then and Keanu Reeves called me ‘cheeky cheeks’, but this… This is so sweet…

‘My sweetheart?’ I ask him. ‘How about you are my prince?’

‘Then you should be my queen.’

I can’t help but laugh. ‘But if I am your queen, then you should be my king. Otherwise it’s not fair.’

‘Your king.’ Henry smiles. He turns his head and kisses the inside of my leg. ‘I like the sound of that.’

I’m nearly vomiting, because that kiss sends tingles down my entire body.

‘I think we’re there,’ he says, snapping me out of my thoughts.

The rest of the duos are already there and we have the marvelous task to go down on the zipline, while answering stupid questions. I step back, first one step, then two and all of the sudden I’m a meter or two behind the rest. Is this program desperately trying to make me shit my pants? Was swimming not enough? Was almost being killed in the haunted house not enough?

‘Come here,’ Henry says, holding my hand, preventing me from going any further away. ‘You’ll do fine.’

‘I might be scared of the dark, I might faint when I have to swim, but heights really is my top one fear.’

‘You’ll do fine. How about I go first? It’s only five minutes.’

‘Five minutes?’ I ask, panic gushing through every vessel. ‘Five minutes is two and a half songs, Henry. That’s too much.’

He smiles. Not like he is laughing at me, but more like he is trying to reassure me. ‘I know it is. Promise me, you can watch through the monitor and you’ll be fine.’

Those five minutes were the most straining of my life, even to watch. I put in my in ear and hear Henry’s voice the first thing. ‘You gonna be okay, Addy. It was not that scary.’

‘Yeah, yeah,’ I say, as the man is strapping me in. ‘Is this safe?’ I ask him.

‘Bella, bella,’ the man chuckles, ‘it is safe, promise. Beside, you my favorite actress, I wouldn’t let you die.’

‘Is that supposed to calm me down?’ I ask him, because it is not working. My hands start to shake even more.

‘You are treasure to everyone in Italy,’ he continues. ‘I love your movies, all my friends love your movies.’

I smile. ‘I’m scared,’ I admit.

‘I know, but your man also did it and you seem much tougher than him.’

I place my hand in front of my lips, but I burst out in laughter. ‘I am tougher than my man.’

‘You know I can hear you two?’ Henry says in my ear. ‘But he is right, you are the toughest.’

I get ready and my hands shake as I’m on my stomach in the harness. ‘Are you girls okay?’ Jennifer asks both me and Hailey.

‘Yes ma’am,’ Hailey says.

‘I think I am,’ I answer.

‘Remember,’ we all hear in our in ears. ‘Just a few questions.’

My whistle tone like scream leaves my lips when I’m dropped into the air in my harness. My eyes are closed, when I hear in the question: ‘Okay ladies, ready for the first question?’

‘No!’ I scream, at the same moment as Jennifer and Hailey scream an excited yes.

‘Question one: Which movie did Steven Spielberg win his first Oscar for Best Director?’

‘Schindler’s List,’ I mumble, but it’s loud enough for the others to hear it.

‘That is correct! Question two: What is the capitol of Belarus?’

‘Minsk!’ I scream. ‘Is it over yet?’

I hear Jennifer laugh. ‘Open your eyes, honey,’ she tells me.

‘No, I don’t want to see it.’

Henry chuckles in my in ear. ‘You’re doing great, Addy.’

There is a little bump in the zip line and I think I’m screaming my lungs out. I kind of black out, only being able to answer two more questions, while adrenaline junkies Hailey and Jennifer continue to answer questions and enjoy the few. I know we lost, but all I care about now is not dying.

We come to a pretty abrupt stop and I hear some voices, however I’m not ready to open my eyes. What if I’m still high up there? What if there is something wrong with my zip line? Oh no, I’m gonna die!

‘You can open your eyes again, Addy,’ I hear Henry say and I carefully open one of my eyes. I see it’s him and he smiles at me. ‘You did great.’

‘I’m not dead?’ I ask him, looking around me.

‘You’re not dead, as if I would allow that.’ He helps me out of the harness and I cling onto him like a monkey, hugging him tightly.

‘I’m so sorry I didn’t do great. I know for a fact that we didn’t win. I’m so sorry.’

‘Don’t apologize,’ he says. ‘Besides, you answered four questions. If someone was not doing great, it was me, being distracting by nature.’

I look in his eyes. His face is close, his hot breath against my lips… I shouldn’t do it, I think to myself. I shouldn’t kiss him.

However, when I see him biting his bottom lip, looking more handsome than ever. I can barely contain myself.

I place my hands on his cheeks, my thumbs softly touching his lips.

‘What are you thinking, Addy?’ he asks me with a smile.

I sigh deeply. What does it matter if the world knows that we are in love? Because we are right? We are in love… We had near kiss experiences during this survival trip, he kissed my leg, I kissed his cheek. I lean in, pressing my lips against his, before we open our mouths simultaneously.

Henry wraps his arms even tighter around me, as he deepens the kiss.

‘I am so sorry, Henry,’ I whisper against his hot lips, as mine are on fire.

‘No, don’t you ever be sorry about kissing me.’ He smiles, squeezing my leg. ‘Now come back here, kiss me again.’

◎ ◎ ◎

#henry cavill #henry cavill x ofc #henry cavill x oc #henry cavill x asian ofc #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fandom #henry cavill x adelaide park #adelaide park #asian ofc #the alluring charm of henry cavill

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twoidiotwriters1 · 3 years

Text

Pure Blood 40 (Sirius Black x F!Oc)

Warnings: Babies <3

Words: 2,644

Masterlist

Chapter 39 / Chapter 41

"Do you think he can hear us?" Sirius asks me, kneeling next to the couch. He puts a hand on my belly.

“Maybe," I lift my shirt a little.

"Hi baby,” He whispers with his lips close to my skin, tickling me. "I want to meet you.”

"We want,” I correct him.

"We want to meet you, and to know what name we’re going to give you, because we’re panicking.”

I roll my eyes. Since we knew it would be a boy we have put three options on the table. No matter how many times we vote, we can never decide, so Sirius thinks we’ll know when he's born.

“Your mother doesn't want to call you Perseus. I say it’d be nice, I could call you both Percy.”

“And I say that he’s going to confuse us. I like Leo.”

"We're going to win,” He whispers again, this time he receives an answer, the baby kicks where Sirius' hand is. "Ha! He is on my side!”

I laugh when I see his big smile, I put my hand on his.

"Did you ever imagine yourself in this place, Sirius?"

"With you or in general?"

“Both," He observes me.

“I never thought I was the type to get married and have children. When I met James and he told me what he longed for the most, I was sure that I would not go through the same thing. I'd be the funny uncle, but,” He grimaces.

"What?"

“You'll call me corny, but, before you know, being together, I could imagine it. You and me together with our little family. You were always the reason I would yearn for more,” He smiles.

"You're corny" I say with a hoarse voice making him laugh. He kisses my forehead and then returns to my belly.

"Don't worry, little Percy. Your mom doesn't cry easily, it's the hormones. She's fine,” Another kick. "And you shouldn't worry either, your name will be Perseus, maybe we’ll call your brother Leo.”

"Brother?" I interrupt him.

"Oh, come on. Being an only child must be boring. James always says so, we must give him a brother or sister…”

"And you’ll carry it in your womb for nine months this time?" I raise my eyebrow.

"Hey! You know that if I could, I would. I've been a great help, love.”

In that I cannot complain, Sirius has been very attentive in all my whims during pregnancy.

“We'll talk about a brother later, first we make sure this one comes out alright.”

“I take it as a yes. I'll remind you how fun it is to make one,” He winks at me.

I laugh out loud.

"I don't need to remember.”

***

August 18, 1980

"He has Sirius's eyes," says James smiling. In his arms he has little Perseus. "If I didn't have a son, I could say he's the prettiest baby I've ever seen," He jokes

"You can say it, neither Harry nor Lily are here,” says Sirius sitting next to me.

"I can't betray my son, Padfoot,” He looks back at the baby, who’s also watching him closely. "I already have the perfect nickname for him: Paddie."

"Oh no," I complain.

They both laugh.

“I’m very proud of both. They’ll be the second best family,” He tells us. The baby begins to move in his arms.

"Percy doesn't agree with that," Sirius says taking it carefully. When he sits back down, the baby is still uncomfortable. "I think he wants his mother…”

I hold him against my chest and he finally relaxes.

"I hope I don't have to fight for your attention like I did with Atlas when we first met."

"Sirius, he’s your son.”

"With all the more reason I say it,” He jokes and kisses my forehead. I shake my head.

"Anyway, tell James," I remind him.

"Oh yeah!" He look at his friend with a huge smile. "Persephone and I wanted to ask you and Lily if you would like to be his godparents?”

"What!?"

"Why are you so surprised?" I ask him.

"I thought you would ask Remus!”

"No, he’ll be for the next one,” says Sirius. I hit his leg.

"Stop saying we'll have another one!”

“So what do you say, Prongs? We’re Harry's godparents. Sounds like a good deal?”

“But it won't bother Remus? He has done more than I have for you…”

"We already talked to him, we made another deal,” I laugh, accommodating the baby. “We made a small arrangement to the name of Perseus.”

Sirius smiles.

“Perseus John Black-Singh. Sounds great, don't you think?" He says proudly.

James looks at us in surprise.

“Now I’m jealous. For your second son I want him to have a James somewhere,” He points out.

"Your son already has a James,” I frown. "No wait— Stop saying that we’ll have another child!"

“It’s a deal, James.”

"Sirius!"

***

"He's so small," Sirius whispers.

"And delicate…”

"I'm not going to drop it, Percy,” He frowns. "I won't drop Percy, Percy.”

"I told you it’d be complicated.”

“I'll have to think of new nicknames."

“Yes, of course…”

The baby squirms in his daddy's arms and babbles, leaving a trail of drool. We both laugh. His gray eyes watch us with fascination.

“I can't believe this little one is ours. I can't wait to teach him magic, or to play Quidditch…”

"You didn't even play at school!”

"But if he wants, we can try.”

“Fair enough. Come on, it's time to sleep,” The three of us went into the baby's room.

"Can I stay to hear the story?" Sirius asks smiling.

"Sure.”

I take out one of the books that Remus gave Percy. Sirius sits in the recliner and I sit in another. The baby squeals with happiness when he recognizes the colors in the book: The Tales of Beedle the Bard.

“Someone's excited…”

I start to read a story, but I don't get very far. I look up and they’re both sound asleep. Percy has his head resting on Sirius's chest and they both have their mouths open. I laugh at the tender image.

I spend a few minutes looking at them, analyzing the resemblance. Perseus has Sirius's eyes, his lips, and I'm afraid to say the same personality. When he smiles, it's like seeing my best friend again when we were little. I can't help but think that I would do anything to see that smile on both of them always.

Although our baby looks a lot like Sirius, he also has a lot of me. And what excites me the most is that he’s a mama’s boy. Every morning when I go for him, he welcomes me with a joy so pure that it melts my heart.

I put the book on the shelf and slowly pick up the baby to put it in his crib.

"My baby," Sirius babbles at the movement, sighs and stretches his body. After making sure that Percy won't wake up again, I go back to the other boy and stroke his hair. He rests his forehead on my stomach and wraps his arms around my waist. "It was a good story.”

“It fulfilled his objective. Come on, it's also time for you to sleep,” I take his hand and guide him to our room.

After doing the whole routine, we both go to bed. I hug Sirius around his waist and hide my face against his neck.

"I've never felt so tired in all my life,” I laugh.

Since Percy was born, every night I feel all the hard work that is taking care of a baby.

“Same," He whispers.

Sirius stirred and now he's the one hiding his face on my neck, but he decides to leave little kisses on it. I chuckle.

"You don't seem very tired, darling."

"I left a little energy for my girl…”

"Well, your girl doesn't have any energy and tomorrow we have to go to Remus's house early.”

Sirius growls.

“What if we just leave Percy with him? You and I could have the apartment to ourselves and have a lot of fun…” He says kissing my cheek and then reaching my lips.

"It sounds quite tempting though," I gasp as his hand goes up my shirt. "We can’t, Sirius.”

“We can, you just have to—”

A cry interrupts him. I laugh when he growls again.

"Just what, Sirius?"

"Forget it. I lost it,” I laugh out loud. “Oh, don't get ahead of yourself, precious. I'm not done with you.”

"Good luck waking me up, darling."

He knows this battle is lost. When I fall asleep, it’s very difficult for him to wake me up in a good mood and he knows it.

"Now, now, Perseus. Dad is on his way,” He announces himself, leaving the room.

***

"One, twins, four..." I point to each baby sitting on the blanket on the grass. I frown. "Hey! Mine is missing, Sirius! "

“I don’t have him," He says, going out into the garden.

"Where is Perseus?"

"I thought they were all here!”

"Except for him,” I get up looking everywhere.

"We found the little runaway,” says Remus laughing with the baby in his arms. I feel my soul return to my body. "I almost saw him running towards the gate," He reports, handing it to me.

"You mustn’t go alone, Perseus!” I scold him. He stops laughing and then pouts.

"Mum?"

"Your mother is right. Next time, take Harry too,” says Sirius and I hit him on the arm.

"I can't handle two children at the same time," I complain, taking my son with the others.

"Harry, no!" screams Lily lifting her son off the ground where there are several plants.

"Oh, our little ones are already showing signs of being geniuses of mischief," says James putting a hand on his chest.

"Aunti, Phoney. Your baby is naughty,”Atlas informs me.

“I already noticed. Could you keep an eye on him? He’s still very small and can hurt himself.”

“Okay," Atlas nods and sits next to Perseus and then takes his small hand. I laugh at his actions.

"It's time to eat," says Apollo. "Atlas, go clean yourself.”

"But I must take care of Perseus!”

I look up at my brother.

"He's being a good cousin,” He smiles at me.

"Your aunt must also go home,” Atlas nods and obeys his father. I take the baby, but Apollo takes it from me.

"Hey!" I complain.

“You took my son from me when he was born. Now we are even.”

"Apo!" Percy laughs.

I roll my eyes.

"It's good you have two more,” I tease taking who I think is Hades, who at first freaks out, but when he sees me he smiles. I kissed his plump cheek.

“Phoney!" says his brother not far from us.

"But it isn’t easy, being the favorite aunt, huh?" Apollo scoffs, walking away with my son.

I frown and watch the two children trying to get my attention.

"Oh no,” I say when I see little Harry wanting to follow the other two. He squirms in his mother's arms trying to get down.

"No, honey, it's time to eat," says Lily.

"It's baby chaos!" I pout.

"I got you,” says Remus taking Hercules in his arms. I get up with Hades. “And then you tell me that I should have one— I can't imagine another baby right now!”

After the delicious meal, we all sat in the living room. The twins are asleep in his room, while Atlas, Harry and Perseus still have a lot of energy. The older one is explaining to the other two how they can make a tower out of their favorite blocks. Thanks to Merlin, Atlas is willing to share with his cousins.

"It's amazing how much Perseus looks like you,” says Apollo looking at me. "It's a copy.”

"I see more of Sirius in him,” I add laughing.

"You have to admit that Perseus makes the same face as you when something doesn't go as planned," says Jane.

"Oh yeah!" Remus points out. “When I picked him up he wrinkled his nose and, oh, merlin! It's the same!”

"I don't think that’s funny," I complain.

"Harry, no!” James says when his baby throws one of the blocks.

"He doesn't like that color either," Atlas reports smiling.

Percy and Harry laugh and they both take other blocks and throw them.

"I don't want to imagine what they'll be like when they grow up," says Lily, taking another block from Harry.

"Geniuses, I already said it," repeats James.

"It's good to see so many happy babies," says Apollo. "It's been a long time since I saw a big and happy family,” We both share a look. "I remember the mansion, full of laughter…”

"Although it was easier back then, I didn't have to pick up the mess!” I add making him laugh.

Apollo looks at his wife and then at the others.

“Believe it or not, when we were little, Singh Manor was child chaos. Isis and Balder were the ones who always broke things, Persephone would run after them imitating each evil and creating more disaster, I’d chased her so that at least she wouldn't get hurt, while Juno scold us all…”

"Even Dad was an accomplice on some occasions," I add, sighing. "I miss that."

I feel Sirius's hand on mine.

"The memories will stay with you,” says Jane. "We know that your families weren't easy at all, but those that you’re forming now will not suffer the same.”

“Whatever happens,” Apollo continues, “you can count on us, guys. You won’t be alone, and if necessary, we will take care of your children."

I lean back in my chair with a sigh.

"Mom?," says Percy, interrupting the silence. He moves a little to look for me.

"Here I am, baby," He sees me and smiles, then continues playing.

"It always happens," Sirius jokes. "Every time he loses sight of her when we're inside, he looks for her everywhere."

“Awww," They all say at the same time.

"Yes, very cute, but sometimes he starts crying very hard,” I add.

“Mommy’s little boy without a doubt,” We all look at the babies, oblivious to all the evil and chaos in the world.

I wish this could stay that way forever.

***

"I don't understand what's wrong," I complain trying to lull Perseus who hasn't stopped crying. "Sirius, I’ve tried everything!” I say about to cry myself.

"I don't know what he has either," He answers overwhelmed. “Maybe he's scared by the Halloween decorations. In the morning walk he was calm, maybe he saw something that scared him…”

"I don’t know. I'll call Jenna, maybe she can help…”

I hand over the baby and go to the phone, but it rings first.

"Hello?"

"Please tell me you have something to control colic for Harry?”

"What?" I say trying to listen to Lily between Percy's cries.

“I don't know who else to ask! Harry has been uncomfortable all day…” She says in distress.

"Percy too, he hasn't stopped crying, I was about to talk to Jenna—”

"When you have an answer, please ask her what I can give Harry?”

"Sure, don't worry. I’ll stop by your house later…”

“Thanks."

I hang up the phone, I decide it's better to go straight to the hospital with Jenna. If she has any medicine, I'll give it to Lily.

I tell Sirius my plan and get ready to go out, I don't want the two babies to suffer more from whatever is happening to them.

Taglist:

@avipshamitra @auroraawrites @findzelda @lizlil @siriusmuch @chloe-geoghegan1 @reverse-hxlland @may-rapp @the-specific-oceans @eveft @secret-obsessions @theeicedamericano @xkonpinkx @inkandpen22 @just-here-to-escape-from-reality

@littledeadgirlwalking

@yunloyal

@bloodorangemoonlight

#Pure Blood #Sirius Black #sirius black x reader #Persephone Singh #James Potter #Remus lupin #Lily Potter #Persephone Singh-Black #Regulus Black #Harry Potter #Perseus Black-Singh #harry potter fanfiction #twoidiots writing

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myhauntedsalem · 3 years

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19 Parents Share What Their Kid Remembered About Their ‘Last’ Life

1. He showed us his grave

When my brother was about 2 or 3 he told us his name used to be Austin. One day we were picnicking right along side a cemetery, when my brother took off running towards the gravestones, my dad and I followed him and found him touching a large headstone that simply read “Here Lies Austin” no name, no date. My brother did not learn to read until he was 6 and this headstone wasn’t even right out visible from where we were, yet he ran right to it

2. We don’t watch firefighter things

my son told me a few months ago he “used to be a firefighter, and we got called to a fire. There wasn’t any family inside the house, so we just put the fire out. Then the fire truck caught on fire and I died”. A few nights later, he elaborated he was taken to a hospital, where he died. We don’t watch firefighter things.

3. Her “other” mother’s name was Sally

I was talking to my four year old when she began to freak me out. She was telling me a story about her “other mother” and that she “died a long time ago on a Thursday.” I tried to brush it off, you know, whatever, shes a kid, they have wild imaginations… but then she started to go further into detail about the death of her “other mother,” whose name was apparently Sally. She has never met anyone named Sally, and I can’t recall any shows on TV she watches where “Sally” is a character. She told me that she was playing with her father’s gun that she found and accidentally shot and killed Sally while she was walking upstairs. It’s pretty weird. There are no guns in this house, I haven’t even really told her what guns are all about and how they can hurt or kill someone, shes only four! I think I am beginning to understand now why when I try to tell her when someone dies, they go away forever, she tells me that, that is not true. “We come back, mommy!” I’m only 23, I had my daughter very young and despite not being prepared, I don’t think I could have ever prepared for a conversation like that!

4. “When she lived before she was born”

My daughter did the same thing at the same age. She told me about her life “when she lived before she was born” and described herself as a woman with long hair who lived in an apartment with a long flight of stairs outside of it. She drove a VW Bug and wore long skirts. She then told me that she fell down the stairs and died. Her stories were startlingly vivid and always consistent. Quite spooky. She is now 19 and doesnt remember it. My advice would be write down everything your daughter tells you on the subject. Everything! Record her stories if you can.

5. Roanoke?

I would tell my older sister about my death. I told her my husband was captured and fire was everywhere. I took my young son and ran. I told her my son couldn’t run fast enough. I knew we would get killed and I had my husbands knife on me, I wanted to leave a clue. I wrote in capitals “CROATOAN” I told her we were caught and how my son was killed before I was killed. I told her how I was stabbed in the stomach with a knife. Then, I went about playing with dolls. I can still picture the scene and my son to this day.

6. “She used to come visit me”

my son says he remember his great grandmother (my grandmother) and can describe her in perfect detail (how she looks, how she acted, even what brand of cigarettes she smoked) , although she died 11 days before he was born. He says that she used to come visit him in his dreams.

7. Conchon

Apparently beginning around the time my friend could form sentences until he was little more than 2, he would go on and on about how he was a Native American named Conchon and that after his wife and son got sick and died, he moved to a mountain to live by himself with his horse. He died of a broken neck when he fell into a ravine.

8. “My real mom and dad were killed when the bad men came.”

when I was 2 or 3 I was talking to my grandmother and told her that my mom and dad weren’t my real mom and dad. My grandmother, knowing this wasn’t true, said they were. I calmly explained that no, my real mom and dad were killed when the bad men came. I had lived because my mom hid me behind a rock. I then went on to describe white men with guns and us “dark” people with long hair. When I was done, I went back to eating my ice cream.

9. Jesus

My cousin, approximately 3 years old and riding in the car with my mum and dad, pointed out a random house that they went past and declared “I died there”.

10. Included because, WHAT?

I did something sort of similar I guess. When I was about 3 my mum and I were driving over a bridge on which there’d recently been a major accident that resulted in a car bursting into flames and the driver dying. Anyway, I asked my mum who the man in the front seat was and when she told me to describe him I said, “Well he’s on fire and he keeps looking back at me.”

11. I drowned

My mother told me about a story I told her when I was 2 or 3. I told her she was the best mommy I ever had, to which she replied, “I’m the only mommy you’ve ever had.” “nu-uh, I had another mommy.” I said that my older sister and I went out to a pond in the woods behind my house. Around the pond, all of the trees were the same type: skinny with white paper-like bark. (I had never seen a poplar tree before in this life.) We put some logs together to make a raft, and put it into the water to play boat captain and climbed aboard. The raft fell apart, and I didn’t know how to swim. I tried to grab a log, but my hand slipped off. I could see my sister freaking out from underwater. I drowned.

12. My war memories

one of 6 hopping out of a helicopter into a field, it’s hot as shit, humid, daytime, two house/buildings smoking and heavily burning straight in front of me (to the side of the chopper), and there’s firing from the woods and field to my right. It’s chaotic a noisy, lots of firing and helicopters, my guys are firing back crouched next to the back building, one guy runs out of the other building with a kid he pushes forward and yells at to run, the kid gets shot from out of nowhere, and drops. I see a few of my guys advancing from another chopper behind me duck down in the grass as their chopper leaves, I crouch in tall grass about 10 feet from my chopper, fire my rifle twice from just above the grass line, and my chopper starts to take off, and is taking fire. I get up to move forward, panicky, and am shot dead – I feel a hard thunk, see part my chest explode, fall forward go black, and zoom out above my body. I also drew this later (still have pics, mom saved them). To me, it’s clear as day, still. Mom said some of my first chatter was about “heavy fire” “zip em boys” (don’t know what that means) and I would ask “Where are the hueys?” I was born in the early 70s, and my family was NOT military (very anti, actually). I err on the side of thinking it’s media (news footage?) I absorbed at some point from the Viet Nam war, but I also wonder if it’s not a past-life dream.

13. “That’s why I don’t like water now”

When my kid was 4, we were watching a docu on the Titanic. The scene was a picture of the schematics of the boiler room and the camera panned from left to right over the plans. He pointed at the tv and said, “That’s wrong. The boilers were on the Other side. And I was right here.” And he pointed to a small space in the boiler room. “That’s where I was. And that’s why I don’t like water now.”

14. My family’s farm, burning

When I was younger I would have dreams of living in colonial american. I remember bits very vividly and only when I was older did I realize what they were about and how accurate they were. Most of the dreams consisted of me being in my late teen years and centered around my family’s farm being set on fire during the night. I never dreamed past that night, nothing about the aftermath of the fire, and I haven’t had one in years.

15. “Nobody scroofs me there”

Getting my two and a half year old daughter out of the bath one night, my wife and I were briefing her on how important it was she kept her privates clean. She casually replied “Oh, nobody ‘scroofs’ me there. They tried one night. They kicked the door in and tried but I fought back. I died and now I’m here.” She said this like it was nothing. My wife and I were catatonic.

16. Nope

“Before I was born here, I had a sister, right? Her and my other Mom are so old now. They were ok when the car was on fire, but I sure wasn’t!”

17. “Their screams are keeping me up”

I was in my room on the computer at about 11, which is late for my sister to be awake even now. I was thinking about bed, but then my sister knocks on the door. She was maybe 10 at the time, so not so young that she doesn’t know when she’s dreaming. She wanted to sleep in my room because she was sad and scared. I asked her why, and she said, “I watched your sons burn up in the fire. Their screams are keeping me up.”

18. Role reversal

My three year old said, “Remember when I was the grown-up and you were the little boy?” to his Dad.

19. When he was a grown up

My father used to hate policemen when he was a kid, he used to tell my grandmother that they came to his house and shot him when he was a grown up.

19 Parents Share What Their Kid Remembered About Their ‘Last’ Life paranormal ghost and hauntings

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May 26th, 2019

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19 Parents Share What Their Kid Remembered About Their ‘Last’ Life1. He showed us his grave

When my brother was about 2 or 3 he told us his name used to be Austin. One day we were picnicking right along side a cemetery, when my brother took off...

19 Parents Share What Their Kid Remembered About Their ‘Last’ Life

1. He showed us his grave

2. We don’t watch firefighter things

3. Her “other” mother’s name was Sally

4. “When she lived before she was born”

5. Roanoke?

6. “She used to come visit me”

7. Conchon

8. “My real mom and dad were killed when the bad men came.”

9. Jesus

My cousin, approximately 3 years old and riding in the car with my mum and dad, pointed out a random house that they went past and declared “I died there”.

10. Included because, WHAT?

11. I drowned

12. My war memories

13. “That’s why I don’t like water now”

14. My family’s farm, burning

15. “Nobody scroofs me there”

16. Nope

“Before I was born here, I had a sister, right? Her and my other Mom are so old now. They were ok when the car was on fire, but I sure wasn’t!”

17. “Their screams are keeping me up”

18. Role reversal

My three year old said, “Remember when I was the grown-up and you were the little boy?” to his Dad.

19. When he was a grown up

My father used to hate policemen when he was a kid, he used to tell my grandmother that they came to his house and shot him when he was a grown up.

#19 Parents Share What Their Kid Remembered About Their ‘Last’ Life #paranormal #ghost and spirits #ghost and hauntings #haunted salem #ghoststories

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anthropwashere · 3 years

Text

deadfic: Get Out, Get Gone

Yet more deadfic for @goodintentionswipfest! And also another giftfic I never finished, because that’s just who I am as a person! \o/

@ghostfiish did this truly excellent art of Danny’s transformation rings as a galaxy way back when that I promptly lost my whole entire shit over, and also took it as an opportunity to get some kind of manic with the writing style. That, combined with my sort-of accidental, sort-of intentional smashing yet more rad headcanons into it until the whole thing collapsed under its own weight. Still, I remain very fond of this one and what I was trying to do back in 2014, so here we are. 8.7k’s nothing to sneeze at, at least.

Oh, and! While we're at it, have an old Danny playlist I never got around to sharing that fits the mood this fic is going for. Title comes from To Kill a King's "Bloody Shirt (Bastille Remix)," which is unfortunately not included on the Spotify playlist.

There’s a weight to you now that wasn’t there before. You’d think with your powers—

(and doesn’t it feel strange to call them that, when you shake and shiver at the sight of your bones under your meat, when you walk down the stairs and your feet don’t touch anything at all)

—you’d weigh less, be less. A thing of smoke, and ectoplasm, and all that awful electricity arcing through your nerves. But that's not what happened.

You remember that day with a surreal nightmare quality, memories fuzzing and skittering like white noise in your skull. Pain and green light and being so, so certain that had been it. Zap! That’s all she wrote. But it wasn't, and here you are, hovering three inches off the grass and praying no one will see, that no one will know.

You aren’t less for all that’s changed, for all that’s changed in you. Tucker and Sam haven’t said anything about it, and it’s clear they don’t have a clue. Your first—

(disastrous, embarrassing)

—fight against the Lunch Lady knocked you right out. They had to carry you all the way home from school after you failed to stop her. It’s a wonder nobody stopped them, dragging your sorry carcass across town. If either of them had noticed, if either of them could have noticed, they would have told you. Or worse, they wouldn’t have managed to get you home at all.

You noticed it when you changed. Not the first time, in the shadowed, silver throat of the Portal—

(electricity cooking you from the inside out, the Portal writhing, burning, tearing itself into existence, a physical hole ripped so cleanly between realities even your parents don’t understand it and they built the damn framework, boiling ectoplasm splashing on you, over you, inside you, changing you forever)

—but after. Changing back and forth without any control, cringing behind dumpsters and hedges, tossing desperate prayers skyward that nobody had seen the light, that nobody had seen you change from kid to freak. So much of you changes when this strange, alien light stretches across you, not just your clothes and eyes and hair, no, you’re different now down to your cells, down to the very structure of your DNA. You know, you’ve checked. So much of you is different, it’s a wonder you didn’t figure it out sooner.

When you change, you’re heavier. Heavier. Not like ten pounds or something any normal kid might stress over. You become the kind of heavy that leaves brushstroke smears in asphalt, reduces sturdy brick walls to dusty rubble, punches craters through solid ground. It hurts when you fall, god does it hurt. But your bones never shatter. Your guts never liquefy. Your brain never dribbles out your ears. How? How can you possibly survive the beatings every new ghost is so eager to give you?

Ah, but there's never any time to think about it though, not really. No time for anything but a raw, thready panic and clumsily scrawled homework copied five minutes before the bell. Your chance to tell your parents came and went, and now there’s always another ghost attacking the city.

Mom and Dad are so happy now. You’ve never seen them happier than this, with the stuff of your grade school nightmares on the rampage. It’s proof they aren’t crazy, proof they haven’t wasted their whole lives on a pipe dream, proof that everybody who ever called them quacks were wrong. Good for them, you guess. Meanwhile you’re picking yourself out of the wreckage of another storefront, glass needled all down your spine, and you can’t help but marvel at the damage your body has done. Can do. Will do.

Because you’re stronger, you’re getting stronger every day. The weight in you that your Sam and Tucker don’t—

(can’t)

—notice grows more noticeable, and after a few fights you're quicker, too. And perhaps you're changing still, perhaps the accident isn't done with you yet, because one day there’s sickly green light at your fingertips, and in no time at all you can manipulate the energy buzzing inside you—

(the electricity and hot ectoplasm from the accident screaming through you, out from your palms and striking down the things that used to scare you as a little kid, back when door knobs and faucets were out of reach of your tiny fingers and there was so much dark in your big big house, and now your hands trail light like after images from staring at the sun too long, now you can patch your hurts up by the light of your own blood, now you're learning that you don’t need to be afraid of what hides in the dark anymore)

—in ways you never thought possible. Sure, lots of what you do is learned the hard way, mid-battle against sizzling green things with teeth like hunting knives, running on instinct and adrenaline and terror all tangled up in your throat. Lots more is later, when it’s quiet and safe again, practicing things you’ve seen other ghosts do again and again and again until you can mimic it, improve it, make it yours.

But no ghost you fight has the same heaviness as you do. No improbable weight that defies the logical mass of their ectoplasm. If it’s big, it’s heavy. If it’s small, it’s light. Unexpected logic from creatures that defy logic in every other way.

There’s a lesson you learn the hard way, testing the strength of these invaders against your bruised and splitting knuckles. You learn caution. You learn restraint. If you punch them hard enough, some ghosts, the little formless ones your parents have captured once or twice now, burst like water balloons—a hard pop of searing green, an overwhelming smell-taste of citrus and hot pennies. Too much of your supernatural strength pressed into the soft hide of a monster and the end result is a glowing puddle where someone used to be.

You learn this lesson quickly. You learn that even when you’re fighting for your life, you’ve got to hold back. You defend, you protect. Death scares you too much to risk killing—

(is it killing when it’s already dead, where does a ghost go when it dies, is there something more to the Ghost Zone than what you’ve glimpsed with your own eyes or is that it, is that all, have you erased someone from reality forever, these are the questions that make your stomach hurt, that make it hard to breathe, that make it hard to fake a smile when Jazz asks if something’s wrong)

—something so much like yourself. Even if it’s got teeth like hunting knives.

You think you’re an anomaly, a freak, the only one stupid enough to walk into a Ghost Portal and zap yourself full of juice that by rights should have killed you—

(and a little part of you wonders if that isn’t just what happened, if you’re just a dead thing walking around in your body, wearing it like a meatsuit and waiting for the rot to show, but it’s been a month, it’s been months, and you eat more and you sleep less, not because you don’t need it but because there’s never any time, and you’ve grown another inch and there’s new definition to your muscles, and that all must mean you’ll be okay, that you are okay, it has to)

—until Wisconsin. Until Vlad.

He’s in the same boat as you, plus twenty years of experience and enough self-made loneliness to turn him bitter and crazy and dangerous. He wants Dad dead and Mom his, like she’s some kind of carnival prize he can win if he throws his weight around enough. Swing the mallet, hit the bell, and congratulations! The woman you haven't spoken to in twenty years who has made her own life without you is now yours to take home! Ugh.

But god, he can hit hard. Lightning, real lightning, nothing like the weak little zaps of electricity inside you, rattles at his fingertips like a living thing, furious burning strikes of pain, and he knocks you aside like he’s bored. You have a thousand questions, but he won't give you a single answer unless you concede defeat or whatever he wants, so it looks like you’ll just have to beat the answers out of him instead. Who cares if he’s got twenty years on you? He’s not out most nights pummeling wayward ghosts back into the Ghost Zone. He’s not out most days saving people from ghosts with bloodthirsty, power-hungry vendettas. What you lack for in time and experience you make up in rooftop fistfights and stolen first-aid kits.

Sure you managed to outwit him—

(barely, hardly at all, he just wanted to save face in front of Mom, if he hadn’t cared about that, if he’d just tried overshadowing Mom instead it all could have turned out so differently, and doesn’t that thought make it hard to sleep the first few nights back home)

—but you can’t stop thinking of what it had been like to fight him, of what it was like to see another person do all that you can and so much more. You remember every second of each fight, like it’s been burned across your eyelids. You replay it all every time you blink for days, for weeks. It’s easy as thought to recall the light arcing around his waist as he’d transformed. Just like yours, and yet nothing like yours. The color, sure, that had been the obvious difference. When you change it’s a white light, sharp and searing enough to leave stars in your eyes if you look at it. His transformation—

(black like cave darkness, black like a power outage, black like the vastness between stars, sucking in light like a hungry thing, like it’d swallow you whole if it had had the chance)

—had been like a punch to the gut even before he’d buried his fist in your gut. You’d known without words, known in some primitive bit of brain that still looked up at the night sky and thought magic before science, you had known. You and Vlad were made out of the same mess, but maybe, just maybe, those twenty years were stacked against him.

Trouble is, the transformation is so quick you can’t make much out but the light/non-light of yours and his, and luckily—

(unluckily?)

—he’s all the way in Wisconsin so you don’t have many opportunities for a closer look at his. You ask Sam and Tucker to take pictures and videos, change back and forth so often you almost forget which side of you is which, but the quality is never good enough to see what you know is there—

(but can’t explain, not with words, even though you try for the benefit of your friends because they’re the ones there for you when everything else has gone topsy-turvy, but you’re just a kid who leaks green when dead people hit you too hard, just a kid with bad grades and a lot of questions to evade, and what you’re trying to pinpoint frame by frame is something so beyond your vocabulary you can only shrug, can only say you want to know more about your powers and hope this is one of those white lies nobody catches you in the act of)

—so you stop.

Do you give up? No, but there are more important things to focus on. It isn’t shelving your questions so much as putting them on the backburner. There are ghosts to deal with. Ghosts that want to hurt you, ghosts that want to hurt humans, more and more ghosts with strange and terrifying abilities pouring out from the Portal all the time. Closing the Portal doesn’t slow them any, which doesn’t make any sense to you. Then again, Dad was up to his elbows in most of the Portal’s guts and wiring, so applying logic to any inch of it is pretty pointless. You’ve learned not to ask too many questions about anything with a Fenton sticker slapped on it.

You’re busy now, busy all the time, bruised and burned and even stitched up all the time. Super strength is only so good when you’re fighting things with teeth like hunting knives. But it’s whatever, it’s no big deal, really. Because you’re keeping people safe. You’re learning more about the Ghost Zone and the things that inhabit it. You’re learning more about yourself; your powers, your weaknesses, how quick you can be with a snarky quip. Yeah, your parents are aiming guns and questions at you. Yeah, teachers with red pens and detention slips are hounding after you. And yeah, you’re fourteen years old bare-knuckle fighting monsters and no one ever says thanks because they think you’re just like every other ghost out there or maybe that you’re some human-loving freak—

(and when you think of your life like this, in lists of who wants answers and who wants to see you bleed, it sounds so bad, it sounds like you should be one inch away from a complete breakdown, but is it weird to say you’re happy, is it weird to say you couldn’t imagine your life any other way)

—yet you grin through a mouthful of red-and-green and keep going. Elated? Maybe, sometimes. Scared? Absolutely, sometimes. You’re just a kid with eyes that flare like headlights when somebody’s pissed you off.

It’s only right to be scared, sometimes.

Still, it’s the weight of you that keeps you grounded, keeps you human when you need to be. Sit in a chair, walk across a bridge, it all makes the same creak under you as it would for Sam and Tucker. But take one of Skulker’s shoulder rockets to the face, you leave a crater in Central Park so big they decide to just turn it into another duck pond. A permanent new addition to the park, and all your face gets is a nasty bruise Dash takes the credit for. You let him, because Lancer overhears. Dash is the one getting detention for once, and there’s a nasty satisfaction to be found there.

You and Jazz share a bathroom, and she’s got a scale she keeps in the towel cupboard. Curious, you take it out one day after school and try to weigh yourself. Last time you checked, you were somewhere near 120, puberty stretching you faster than your appetite can keep up. This time, the numbers whirl past 280 pounds before the scale makes a metallic groan and crumples like tissue paper under your sneakers. Sheer reflex launches you into the air, and you bounce off the ceiling with your knees hugged so tight to your chest you can hear tendons creak, your heart a thundering jackhammer in your chest. Thank god you’re home alone, because you hover there for who-knows how long, too scared the floor will crack under your illogical, impossible weight, too scared you’ll plummet straight down to the hard steel of the lab if you try to stand, too scared you might plummet even further.

When you finally do scrounge up the courage to touch down, an air bubble in the old linoleum crackles under your heel and you damn near jump out of your skin. After that, all you can do is laugh and laugh until your sides hurt. You throw Jazz’s scale out in a dumpster a block away and never tell her what happened to it.

What does this mean? Is the weight of you optional? If you think about it too hard, does it become real? What about when you’re fighting, causing all that property damage the city hates you for? You’re not thinking of the strangeness of your mass during a brawl, you’re thinking in terms of survivability. Punch this hard to win, get punched this hard to lose. What about when you’re thinking about it at school? Why don’t you break your desk, or the floor, or the stairs?

You don’t know. Your parents might be able to figure it out if you told them, but you don’t. Knowing about you, about what you really are—

(a freak, a monster, an accident, an anomaly bleeding out energy with every burst of green light you bury into the spiny hides of other monsters, who knows how long until your white rings burn black, if one day you’ll look in the mirror and be no different than Vlad, not because you didn’t try your hardest but because there was never any biological choice, what kind of choice can a species of two even make)

—would just scare them. It’s easier, keeping them in the dark, even if it means they’re trying to hunt you down and take you apart molecule by molecule any time you’ve got white hair.

But it’s not just flying and invisibility and energy you can summon with a thought—

(ray or bolt or fire, you don’t know what to call your power, you never really did pay attention when your parents got going even before you had to worry about all their blinking tech going nuts around you, but sometimes your green light is cool and wispy and other times it's hot and sizzling, sometimes you know which one will bloom between your fingers and sometimes it’s a surprise, sometimes it’s almost like your body knows what to do in a fight better than you, sometimes it’s easier to stop thinking and just let it happen, to just be the freak that you are, to burn white-hot and damn the consequences)

—you have to worry about. You’re stronger every day, stranger everyday too. You feel a little bit more at ease as a ghost as time goes on. It stops being a strain and starts being an ease, even a comfort, and some days you dread the thought of going to school because a ghost might not attack and you’ll be stuck as a human all day.

That kind of thinking should worry you, probably.

But so what? You could sneak into your parents’ lab in the middle of the night and try more tests, more experiments, but really, what would that do? You’re a freak, plain and simple. You and Vlad poked your noses in places you shouldn’t have and paid the price, and that’s that.

Eventually you get sick of worrying and just let it be. You’re a freak who can walk through walls, disappear, and fly. You’re the freak protecting a town full of people who pretty much hate you. Really, what can you do? The same old same old, that’s what. Try and get a little more sleep outside the classroom, maybe. As for the townsfolk? Well, you can’t always avoid the property damages, but you can at least save a few lives along the way.

People even start to say thank you, even if it’s from a distance, even if they think you're some crazed vigilante ghost, and doesn’t that make this whole superhero thing worth it?

But then of course something has to come along and ruin even that much, ruin this budding chance at gratitude, at finally feeling like a real life superhero. And it isn’t a ghost this time. It’s a human. You hadn't ever considered humans to be dangerous the way a ghost can be.

Freakshow happens, and all that hard work is undone in just a few short days. Days you can’t remember with any clarity, just blurs of color and noise, your hands full of stolen money and no matter how hard you tried you couldn’t let go, you couldn’t stop. Attacking the cops when they pursued, terrorizing any humans that got too close, puppeted by that grinning, painted maniac who treated you and the other ghosts like animals, like slaves—

(minions, he’d called you all, and he didn’t even bother to learn your name before he sunk his fingers into your brain, and you never did find out who any of those other ghosts were, what their names were or who they had been before that crystal ball had pulled them under, and they were gone before there was a chance to even ask)

—and tanked Invis-o-Bill’s reputation to a whole new low. Trashing nearly every car the Amity Park Police Department has and robbing the city blind at the behest of a psychotic ringmaster would have done that even if you’d been considered the hero you try so hard to be. Oh well. At least nobody was hurt in all that, unless you bothered counting Mr. Lancer getting left in the custodial closet for a weekend. You mostly don’t feel guilty about that. Mostly.

Sam says you ought to count yourself too, but you try not to think about any of what happened—

(all that time spent exhausted and hungry, he never let you rest, not once, because ghosts don’t need sleep, ghosts don’t get tired, ghosts don’t need friends, but it’s over, it’s all over now, you don’t have to hear yourself laugh as the little humans scream below, you’ll never have to watch Sam fall and wonder if your body will listen to you in time, you’re yourself again, you’re in control again, everything’s alright, you’re alright, you’re safe, you’re home, you’re yourself again)

—and try to pass yourself off as fine afterwards instead, just confused, just tired, just sorry for everything that’s happened.

For weeks after the police shoved Freakshow into the back of a car, your dreams are red. Not with blood, thank god for that. No, it’s like a filter. A stain. Strawberry candy red, saturated fire engine red, the color Sam said your eyes were when you were under his control. It doesn’t matter if you’re having nightmares—

(more common than you’d like, but you’ve never been one to shout after a bad dream and you don’t intend to start now)

—or regular old brain dump dreams. It doesn’t matter if you’re dreaming of broken bones and monsters or forgetting to study for a test; it’s all filtered through that darkroom shade of red.

What does it mean? You don’t know. You don’t bring it up to Sam or Tucker. They’d just worry, and they worry about you enough as it is. Besides, you’re fine. The Circus Gothica billboard is up for two weeks after Freakshow’s arrest, and it doesn’t do anything to you, not like before. You don’t lose time, you don’t say anything creepy. Your eyes stay blue or green, depending on whether or not there’s a ghost in need of wrangling nearby.

It’s just a weird, harmless after effect, that’s your best conclusion. Then you do your best to stop thinking about it. Who you were under Freakshow’s control wasn’t you. It wasn’t. You tell yourself that until you almost believe it. Eventually, you dreams return to their factory settings. Huzzah.

Meanwhile everywhere you go, people badmouth Invis-o-Bill like they’re getting paid to do it. They call him—

(you)

—thief and monster and dangerous, they call him—

(you)

—a menace and a bad influence on the children. A liar. Traitor. Conspiring with other ghosts to earn the trust of humans to terrorize Amity Park all the better. Kids at school spread awful stories about Invis-o-Bill, say he—

(you)

—was probably the ghost of a troubled teen who got in too deep with bad people and paid the price, and now he—

(you)

—spends his afterlife seeking revenge on humans and ghosts alike. They say a lot of bad things about you, for a while. You try not to pay much attention. You’re getting pretty good at that.

After Freakshow, there’s a lull. That doesn’t mean ghosts don’t stop attacking or causing havoc, it just means that, for a handful of weeks, it’s just the little ones. Hungry animals and disoriented blobs and the Box Ghost. Easy stuff. You actually have time to unwind, time to let the tension bleed from your bones, time to catch up on all your late homework and even squeak your grades up to passable. It’s nice. You’d almost call it relaxing.

Of course, the lulls never last. You know this, you’ve learned this, they made you understand this from your very first—

(disastrous, embarrassing)

—fight with the Lunch Lady. You have one fight with Sam the wrong ghost overhears, and everything that’s happened is wished away. You are wished away. For a couple of days, you never walked into your parents’ ghost portal. You were never torn apart and melted back together by heat and light and pain. You were never Phantom at all. Worse still, you have no memory of your erased past, not so much as the slightest disquiet to niggle in the back of your brain when Sam walks up to your locker and starts going on about imaginary monsters like they're real.

Sam Manson—

(a stranger, a total stranger, just a bottle-black pretty girl you stare at because you’re fourteen and desperate for a connection you’ve never had and don’t understand, she’s nobody else, she’s nothing else to you but a chance at your first kiss and later you will hate yourself for thinking of her like that, not as a girl because of course she is that, but as a prize you might earn, and who cared if she was crazy because she just might have kissed you for some unfathomable reason, and Sam is so much more than the sum of her body, Sam is worth so much more than that, Sam is worth so much)

—is the vehement Goth girl who's in half your classes and is [unfinished]

In those stumbling, halting days of dismissal followed by doubt followed by a desperate curiosity to believe that there might be more to life than growing up and settling for less, that movies haven’t lied and there really is something beyond the disappointment growing up has been for you so far. Sam’s purple mouth is a thin, grim line of—

(worry, guilt, fear, shame, envy, panic, uncertainty)

—complicated emotions you can’t parse as you zip up the jumpsuit your parents got you for your birthday. You’ve never worn it before, the fabric stiff and reluctant to bend at your joints. You don’t know how they’re comfortable wearing theirs all the time [unfinished]

Sometimes after a fight wears you out, leaves you bruised and smeared with shining green, you don’t fight the transformation. Not because you can’t, but because it feels good to have that fake pulse vanish, to hear real blood pounding in your ears. The weight of you shifts too, and even though you’re so much weaker when you’re human, it’s easier to sink your fingers into the dirt, to haul your meat out of the mess your ghost left behind, easier to duck out of sight before the news vans and curious bystanders get too close. Nobody ever sees you. Nobody ever puts your bruises and Band-Aids and the trashed Dunkin’ Donuts together. It helps that nobody’s ever heard of a half-ghost, that Vlad was cunning enough to hide his powers. Everybody’s heard of the Wisconsin Ghost, but Wisconsin is a big damn state and unlike you, Vlad and Plasmius hardly look like the same man.

Everybody at school just thinks you’re the football team’s personal punching bag, which is definitely true. Thing is, after spending a couple months fighting ghosts, a gut-punch from a junior is kind of a joke. You’re getting ganged up by a bunch of guys in letter jackets behind the auto shop and you have to mime pain to get them to leave you alone.

Is this real life? Yup, and it’s hilarious.

Time passes, as it does. You get stronger, faster, heavier. You hone your powers. You stop losing control, mostly. New ghosts terrorize the streets. Old ghosts do too, they’re just smarter about it. They all know who you are by now. Hell, a whole other plane of reality knows your name by this point, knows who Danny Fenton really is. Funny though, none of them ever spill the beans to any humans. What better way to take down the one person standing in their way of world domination or an army of hypnotized teens or whatever they’re trying to score than to oust his secret identity?

You don’t ask. Maybe they haven’t caught on that humans have no idea you’re trying to keep a secret. Maybe there’s some kind of code among ghosts; don’t spill a guy’s weakness, even if you hate his ectoplasm. Maybe especially if you hate his ectoplasm?

You’ve had a couple more run-ins with Vlad too. Each time he changes, transforms, you breath hitches, because you can almost see it. Whatever makes up the both of you, piecing the mystery together through the differences—

(light and dark and it’s cliché as anything, it’s so transparently Star Wars, but maybe there’s something to clichés, because you might be the one wearing mostly black but he’s the one with a sucking core, a void, something more horrific for its absence, like he used to be full of stark white light too but it’s all been burned up and whatever’s left is just playing through the motions, pretending at being something else, who knows what it means but you know that it scares the hell out of you)

—between you and him. He goes on and on about how you’re more like him every day, but he’s wrong. He’s so wrong. You’ll never be like him, and it isn’t just a matter of morals.

What you are, down to the complex disaster of your DNA, is different than what makes up Vlad, and you don’t need to slide a piece of him under a microscope to see that. You thought differently once, but now you know better. A glance is all you need. What you are and what he is, has become—

(powerful yes, but ugly and hating and cruel, the rings that flash at his waist are just shadows reflecting light, trying to hide a black mouth brimming with hungry teeth)

—well, you might as well be different species.

Vlad’s crazy and Vlad’s a jerk, but he is right about one thing. There’s so much about the Ghost Zone you don’t understand, and it’s this ignorance that just might get you—

(or somebody else, and isn’t that an old favorite in the nightmares)

—killed. You don’t know if it was fate or a simple coincidence that your parents were working on the Ecto-Skeleton when Pariah Dark woke up. You’re fourteen years old and you can shoot lasers out of your fingers; you don’t have the wherewithal for philosophical theology. You’re just glad they got it functioning in time to stop the King of All Ghosts from overrunning the city, even if the stupid thing nearly kills you.

You don’t fret much about the Ecto-Skeleton vanishing after you pass out. You do, however, remember Pariah’s nasty grin—

(having that much power, it’s a burden, isn’t it child)

—when you stumbled under the strain. You don’t know if he meant what the suit enabled you to do or if he meant the power in your own two hands. Either way, you remember those words, like they’re branded onto your brain, and you don’t have a choice but to hear it over and over every time you try to sleep. They rang in your head like bells in the days after you’d pushed him back into that sarcophagus, stuck in bed aching and weaker than you’ve ever felt in your life.

Because it is a burden. Everybody hates and fears you, but at the same time they happily expect you to protect them from hordes of skeletal ghosts. Sometimes you panic, so aware of how young you are, of how little comic books and video games have prepared you for a life like this, hiding bruises and spinning bold-face lies to everybody from your parents to the U.S. government. Teenagers are supposed to rebel, sure, but if you ever come clean you’d be thrown in a cell and they’d never, ever let you go. Not just because you’re a criminal—

(and you are, thanks to Freakshow and thanks to dozens of ghosts, and you’ve left an imprint of your tiny, impossibly heavy body all over the city, and you’ve done your best to protect everybody but you leave rubble and shrapnel wherever you go, ambulance sirens wail through the streets every day, and everybody’s just as scared as you are, just as fascinated as you are, and yet so many students and teachers have left Casper High, so many faces you used to see everyday in the hallways have vanished, so many business and restaurants and homes sit empty, gathering dust and graffiti, and it’s your fault, if you hadn’t walked into the Ghost Portal none of this would be happening, none of this would ever have happened at all, and you’re too much of a coward to show your face, to tell anyone but your best friends what kind of a monster you really are)

—but because you can phase through solid objects, you’re considered a monster with less rights than a dog.

Sometimes you wish Sam wasn’t a budding ghost-rights activist. You’d probably have an easier time studying if she didn’t rattle off all these statistics and news articles, stories of government agents in white suits quarantining whole city blocks to purge the ghosts inhabiting them, of ghost attacks stopping all at once in little towns after strange men with guns and knives and felonies like grave robbing and murder slunk through in the night. Ghosts are dangerous, there’s no questioning that. But so are bears. So are people. Just because something is dangerous doesn’t mean it should be destroyed.

Maybe that’s why the ghosts have never spilled your secret. You’ve never tried to kill them. You just want them to leave Amity Park alone. Who knows for sure though? You don’t have the guts to risk asking any of them.

Still, this whole mess is worth it. It is. You can fly, for god’s sake. If you’re careful you could juggle minivans, mimic all your favorite action movies and outdo even the craziest Hollywood stunts. What kid hasn’t dreamed of doing any of that? But you’re not being selfish. You’re not. It’s like Dad says; you can’t make an omelet without breaking a few eggs. Progress is a disaster when you’re living it, when it isn’t past tense, when it isn’t all tidied up in a few short paragraphs in a high school history book. What’s happening now is worth it, for the future.

If you ever do tell Mom and Dad—

(you’re not afraid of what they’ll think, you’ve never worried about that, not really, they’re your parents before they’re scientists, and any experiment or test would be to ensure your safety and your health, because that’s what parents do, that’s what good people do, and they’re the best people you’ve ever known)

—you know they’d be able to break down your powers into reams of clinical data in no time. They’d figure out how you survived the accident, how your abilities generate and develop in power, maybe even pinpoint the how of your strange, mutable weight. They’d tell you what that light is, when you change, that light that reminds you so strongly of the stars. After all, just because they’re too oblivious to realize their son is the infamous Ghost Kid doesn’t mean they don’t know what they’re doing. They aren’t known as the leading scientists, engineers and weapon smiths in the paranatural fields for nothing. Mom’s practically got more letters after her name than there are in the alphabet, and while Dad may only have a fraction of that he thinks like nobody else out there. Most Fenton tech are his designs, wild and absurd and covered with stickers of his beaming face, and Mom’s the one who works out the bugs with fond exasperation.

Still, they have to get their knowledge from somewhere, and you’ve seen what they do down in the lab to the formless, red-eyed ghosts, the ones too weak to do much more than snarl wetly. Sometimes they snare something bigger and stronger, something fond of curling prickly tendrils around the nearest human and squeezing. More often than not it’s Dad that’s the unlucky one, always so eager to parse the secrets hidden in each fanged little beastie they’ve fished out of the Ghost Zone. He’s got nearly as many as bruises as you do, some weeks, but he’s never happier than when he’s holding a bag of frozen peas to his head.

After a good wrestle with something that wailed and whistled like a boiling kettle, Dad’ll limp up to the kitchen and settle heavily into a chair, grinning and running his mouth nonstop, talking about how much progress they’ve made today—

(wait ‘til the boys over at the GIW hear about that one, he’ll say with a bray of laughter, makes the piddly little Class Threes look darn near cuddly, didn’t it Mads, why Danny you should’ve seen the fangs on this fella, nearly bit through the exam table in one bite, y’oughta come down to the lab more often, Danny, seeing these spooks up close and personal’d be a great way to help you get over that silly fear of ‘em, and there you are, smiling meekly and holding up your hands and making up any excuse you can think of off the top of your head to keep you out of the lab when your parents have all their equipment up and humming, just in case, aw Dad I dunno, I’ve got this essay due, not today Dad I’ve got like six pages of algebra I haven’t even started yet, sorry Dad I’m sleeping over at Tucker’s tonight and his mom insisted I come early for dinner)

—and every time, Mom will smile indulgently, like she’s falling in love with Dad all over again. She’ll push him back into the seat and tell him to quit fidgeting so she can clean up the nasty cut behind his ear, and every time you smile behind your hand and think, how could Vlad ever hope to break your parents up? They only thing they might love more than each other would be you and Jazz and ghosts, and you’re all so much of their lives they can’t help but love you all completely. How they love each other and their kids and the ghosts they’ve studied all their lives, well, that’s like saying they love breathing. They love each other because without each other, they wouldn’t be themselves. It’s sappy as hell and like any kid you hate seeing your parents get all lovey-dovey, but you can’t help that secret smile as you walk out of the kitchen to give them a little privacy.

Seeing Mom and Dad so hard at work, so happy at work, is why you don’t tell them. They think you’re slacking off, they think you’re getting bullied, and they’re worried about you sure, but better they think their son’s lazy than a freak. If they knew what you did, what you could do, if they knew you were the one facing up against ghosts that made the ones they picked apart in their lab look like kittens, if they knew you’d heard all the awful things they want to do to Phantom once they finally nab him—

(you know they wouldn’t say it if they knew you and him were one and the same, you know you know you know, but sometimes you can’t help but be hurt anyway, to see all that fierce dedication focused on seeing whether or not Danny Phantom has bones, and if he does, how much pressure could they withstand before breaking)

—they wouldn’t know what to do or say or think. They’d be so eaten up with guilt, why hadn’t they known, why hadn’t they realized, what if they’d finally gotten a lucky shot in, what if one of all those cruel ghosts had gotten a luck shot in, what if what if what if—

(and you’ve pictured it a hundred times, it’s so easy to imagine the looks on their faces, the horror the shame the fear, and you know they’d love you all the same, you know this like you know the distance between the Sun and every planet, even little Pluto they just declared wasn’t a planet at all, but you’re young and selfish and definitely some kind of stupid because sometimes you can’t help but feel they’d shun you for the freak you are, turn you over to the GIW because they couldn’t bear to look on the thing their son’s become, and you know that couldn’t ever ever ever happen but still, it’s so easy to imagine)

—and you couldn’t do that to them. You won’t do that to them, no matter how many times Sam or Tucker try to convince you otherwise. How it is now, secrets and lies and detention slips and broken curfews, can’t last forever. You know that. But until then, it’ll have to do, and you’ll have to parse all your growing weirdness without all of Mom and Dad’s knowledge or experience, fingers crossed that their ticking and glowing machines won’t reveal your secret before you’re ready to do it yourself.

But you’re turning out stranger in ways you can’t even recognize, and for all that Sam and Tucker are by your side to help you as you change and burn brighter and hotter and faster and heavier, they don’t see it either. Jazz is the one who points it out, one day not long after the Spectra… thing, all out of the blue. She’s been noticing lots of things lately, and acting so strange, like she might have pieced it together. But she can’t have, of course not, you’re so careful, you are always so careful. Jazz is just clever, Jazz got all the brains and you got the leftovers. Everybody knows that. Even you know that.

She comes into the kitchen one morning with a curious little spin to her step, craning her head around and around like she’s running late for school and can’t find her keys, but it’s a Saturday. You’re there by the fridge, cobbling together something that might resemble an edible breakfast, moving slow because you’ve got a bruise all down your right side that makes it hurt to do more than breathe shallowly or raise your arm more than a couple inches. You sniff the milk and instantly regret this decision, and while you’re pouring the lumpy mess down the sink Jazz asks if the kitchen’s always been on the second floor.

You stare at her, too tired and baffled to give her the proper what the hell a question like that deserves, but she drags you over to the kitchen door and pushes it open, and since when has there been a door to the kitchen and oh my god the kitchen is on the second floor.

She gapes at you and you gape right back, and the rest of that morning is spent going over every inch of the house and seeing what else has changed compared to your shared memories.

Everything has, in some way or another. Doorknobs have shifted, cupboards have lowered, doors moved from one part of a room to another. Even chairs have changed their heights. There’s a whole new door neither of you can remember ever existing before connecting the upstairs bathroom directly to your room. Thinking back—

(staggering through your open window, mouth thick with the hot penny burn of ectoplasm and blood, your right hand pressed against the throb all down your side, and aren’t you grateful for your weight, your sturdiness, because before you finally peeled the faceguard off of Skulker’s exoskeleton and sucked that little jerk into a Thermos he got a good shot in with a rocket that hit you hard right in the ribs, and if you’d been normal there would have just been a dark wet hole where your torso used to be but lucky you, you’re every inch the creepy little freak Spectra called you, so you get to limp home and clean up as best you can on your own since it’s four in the morning and no way are you gonna wake Sam or Tucker up again, and you have to be quiet, you have to be so quiet, biting down pain, you can’t make a sound or Jazz might hear, grabbing the first-aid kid from your underwear drawer and slipping into the bathroom, and for once the hinges didn’t squeak, thank god, you think, thank god)

—you hadn’t even noticed last night or even this morning that a door had sprung up where there’d just been NASA and Nat Geo posters before. And your windows have moved, and your bed has moved, and you and Jazz just stare and stare. Why had neither of you noticed any of this until now? Why haven’t your parents? How long has this been going on?

What could cause something like this?

It takes half an hour to convince your mom that something’s off about the house, and even longer to get your dad to grasp what you both are trying to say. Their eyes just keep glazing over the differences, even something as huge as the kitchen being on the wrong floor. Once they finally do see though, it’s a whole other story. After the initial shock, they drop all their experiments and spend the next week measuring and scanning every inch of the house.

Their conclusion, a week and some change later? The Ghost Portal leaks.

Even with the huge steel door locked up tight, it seems there’s enough residual energy slipping through to warp, literally warp, the house. Somehow. The way your mom’s lips thin as she says all this means she’s not satisfied with this conclusion, but she puts on a wide smile when Jazz asks if you’re all in any danger. A smart question, one you think you might’ve asked yourself. Y’know, if you still needed to worry about something like exposure. Your dad just laughs big and loud and says not to worry about it, says if there were going to be any creepy side effects they would have manifested by now. Everything’s fine, they assure you both, but you look at the crease between your mom’s eyebrows and you wonder.

Later, when they’re out taking readings from the ectoplasm-damp wreck you and the Lunch Lady made of a McDonald’s and Jazz is studying at the library, you creep down to the lab and pull up all their documentation of the house. Most of it is dry as dirt; neatly typed spreadsheets and tidy, color-coded graphs (clearly your mom’s handiwork), but there’s also nearly a gigabyte’s worth of photos. Clicking through them, you can see Dad’s sloppy angles and the occasional square pinkie slipping into the frame. Most of the first hundred photos have been untouched, but the two hundreds have been filtered all to hell, like Mom and Dad went through the house a second time, trying to find something the human eye can’t see. Just shy of 300, the photos turn a dusty black and white, splattered in places with an all-too-familiar starkly glowing green.

No. Not splattered. A few spins of the scroll wheel zooms in on a crooked picture of the kitchen. There’s green all over everything; the fridge, the microwave, the drawers and cupboards, cluttered thickly at the kitchen table. These aren’t splatters. They’re handprints, slapped in layers and layers over themselves, like somebody dipped their hands in neon paint and went to town.

Every photo taken in that black and white filter shows the same thing. Handprints on doorknobs and railings, footprints on tile and carpet, green smeared and stamped everywhere, tracking the movements of something—

(somebody)

—for what must be as long as the Portal’s been active.

Why didn’t Mom and Dad say anything about this? Why haven’t you sensed it? There’s a ghost, an entity, some thing lurking around your house like it has every right to be there! Green gathered on the couch, on every table and sink, even the upstairs shower and your room and—

(the pictures of jazz’s room are nearly clean, the pictures of Mom and Dad’s room are spotless, but your room is practically bathed in green from floor to ceiling, your bed and desk nearly washed out by a poisonous haze, and no wonder Mom had looked so worried and no wonder Dad had laughed so loud, they know something’s wrong with you, they’ve always known you were messed up thanks to the accident but now here’s irrefutable proof, how can you lie your way out of photographic evidence, how can they look at you and not see you for the freak you are)

—oh.

You close the files, power down the computer, and walk quietly out of the lab. That’s… that’s all you can really do. Sooner or later your parents will knock gently on your door and ask you to come downstairs. Just a few tests, they’ll say. It’s for your own good, they’ll say. We’re worried about you, they’ll say.

But they’ll find out. They’ll find out what you are, and it’ll go one of two ways. They’ll either accept you as the freak you are, or hate you for the freak you are. Either way, there will be no more hiding. It’s… it’s almost a relief, to know the other shoe is finally going to drop.

Except it never does.

You wait, quietly, patiently, expectantly. They don’t treat you any different. They never say a word. When they call you down to the lab, it’s just to show off the latest in Fenton ghost hunting technology. Why? Why don’t they ask? Why don’t they administer tests, if not on you than on the house and the Portal? Why does nothing change?

They’re wrong on nearly every count, sure, but you’ve got hurts aplenty to hide. Sam and Tucker have seen the lightning splashed across your skin dozens of times by now, and when they hear the A-listers spreading this bad joke of a ghost story and see you laugh, they laugh too. There wasn’t much chance of hiding it for long from them, after all, when it’s so much easier to patch up the nastier cuts when you’re bleeding sluggish ectoplasm instead of blood pumped by a heart full of adrenaline.

The first time Sam had insisted on unzipping your suit to get a good look at the slash on one shoulder, Tucker cracking a half-hearted attempt at a dirty joke with hands shaking so bad the first aid kit rattled like a live thing, they’d both stopped cold. For ten long seconds, they just stared, pinning you down with matching expressions of horror. It was the longest ten seconds of your life. You’d been scared before, of being found out for the freak you are, of being overwhelmed by powerful ghosts, but this, you’re pretty sure, was the first time you were ever terrified.

But then Sam hugged you, and Tucker had smiled and squeezed your good shoulder, and that had been enough. There wasn’t anything to worry about after all.

They understand now why you gasp when your ghost sense goes off—

(shock like plunging feet first into a frozen lake, shock like drowning with a chest full of dead air, shock like electricity buzzing hot and cold and terrible through your nerves, leaving you breathless and tingling, your fists clenched so tight your knuckles burn white, teeth clenched and grinding as you dart for the nearest lonely corner to gather up your heaviness and summon the starlight in your heart)

—and they know why it took you so long to realize you don’t have a heartbeat when you’re a ghost. The first few times you changed, you’d felt it, felt it like a rush of blood flow to a sleeping limb, but it took weeks to put it together. To realize the stinging, cool pulse radiating from your hand to your chest wasn’t your heart but something else altogether. All that star-bright scar tissue pulses. Involuntary, but without any reaction to how much energy you exert. A constant, steady [unfinished]

Breathing is optional too, when you’re a ghost. You’d found that one out the hard way, choking on mud in that stupid duck pond and tangled in one of Skulker’s nets.

#danny phantom #my writing #deadfic #past me did present me dirty with all these FUCKING italics #you can take my 'danny's got serious anxiety' headcanon from my cold dead hands

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sweeethinny · 4 years

Text

The One - Chapter 1

Finding your soul mate is like entering a home you've been to - you'll recognize the furniture, the pictures on the wall, the books on the shelves, the things in the drawers: you are able to locate yourself in the dark if you need to - I’ll Give You The Sun (Jandy Nelson)

Because when Harry realizes that Ginny is The One, he needs to do something about it. Even if it is risky, because his godfather always alerts him; "What is a life without a little risk?"

(this gif is obviously not mine. All credit to the wonderful creator)

a few days ago I was asked if Harry would have paid attention to Ginny before, if James and Lily were alive, and since then, I haven't stopped thinking about it. It will be a short fanfic, I believe, without many plots or anything, just a light story of teenage romance, there are already too many bad things in real life. In this story, Peter and the other marauders are not so close anymore, Sirius is married to a woman (sorry for the wolfstar) and Remus to Tonks. There is no Voldemort, so everyone is alive.

(just an introductory chapter, I swear it will have more action in the next few. the first is always difficult)

---------------------------

It was supposed to be another normal summer.

The one where Ron ends up going Harry’s home and the two of them venture into the Potter's big backyard, flying with their brooms and talking about everything and nothing, sometimes accompanied by Hermione, sometimes without her, having fun and doing things that teenagers from 15 years must do, that is; a lot of shameful things like hitting on girls and asking them out (not that they did that much, that one time at the Muggle ice cream shop had been traumatic enough). Then they would play Quidditch with Sirius and his father, and for a few days, Harry would take shelter in The Burrow, being pampered by Mrs. Weasley and laughing at anything stupid that the twins would do.

It was simple, without high expectations and feelings.

Until that day.

Harry had called Ron as usual, and then Ginny, because what would be the problem, right? Sirius was traveling with Hestia and they needed another player. But Harry did not foresee anything he would see next (because if he did, he might change things). Okay, Gin was wearing shorter shorts than he usually used to see, and yes, maybe at one time or another he would have looked at her breasts, because they were quite evident in her worn Harpy shirt, but it was so "innocent" that he didn't even consider big things, not wanting to dissect his own teenage mind.

At night, when the fours - Hermione had arrived a little later - were arranged on the two hammocks that hung in the garden trees (Harry with Ginny, and Ron with Mione) talking and laughing about any nonsense that came to mind, he caught himself admiring that redhead more deeply.

She was lying with her head on the other end, one leg dropped out just like his, but unable to touch the grass, while the other was stretched out beside him body, letting him see how white she was, with several small bruises on the knee, ankle and some on the thigh. Her skin looked too soft, a little red from the sun, but nothing too terrible to cause her pain, and there were freckles lost there, too. Not like on the face, but Harry was also lost in counting how many there were, most likely because he concentrated on how terribly sexy her thigh was

Her shirt had also gone up a bit, she was moving her arm towards another tree on her diagonal, something for Ron while they were talking, and that made the bar wander over her navel, which was very tempting. The skin there seemed much softer than the legs, with a little more freckled freckles, and he wondered how far they went up, or down. The shirt was bent because of its position and it made her breasts even more evident, and Harry had never seen one in real life, at least not one that wasn't covered by ashirt, but Ginny's looked incredible, and his palm itched with willingness to caress them.

He was crazy.

It was the sister of his best friend. His friend too - even if not that close - and as much as she liked him in her first year at Hogwarts, and turned incredibly red every time Harry was in the room, she was still Ginny!

''Dinner, kids!'' His mother shouted from the back door, saving him entirely from starting to talk any nonsense to dispel the redhead's mind.

That was just obvious observation that a teenager would do with any female body, it had no great meaning about it.

[...]

''Harry?'' His father's voice was low, a little lazy, standing in the middle of the stairs as he saw him in the kitchen, wandering in front of the cupboards, not knowing where to go. ''Is everything okay?''

''Yes, of course'' He barely looked at the man, crouching down to pick up the bundle of muggle snacks his mother had bought, feeling his stomach as empty as a punctured bag, even though he had eaten kidney pie and potatoes for dinner.

''Nightmare?'' Dad opened another cupboard, taking a cup and filling it with hot water

''No'' If the dream that left him with all his dirty pajama pants counted as a nightmare ... Harry snorted, opening the package and stuffing a handful of potatoes in his mouth, feeling ready to say everything his mind was working on since Ginny stepped into his house. A week ago...

Since when had she been so beautiful?

''Just hungry'' He pointed to the package, leaning against the counter and eating some more, not wanting to go back to the room so soon, a little afraid that if he might close his eyes again, he would feel his balls hurt again, while imagining the redhead wearing bikinis and laughing while jumping in the water and calling him with her finger.

''Your mother hears this and tomorrow she will make two pies just for you'' He laughed, stirring the tea and watching his son carefully. James didn't wear his glasses, but Harry bet he didn't even need to know that something was wrong ''Ginny plays well''

''Have you ever think to who shouldn't?’’ The boy sat on the bench, filling his mouth again, kind of to shut up and avoid talking too much

"Um ... what do you mean?’’ James pulled one of the chairs and sat there, across from him

''Not being the mother ... You know, thinking about someone ... Not thoughts ... friendly ... you know?’’ His voice sounded more nervous than he wanted, but Harry blamed the dream for that. ''Wants to know? Forget it'' But before he managed to get up, his voice, thick and without a hint of laziness, resonated through the kitchen

''Sit down, Harry'' And so he did, not wanting to test his father's patience when it was one in the morning ''Of course I already thought of other people not being your mother. In school days, of course. But until she accepted me for no seventh year, it was a long year.'' A playful smile crossed his face, and the boy winced as he imagined the younger father having these conflicts '’Is that Cho?'' Harry made a face

''She rejected me a few weeks before we took the train. She's dating that Diggory'' Dad nodded, drinking tea patiently ''I just asked why ... how do I stop thinking about a girl?’’ His cheeks flushed to the deepest red, and he was grateful for the little light in the room and his father's lack of glasses.

''If I had known how, I would have got rid of your mother's thoughts the instant she rejected me'' They both laughed softly ''I don't know Harry, why are you trying to get her out of your head? Is someone impossible?''

Was Ginny impossible? Bill was a really big guy, Charlie dealt with dragons for Merlin's sake, and Ron was his best friend ... But Ginny, just her, was already pretty scared in her own right, like that day that she cursed a Slytherin and he ran for almost the entire castle .. Harry should feared her more than her brothers.

''I don't know'' He admitted, playing with the package, mashing a potato or two, while thinking better ''It's just ... it's stupid'' He shrugged

''Well, she seems to have taken your sleep away and increased your hunger'' He pointed to the almost empty package ''It doesn't look very stupid to me .. Why don't you just ask her, just like you did with Cho?''

''I took a year and a half with her'' James laughed

''Try to take less time with this one, you won't have that much time to date in seventh grade'' The man blinked, giving a cheeky little smile

[...]

''Your dad told me you’re in trouble with girls'' Sirius commented as soon as he saw him, sitting on the living room sofa and tying his black hair up in a little bun

''Hello Sirius, I missed you too ... yes, we haven't seen each other in almost a month ... Was your trip good? .. Ah, my dad gossiped about this? I thought we were friends." The godfather laughed, raising his eyebrows and denying it while watching him."Just a few comments, nothing much "

''He said you're thinking about who you shouldn't'' Harry rolled his eyes, sighing as he tried to remember why he had asked for advice for the man who doesn't keep secrets.

''It's not that I shouldn't, it's just that it's not worth it'' He shrugged, pretending that he hadn't dreamed of her two nights ago, after swimming together in The Burrow

''How do you know? Have you asked her yet?''

''Of course not, do you think I'm crazy?’’ Sirius laughed, denying and ruffling his godson's hair

''You didn't take that from your father ... Harry, no you already have it ... ''

'' ..Yes, I need the humiliation''

''It may be'' He would prefer his godfather to deny it, as his mother would “You will never know if you don't ask. What if she is the only one? Will you miss a chance out of fear?''

''Aunt Hestia is making it too soft, I thought you would say that I need to know all the dark corners of Hogwarts'' The man rolled his eyes

''That's obvious, there are exceptional broom cabinets'' He blinked, while Harry laughed ''Talk to her, even if it is risky ... What is a life without a little risk?"

#hinny #harry x ginny #hp au #james x lily #james potter #ron x hermione #ron weasley #ginny weasley #jily lives #hinny fanfic #read-a-hinny-fic #Harry Potter #hp and the order of the phoenix #hinny au

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vcidgalpin · 4 years

Text

Heart Monitor Pt 1

Stiles Stilinski x Reader (Eventually)

Season 1 Masterlist

Word Count: 2819

A/N: Forgiveness n whateverrr, please can you comment if you are enjoying so know to continue.

Warnings: None?

Scott slips into his seat behind me and Stiles, leaning forwards over his desk,

“You're still not talking to me?” Stiles ignores Scott, fiddling with a pen between his fingers. “Can you at least tell me if your Dad is okay? It was just a bruise, right? Soft tissue damage?” Wait, his dad got hurt? I left before the mountain lion attack that everyone has been talking about nonstop since last night, “You know I feel really bad about it?” Stiles still doesn’t say anything. “Okay, what if I told you that I’m trying to figure this out? And that I went to Derek for help.” Without turning around Stiles finally replies,

“If I was talking to you, I’d tell you that you’re an idiot for trusting him. But obviously I’m not talking to you,”

“Y/N? Are you ignoring me too?”

“No. Not you,” I hear Stiles scoff and Scott squints his eyes, looking between me and his best friend curiously. The classroom settles down for the start of the lesson, and Stiles nervously clicks his pen a bunch of times. I can feel anger start to bubble in my stomach from the clicking noise, and I whip around to Scott to distract myself.

“What did he say? Derek,” From the corner of my eye, I can see Stiles’ ear turn to our conversation, listening in, but trying to be subtle about it.

---

“He wants you to tap into your animal side and get angry? Correct me if I’m wrong, but every time you do that you try to kill someone. That someone usually being me,” Stiles complains as we all walk through the school hallway,

“That’s what he means when he says he doesn’t know if he can teach me. I have to be able to control it,”

“Scott, I can help you with that, okay? You don’t have to listen to everything Derek says all the time. Just because he is older than me, and maybe knows certain things that I don’t know… Whatever- This is something we can do, the two of us,”

“Three,” Stiles buts in, clearly feeling left out of the conversation again. “What’s the plan?”

“For right now? We’re having lunch,” The boys look at me, confused. “What? I’m hungry.”

We find a table, and I go to sit down with the pair when a voice calls out my name from across the room.

“Y/N! Come sit with us? I feel like we haven’t seen you in forever,” Lydia waves her hand for me to come over, and I oblige. I sit by Allison, putting my lunch on the table, and looking curiously at the book she has out.

“Anyway, so- your ancestors killed a big wolf. So what?” Lydia prompts Allison, a bored tone to her voice. I start to feel a weird pit form in my stomach, and my mind flashes to the other day with Jackson. Jackson - Lydia’s boyfriend. Oh God, I let my best friend’s boyfriend cheat on her, with me. I am the worst person on the planet.

“-Not just a big wolf. Look at this picture. What’s it look like to you?” She turns the book so the redhead can get a better look, and I tilt my head to see too. My eyes go wide at the image, and I hear Lydia’s heartbeat start to race. The Alpha. She remembers. “Lydia?”

“It looks. Like a big. Wolf. See you in history,”

“Wha- Lydia I just got here- and she’s already gone,” My nerves slightly ease, but I still feel sick to my stomach at what I did.

“Hey, are you okay Y/N?” Allison’s voice breaks up my thoughts, and I look to her, to see her big doe eyes watching me carefully.

“Yeah- I. I guess not really?”

“You wanna talk about it?” Her voice is warm, filled with care. “It’s about Stiles isn’t it?” I let out a breathy laugh, sort of relieved that she had no clue about my secret that was literally eating me from the inside-out. “Sorry, it’s just, Scott said you two were arguing again. I thought you two had sorted things out?”

“How did he even tell you that, you haven’t seen each other all day,” Allison waves her phone at me. Of course, they probably text one another about every little thing they see. I look over the room to see Scott looking at Allison over a book, and Stiles laughing at his awful attempt at being subtle.

“You like him, don’t you?” I whip my head around to Allison and quickly back at the boys. Scott is listening to this. I focus on controlling my heartbeat as I speak to Allison.

“We have things in common, he’s a good friend. But he does get under my skin, sometimes I can’t deal with him,” Allison just laughs at me rambling on.

“So you like him,”

“Allison! No- not like that, okay?” Shit. I heard the jump in my heart as clear as day. I look at Scott, and see him smirking at me. I swear to God-

The bell rings loudly, and I shove my things into my bag, running to catch up with Scott when I hear Allison call out his name. Scott, pretending not to hear, leaves through the doors and starts moving quicker, leaving me and Stiles still at the table. Allison walks past us, after her boyfriend, and I give her a shrug as she looks at me.

“I get under your skin, huh?” I’m gonna kill Scott.

“You know you do, you literally do it on purpose Stiles. Don’t play innocent with me,” He laughs loudly, and my body becomes less tense at the sound. Things are starting to feel normal again. “Stiles?”

“Hm?”

“Why were you so upset last night? You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to it’s just-”

“-No, it’s fine. I just- I guess you were right. I’ve liked Lydia for years, and I guess my expectations were… unrealistic,” A small smile creeps onto my lips, “What?”

“Nothing. I just like hearing you say I’m right,” He rolls his eyes and pushes my side with his arm playfully.

“Whatever. So, what’s the plan?” I grab his sleeve and pull him out of the cafeteria, leading him to the locker rooms, stopping outside the door.

“Text Scott to meet you here, get changed and get your lacrosse gear. I am going to go find Coach,” Stiles still looks confused, but I run off before he can get another word in, “Just do what I say, okay?”

---

“Put this on,” I throw the black heart rate monitor towards Scott, who catches it easily.

“Isn’t this one of the heart rate monitors for the track team?”

“Yeah. I talked to Coach about joining,”

“Really?” Stiles suddenly speaks, sounding overjoyed. I nod, a shy grin on my face.

“Coach uses on to monitor his heart rate with his phone while he jogs, so you are going to wear it for the rest of the day,”

“Is that coach’s phone?” I look down,

“Yeah… Well I didn’t know how to set a new one up so while he showed me where they were, I just… Took his phone and a monitor. Look, it was a necessary evil,”

“Why did you need to steal a heart rate monitor in the first place?”

“Well. Your heart rate goes up when you wolf out. Like when you play lacrosse, when you’re with Allison, when you get angry… So, maybe for you, learning to control your heart rate will help you stay human,”

“Like the Incredible Hulk?” Stiles asks.

“I guess-”

“I’m like the Incredible Hulk,” He smiles, losing focus in his own self-esteem.

“Well done Stiles, you’ve only gone and inflated his ego. Scott, shut up and put the strap on,”

Moments later, Scott is standing with his hands bound behind his back with duct tape.

“This is not how I planned to spend my free period,” Stiles and I pick up a lacrosse stick each, and Stiles puts the phone down so that we can see the heart monitor.

“Ready Scott?”

“No,”

“Remember. Don’t get angry,” Stiles drops a couple lacrosse balls down and picks one up with his stick,

“I’m starting to think this is a really bad-” Before he can finish, a ball flies through the air, straight into Scott’s leg. He whines in pain, and Stiles sadistically smiles, picking up another ball, nailing Scott in the shoulder. “Okay, that one hurt,”

“Shush. You should be concentrating on keeping your heart rate steady. Stay calm. Y/N, you try one,” I scoop a ball up in my net and lob it towards Scott, hitting him directly in the stomach. He doubles over, trying to catch his breath. “Nice shot,”

“She is a hell of a lot stronger than you Stiles, this is hardly fair,”

“Oh quit whining, Scott,” I say as I throw another, hitting him in the neck. Yikes, that can’t have been good. He stumbles, falling to his knees with his hands still behind his back. Stiles moves to get another shot in, but I stop him, pointing at the phone. Fast beeping rings out from the phone, the numbers climbing rapidly. A gravelly growl comes from the boy, and the duct tape rips with a swift tug of his wrists. “Scott? Calm down,” I slowly approach him, ready to defend myself if he changes. He looks up at me, forehead drenched in sweat.

“The angrier I got, the stronger I felt. Is that normal?”

“Yeah. The trick is remembering to not let that need for strength overpower you,”

“I can’t be around Allison,” He slumps down on the grass, “She makes me weak,”

---

For my second free period, I go and sit by my locker in the empty hallway. The library was ironically too loud to get any work done in, so this was a fair enough place to go. Engulfed in my book, I don’t even notice a figure stood next to me until they speak,

“What are you reading?” I glance up in surprise, and see Jackson towering over me.

“Oh, um. Jane Eyre,” I show him the cover of the book before looking down to continue reading. Jackson drops his bag and sits down; very close to me, might I add.

“You have a free period too?”

“No. I just don’t feel like sitting through Chem,”

“Sure. Um… Did you want something?” I look at him. He looks pale, nearly dead. The bags under his eyes showing through. Usually his skin looks airbrushed, annoyingly perfect, but now it looks decrepit and washed out.

“Actually, I wanted to talk. I know- I know that things happened between us, and that I just ran away, and have tried to avoid you ever since but, I just can’t. And it would be wrong of me to not say something, so I guess I just really had to get some stuff off of my chest. I’ve been a jerk to you, your other friend, and especially to Scott. I just wanted to say I’m sorry. I’m serious,” Wow that was actually kind of mature of him, except for the fact that he didn’t really make much effort to remember Stiles’ name but, it’s a start. Maybe he really is dying.

“Are you okay?” I ask, not able to hold my tongue any longer. “You look kind of pale, and- I don’t know, you don’t seem yourself,”

“I’m fine. I just-” He trails off,

“You never told me what happened with Derek, or at the store,”

“I got a cut, on the back of my neck, and I guess something got into it or whatever, because since then, I’ve felt so sick. But I can’t go to the doctors, because not only will they ask questions, they might not let me play,”

“Can I see it? The cut.” He squints his eyes, scanning me, clearly confused. He shrugs after a moment, and turns his back to me so I can have a look. 3 wounds that haven’t properly healed yet trail down the nape of his neck. A werewolf did this. But they hadn’t healed, so that means he isn’t a werewolf, which I guess is a good thing. His body seems to be rejecting it though, so maybe he did get cut deep enough. But that would mean that he really is dying.

“Ouch,” I finally say, trying to break the silence. “That looks serious, I wish I knew how to help,” He turns back to me again and we stay in an awkward quiet state for a moment before he speaks again,

“You totally hate me, don’t you?”

“No. I hate myself. For what I did to Lydia. She’s my best friend, and I can’t bring myself to tell her what I did. What we did,”

“Please don't tell her. I know this kind of goes against my whole, ‘I’m a changed person’ thing, but I just… We got caught up in a moment, and we’re only human,” His emphasis on the last word makes my heart skip a beat. He couldn’t know, that wouldn’t make sense. How could he? “Please. It’s just- It’s been a long time since anyone has really seemed to… Care. I just lost myself, so please, don’t tell Lydia, okay? If it makes you feel better, it wasn’t your fault, alright?” He really does seem to care about his relationship with Lydia, even if he doesn’t show it openly a lot. My stomach still churns with guilt, but I nod to him, and start reading ‘Jane Eyre’ again. He leans forward to grab his bag, as if he is planning to leave. But before he gets up, he says,

“I just want to be friends. With you and Scott. I like you. Both of you. And I want you to like me. I want to get to know you two better,” He gets up, smiling at me, before leaving.

---

“One of you two, sit behind me,” Scott says to Stiles and I as we walk into Economics. The classroom is almost full by the time we get there, and Scott sits down first. I go to sit behind him, but Allison beats me there,

“You don’t mind, do you?” She asks sweetly, and I look between her and Scott’s pleading eyes before shaking my head, and sitting behind Stiles, in the next seat over. “Hey, I haven’t seen you all day,” She says to Scott, who is fiddling with his bag, trying to look busy,

“Oh. Sorry? I’ve just had a lot to do. I texted you earlier though,”

“Still, I feel totally disconnected from you… Anyway, I switched lab partners,”

“To who?”

“To you, dummy. Stiles can work with Y/N, and I can work with you. This way, I get an excuse to bring you home to study,”

“Oh…” He trails off, “I just… I don’t want to bring your grade down.”

“Maybe I can bring your grade up. Come to my place tonight. 8:30?”

“Tonight?”

“8:30.” All of a sudden Coach slams a thick book down on his desk at the front of the room.

“All right, settle down. Let’s start with a quick summary of last night’s reading. Greenberg, put your hand down. Everybody knows you did the reading. How about... McCall?” I looked at him, knowing he probably didn’t do the reading. Putting my hand up to get the attention off of him, I get a stare from Coach. “Y/N, I asked McCall,”

“Last night’s reading?” Scott says, dumbly, and I sink into my seat, embarrassed for him.

“No, the reading of the Gettysburg Address,”

“What?”

“That was sarcasm, McCall. Familiar with the concept?” The boy glances to Stiles, who smiles proudly.

“Very,”

“Did you do the reading or not?”

“I think I forgot,”

“Okay, then. Nice work. Because it’s not like you’re averaging a D in this class. You do know I can’t keep you on the team with a D, McCall?” I hear a faint beeping noise. The heart rate monitor. “How about you summarize the previous night’s reading? No? How about the night before? How about you summarize anything you’ve ever read? In your entire life,” Scott starts to get flustered, and the beeping gets quicker. “Anything at all. A blog? The back of a cereal box? The adults only warning on your favourite website,” Laughs can be heard from around the room, and Scott just stares blankly at Coach. “Thank you, McCall. Thank you for extinguishing every last flicker of hope I have for your generation. Next practice you start with suicide runs,” He sinks into his seat, and Stiles looks between Scott and the phone. Much to his surprise, he notices the BPM going down, and I glance down to see Allison’s fingers intertwining with Scott’s under the desk.

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#teen wolf #teen wolf series #teen wolf fic #teen wolf fanfiction #teen wolf season 1 #stiles stilinski #stiles x reader #stiles stilinksi imagine #stiles x y/n #Scott McCall #lydia martin #Jackson Whittemore #allison argent

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pokepony · 3 years

Text

Changeling: Find

Did I write a whole oneshot for this AU? Yes, yes I did. :3

Word count: 2,298 (aka longer than my usual shjksjks)

“Mama, can I go play?”

She smiled. “Yes you can.”

“Wanna play with me, Yak?”

“Nah, I’m still hungry.” Wakko shrugged to say ‘suit yourself’.

“Sweetie, remember not to wander off too far.”

“I won’t!”

With that, the younger Warner brother rushed off to burn his excess energy. This was Wakko’s favorite activity when his family went on picnics (well, other than eating). The garden they visited was an absolute marvel to look at. Not to mention that it was massive; it was practically a maze every time he went in. He still didn’t memorize the path despite how many times he’d been on it, but hey, that was the fun part!

He skipped along the stone path with his arms outstretched to his sides, tongue flopping out of his mouth happily. As he felt the wind breeze past his fur, he flapped his arms about. Ah, it was such a nice day.

But Wakko’s state of bliss was interrupted when he felt one of his ears twitch. Stopping in his tracks, he raised it up curiously; he heard something. Straining his ear, he noticed the sound was high and prolonged. Almost like.. crying.

He slightly frowned. Who was crying? Why? He hoped that person was okay. He prepared to think nothing more of it and continue running about, but then the sound got louder. It definitely sounded like crying now.

He considered looking for the person but he wasn’t sure. His parents (and Yakko) always told him about “stranger danger”. But surely, no mean person could be crying like that.

Right..?

Well, if things went south, he had enough grasp on his toon powers to summon a mallet for a period of time. If not, he could always scream for his family.

His plan set in stone, Wakko followed the sound and heard it get louder as he neared a group of hedges that were arranged in a circle. He noticed that each hedge had a very small gap in between them, but not impossible for him to navigate through.

As he reached the gap, he peeked through it and could see something sitting in a very small flower bed. The wailing was at its apex; he must’ve found the crying person! Slowly but surely, he squeezed himself through the gap to see what was up.

However, what he did see was.. questionable, at the very least.

The thing in the flower bed was a creature. It was facing away from him, but it looked small and it seemed like it wore something like a magenta onesie. A black tail like his poked out of the onesie and, most interestingly, light pink insectile wings poked out on its back.

Cautiously, he inched toward the creature as quietly as he could, but the soft crunch of the plants under his paw alerted it of his presence. As it turned around to face him, he got a little freaked out.

Its eyes were black like his, but there were no pupils. Wait, there was some gray in the middle of its eyes—were those its pupils? It also had noticeable eyelashes (and a yellow flower tied around its ears), so maybe it was a girl? But perhaps the freakiest thing was the two giant fangs jutting right out her mouth.

Upon seeing them, the young boy gasped softly, to which the creature let out a scared-sounding chirp and began backing away until she reached a corner. She continued to look at him with fearful eyes, whimpering.

Wakko wasn’t sure what to think. He was creeped out, but at the same time, intrigued.

She looked like the same kind of toon that he and his family were. Black fur, white face, red nose. Her fingers were really pointy though, almost like they were claws. In fact, she did have claws poking out of her paws.

What was she? Her features seemed kinda familiar, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.

Besides, he needed to calm her down first.

The boy raised his hands up appeasingly. “‘Ey,” he called out, slowly walking over to her. “Don’ worry. I’m not gonna hurt you.” As long as you don’ hurt me.

The insect-like being seemed to understand him, her whimpers subsiding into sniffles. He stood right in front of her, taking in her appearance. She was indeed much smaller than him; she was most likely only a baby. As he gazed at her, she gazed at him in a similarly curious manner, her wings twitching likewise.

“Are you okay?” Wakko asked softly. She only tilted her head. “Can’ talk, huh?”

The baby tilted her head again and voiced a quizzical chitter. Her compound-like eyes surveyed over the boy once more before she closed them, concentrating, the flower on her head beginning to glow green. Bracing himself just in case, he backed away from her a bit.

A green aura washed over the creature and as it reached the bottom of her feet, her normal form was not in place. Instead, Wakko found himself staring at a mirror; she copied his exact appearance.

“Whoa,” he gaped at her in awe, eyes sparkling likewise. She looked exactly like him. Well, almost; she was still the same size as what she was normally.

Then a light wind breezed by, carrying the pollen of the nearby flowers. His counterpart sneezed, causing the green aura to wash over his body again. When the aura dissipated, the baby was back in her place.

Wakko smiled, tongue sticking out. “Cool, you can turn inta’ people!” he cheered, clapping his hands. “Do me again! Do me again!”

“Wakko!”

His ears perked up again; that was Yakko. Upon hearing the new voice, the creature squeaked frightfully and scurried back into a darker corner, causing him to reach his hand out to her as he hissed, “No, come back!”. Much more to his dismay, he saw a flash of green before she disappeared before his very eyes.

“Where are ya, baby bro?”

“I’m ova’ here!” he quickly alerted, waving his hand.

He could the form of his brother pause before he saw him slide through the hedge gap. “Hey,” Yakko greeted with a smile. “Whatcha doin’ here?”

“I-I ‘eard someone cryin’ an’ I wen’ t’ go see, an’ I-I found this baby!” Wakko said frantically. “But you scared ‘er off!” He gave his brother a little shove.

The elder uttered a surprised ‘ow!’. “Sorry, I didn’t know.”

Wakko scanned his eyes back to the corner where the creature ran for any sign of her. Luckily, when he squinted, he saw the end of her tail stick out in the sunlight.

His face erupted into a big grin and he turned back to Yakko. “Neva’ mind, she’s still here!” He turned back to the corner and urged the child forward. “You can come out, is’ okay. Is’ jus’ my big brotha.”

An uncertain pause of silence followed before both brothers saw another flash of green and the baby reappear. Warily, she crawled out into the light.

As he got a better glimpse of this baby, Yakko’s eyes widened. “Get behind me, Wak!” he shouted, summoning a mallet and holding it threateningly with a hardened expression to match.

“Huh?!” Wakko cried out, alarmed. Seeing the girl screech in fear once more, he stood in front of her protectively. “Hey, what’re ya doin’—?!”

“That’s a changeling, Wak!”

“A- huh?”

“A changeling!” he repeated. “Mom and Dad told us about them, ‘member? They’re bad!”

Changeling.. changeling.. Wakko tried to rack his mind on what his parents had told him. Changeling—Oh, that’s right!

Changelings. Bug-like creatures that used magic and could disguise themselves as your loved ones while they drained you of your love; they were like energy vampires. The fangs, the wings, the shapeshifting.. She fit the bill.

He frowned. “But.. she didn’ do anythin’ bad.”

“Mom says it’s ‘cuz they try to trick ya,” Yakko countered. “They act nice so that they can attack ya when you don’ expect it.” He raised his weapon. “Now, c’mon, get away from it!”

His younger sibling shook his head firmly. “No!” His eyes turned pleading. “C’mon, big brotha. She’s jus’ a baby.”

Yakko repeatedly switched his gaze between him and the girl. When he looked at the girl’s petrified expression, he couldn’t help but soften, guilty for scaring her so much. He sighed. “I guess you’re right,” he admitted, putting away his mallet. “What do ya think she’s doin’ out here?” he asked, taking a seat on the grass.

“I dunno,” Wakko replied, also taking a seat. He invited the baby to sit in his lap, to which she obliged. “There wasn’ anyone else around.” He then summoned a small pair of keys from his hammerspace and held them above her, shaking them. She cooed and clawed at the keys happily.

The seven-year-old let a small smile reach his face. “Hey, let me play with her,” he said, opening his arms up.

Wakko smiled and nodded, preparing to hand her over when the child let out a whimper, clearly still intimidated by the older brother. “He’s not gonna hurt ya, I pwomise,” he quickly assured before giving her to Yakko.

As she (reluctantly) settled in his lap, she still tensed up and shied away from his watch. However, when Wakko handed his brother the keys and he began to jingle them, she couldn’t stay away. A smile spread wide on her face, her fangs on full show, and she erupted into giggles as she clawed at the keys again.

Yakko’s own smile grew. “She’s pretty cute for a bug,” he chuckled. But his grin turned downward. “Where’re her parents?”

Wakko made an ‘I dunno’ sound. “Did they leave ‘er ‘ere?”

He shook his head. “No way. No parents would do that. Not good ones..”

The younger looked over to the baby concernedly. “She was cryin’ really loud.. Maybe she’s been out ‘ere for a long time.”

Yakko thought about it. It wouldn’t exactly be surprising given the reputation that changelings have. And, oh, man, was it him or was her stomach smaller?

He really didn’t want to consider it.. but it was likely that she was abandoned.

No matter what she was, a child didn’t deserve that at all. His big brother instincts were kicking in. She needed help.

The older Warner brother narrowed his eyes with conviction. “We should take her back to Mom and Dad.”

--------

“Mom! Dad!”

Angelina and William felt a wave of relief when they heard their eldest son’s voice and saw both of their sons running towards them.

“There you boys are,” she said. “We were getting worried.”

“Sorry, Mom,” Yakko quickly apologized. “But Wakko found something.”

She quirked an eyebrow as her four-year-old approached them, seemingly trying to steady himself as he carried something in his arms. “Look!” he cried. He gently gestured to his parents, the thing turning its head to reveal the baby changeling. Angelina gasped and William tensed up just a little.

“Mama, Dadoo, can we keep ‘er?” Wakko asked.

“Boys,” William started, voice laced with apprehension. “you do know that is a changeling, yes?”

“Yeah, but.. But she was all alone back there!”

“She could still be dangerous.”

His wife held up a hand. “Now, hold on, William. She is just a little one.” She kneeled over to Wakko. “Let me see her, honey.”

He did so, handing the baby once more. Being mindful of her claws, Angelina held her in a cradle-like fashion and began to rock her gently. The child nuzzled into her chest, gripping her almost like a koala. At that, Angelina became the third person to smile at the baby’s antics. She looked to her husband. “She can’t be dangerous, love. She just can’t.”

William couldn’t help but soften at both Angie and the baby. He sighed, “I will admit it looks unlikely.”

She turned back to her children. “Are you sure you didn’t see her parents? No notes for her or anything?” Her younger son nodded wildly.

Yakko clasped his hands in a pleading fashion. “Can we please keep her? She might be a changeling, but we can teach her not to be evil!”

“She even looks like us!” Wakko added.

Their parents shared a glance to each other, unsure. How were they going to take care of a changeling? It was definitely going to be questionable when it came to feeding it, for starters..

But they couldn’t leave her alone out here. She was such a darling to boot.

With no more words, Angelina and William looked at each other and nodded with finality. She looked at Yakko and Wakko with a soft smile. “Alright, boys. We can take her in.”

The brothers grinned ear to ear at the announcement, rushing to their mother in a hug. They looked down at the baby who gazed interestedly at everyone around her, softly cooing. “What are we gonna call her?” Yakko asked.

“Well, you boys were the ones who found her,” Angie said. “Have any suggestions?”

Yakko put a finger to his chin with a ‘mmm’, pondering. “Daisy?”

His parents ‘hmm’ed. “Fits with the flower, but not sure about her..” William commented.

“Dot.”

Everyone looked to Wakko. “I like Dot.”

“Dot,” Yakko repeated, testing it on his tongue. He beamed. “Yeah, I like that, Wak.”

“Dot is very nice,” their father said.

“It can be short for Dorothy,” Angie added. She looked at the child. “Do you like that, little one?” She was met with what sounded like a happy chitter. “Dorothy it is,” she smiled.

The newly-named Dot continued to giggle, cheerfully reaching out for her new parents. The brothers looked at their new sister affectionately, a new feeling of unconditional love rising from within them.

Welcome to the family, Dot.

If you made it this far, thanks a lot for reading!! :D

#animaniacs #animaniatag #animaniacs au #yakko wakko and dot #yakko warner #wakko warner #dot warner #changeling au #mlp changeling

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ask-villain-izuku-midoriya · 3 years

Text

Talking about abuse and toxic families

Ace again. Kinda wanna talk about something.

A lot of people are convinced that I was lying about my family. About how bad it was there.

At first, I just thought of our relationship as unhealthy. But some people made me realize it was beyond that.

It was abusive. Physically, verbally and mentally.

Remember when I stated before that someone close to me broke my glasses and tried to kill me? That was my mom. She also lied about it to my dad, saying that I tried to attack her, and naturally he believed her.

My dad also made an attempt on my life once. I got in trouble for watching TV while wiping down the table. I still remember it all. It was on a Thursday night, and American Idol was on. It was near the finals, and Casey James’s cover of Mrs. Robinson was playing. I was 9 at the time. My dad was laying on the couch when my mom told him, and he called me over. He asked me why, and I got scared. I was stammering and shaking, and then he got up.

I remember him standing in front of me for a good 5 seconds, and it made me realize how small I was to him.

Then he grabbed me by the neck.

He picked me up and yelled, “ANSWER THE GOD DAMN QUESTION! WHY?!”

I don’t think I had ever been so scared in my life. I genuinely thought he was going to kill me.

I guess he realized that what he did was wrong(that or he realized that, y’know, when you got your hands around someone’s neck, they can’t really answer you), because he set me down and told me to go to my room(which I’m gonna talk about in a minute).

My mom came in after me, and told me to go brush my teeth, “because she sure as hell wasn’t gonna pay a dentist to do it.(also gonna talk about in a minute)”

Afterwards, she got her turn of yelling at me and wrestling me and making me feel like shit. She left for about 20 minutes, probably so that she could calm down a bit and put on a sugary sweet facade and apologize.

I forgave her. Stupid me. Only hurt me worse.

But my dad never apologized.

They’re mostly faded but I have scars on my back from when they spanked me. They experimented with everything: wooden spoons, plastic spatulas, belts, sandals, books, even a plastic hairbrush of mine.

My mom also punished me by pouring things down my throat. Tabasco sauce, Dawn soap, vinegar, you name it. I remember one time I said a bad word and my mom made my siblings pour vinegar in my mouth. I was standing there, sobbing and drooling like a rabid fucking dog, while she lounged in the pool and watched. To this day, if I even smell Dawn soap or Tabasco sauce, I start gagging. I have to have my coworkers make the hot wings at work, because I can’t fucking stand it.

One time we had this bulldog named Hercules, who was really aggressive. He attacked one of our other dogs and I tried to break up the fight. I ended up with a chunk of my arm missing, and after the incident, my mom blamed me, saying that I was stupid enough to try and break them up that it was my fault. I thought I was doing the right thing at the time, and that just kinda crushed me.

By 11 I was having...thoughts. Thoughts of, would they be happier people if I just didn’t exist? I felt like I was just an ant to everyone. Nobody would be hurt or be sad if I left.

The sad part was, it wasn’t just my parents. It was my siblings too.

Things got worse as I got older. One time my mom poured Dawn soap in my mouth, and then got in my face and screamed at me. I tried to talk, but my mouth was full of soap and it got in her eye. She punched me hard, so hard that I fell over. Later I looked in the mirror and saw blood running from my nose to my collarbone.

Others have witnessed the actual abuse happening. My grandma(her mom), my grandpa(my dad’s dad), my brother’s dive coach, my sister’s boyfriend/family friend, my brother’s friends, everyone.

One time my sister was mad at me when we went to the grocery, and sent me to get some ginger root. The ginger root was massive, so I tried to pick the smallest one. When I came back, she was pissed off that the one I grabbed was still pretty big. I tried explaining to her that they were all big, she threatened to punch the shit out of me, and that she didn’t care if she got arrested for it. The bagger saw it all, and asked me if I was okay.

It’s a sign that things are not okay when you have to smile through the tears and lie through your teeth.

My room was literally a walk-in closet. There was no built-in AC so often I would have to sleep in a 104 degree room. If I even TRIED using the bathroom or getting water, I would get in trouble, causing me to develop UTIs.

I only went to the doctor once every couple of years. They were just for check-ups. That was it. One time I had a bad stomach flu, it was probably the sickest I had ever been, and I begged, PLEADED for them to take me to the doctor. And they just said that I ate too much pizza. They didn’t believe it was a stomach bug until everyone else caught it.

Basically I was the joke in the family. Everyone was so successful, and I just felt like they were comparing me to them and rubbing it in my face. After I failed out, whenever the topic of my siblings’ success came up, my mom would scoff and say, “Well, I got the first three right, dunno about the last.” Every time she said that, it hurt so much.

One time my brother told me nobody in the household loved me, just that they were forced to love me because I was family. It’s been years since he told me that, and it still hasn’t gone away.

By 15 the thoughts escalated into voices. Voices that echoed everything they said about me. They still haunt me to this day. By then I needed glasses and nobody believed me, and I felt like I was abandoned.

At sixteen I was having suicidal thoughts. I had lived out part of my life and it wasn’t enough. Nobody loved me, nobody cared for me. Living was pointless. Classmates saw what was happening but when CPS came, all they saw was the pool, the nice cars, the TV and video game setup(which I was never allowed to touch because I was always in trouble with them), all of that. They didn’t see how I procrastinated on going home. They didn’t see the scars my mom had left on my skin. They didn’t see that my anxiety had developed into a skin picking disorder, and that I had torn up my skin because of how bad it was.

I wasn’t allowed to have friends over, or go over to a friend’s house. If my classmates gave me a ride, my mom would fucking explode. I wasn’t allowed a phone. In junior year my mom saw that I was listening to YouTube while writing an essay at school and locked me out of my school email. That was part of why I failed. Didn’t have access to my own homework.

I felt alone. My mom told me that I didn’t have friends at school, that the people I called “friends” were younger kids, and they only were my friends because nobody in my grade liked me or wanted to be around me. My siblings said that nobody would want to date my ugly fat ass.

With both of my jobs, she wouldn’t let me go to work unless I finished all of my chores. Sometimes she would make do really hard stuff, like mowing the grass, so that by the time I would get to work, I was drained. Plus, they made sure I didn’t touch my paychecks.

I spent $85 on a present for my mom on Valentine’s day, and I never got a thank you, further proving that I was unappreciated there.

I’ve tried so many things to keep my family happy, sometimes going a day without food because I didn’t want to eat something of theirs and upset them. I have bought them gifts, I have tried having fun conversations, I have gotten them food, I have done almost everything.

But it was never enough. I’d just feel so cold and empty inside.

I could keep going on about what all they did to me. But the moral of the story is: don’t stick around for somebody who’s gonna treat you like shit. Because all they’re gonna do is take advantage and hurt you even more.

#abuse #lets talk #serious talk #help

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ickle-ronniekins · 3 years

Text

- u n d e r n e a t h t h e w i l l o w t r e e -

Age 10 The summer breeze picks up its speed; eagerly, she jumps to her feet and brushes the grass off of her shorts before running forward. She presses the bottoms of her sneakers into the trunk of the willow tree, not listening to the calls from her sister. “You’re silly!” her sister calls, sticking out her tongue. “You’re going to hurt yourself!”

Of course she doesn’t listen, because when has she ever let people dictate what she should and shouldn’t do? Never. She’s halfway up the tree and she can feel the roughness of the thick branches digging deeper and deeper into her skin, but she wants to keep going. She’s got to get to the top.

Perhaps she should have listened to her older sister though, because suddenly the wind whips her hair into her eyes and she loses her grip, tumbling through the leaves and branches and crashing dramatically on the thick bed of grass beneath her. She wants to scream, because the truth is that the pain of the fall is almost unbearable, and her sister is already screaming in horror at the sight and immediately runs inside for their parents.

And then someone appears next to her: the boy from across the street, the one who’s always fiddling with some type of baseball playing cards on the bus with his friends. The one with the turquoise eyes and the blonde hair. The one who likes to cook with his mom. The one who always waves to her when they’re both playing in their driveways. He peers down at her with concern. “Are you okay?”

She huffs in annoyance. “Does it look like I’m okay?”

In response, he giggles. “Glad to see that the fall hasn’t affected your ability to be funny!”

And alright, she can’t help it: she laughs. And he does too. The dimple on the right side of his face is quite noticeable, she realizes.

“How come you didn’t listen to your sister?” he asks, kneeling down next to her. “She was right, you know.”

“She may have been right, but I was gonna climb that tree whether she liked it or not,” the girl announces, folding her arms across her chest. Then she winces in pain, cradling her ankle that’s already beginning to swell. She’s forcing herself to not cry, not cry, not cry. She’s about to get up when the boy places a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t try and move. Trust me. Your sister went to go get your mom and dad. I’ll stay here with you until they come, is that okay?”

She nods slowly. Then he sits down next to her and leans back against the tree. To her surprise, the tears fall down her cheeks, but the boy doesn’t say anything. Instead he smiles at her and says, “I would’ve climbed that tree, too.”

And to think: this entire time, he’s been right across the street. Why haven’t they been friends this entire time?

Age 15 “Don’t you see!” she squeals in horror, staring at something in the mirror he can’t quite see.

He’s standing behind her with an expression filled with confusion, his hands in his pockets. The bus will be soon and we haven’t had breakfast, he wants to say, but he knows if he rushes her, she’ll lash out. So instead, he impatiently says, “Um... no?” except, it kind of comes out as a question.

The girl throws her hands up in annoyance and violently rubs a brush along her jawline, careful to cover whatever it she sees that the boy cannot. “I’m going to look like such a fool! The first day of high school, and I can hardly even cover up the disaster that is my face. Why don’t they just lock me in a dungeon and be done with it! Clearly I’m ugly enough to be kept in one, far away from society!”

The boy, who’s now speedily following his friend down the steps of her house as she makes her way begrudgingly toward her refrigerator, which she opens and stares into without saying another word.

“You’re too pretty to be locked in a dungeon,” he says suddenly, catching her by surprise. They lock eyes and for a moment, things between them become still -- weirdly still. Then he clears his throat and scoots past her to grab the milk for his cereal. “Come on, it’ll be fine. You’ve got me, haven’t you?”

“You’re supposed to say that, you’re my best friend,” the girl replies, stealing the piece of toast from the toaster oven that is most definitely meant for her sister. Then she turns back to her friend and lowers her voice a bit. Her eyelashes flutter as she asks, “Do you really mean it? That I’m too pretty for a dungeon?”

The boy stops for a moment, his mouth full of Cheerios, and he wonders if she’s able to hear the steady, drumbeat pounding of his heart. He swallows and speedily stuffs another spoonful of cereal into his mouth. “Nah,” he replies jokingly, “Actually, you fit the description of ‘dungeon creature’ quite perfectly, actually.”

He supposes he deserves the giant shove from her that nearly knocks him off his stool, but the two of them laugh anyway. He stops for a moment to watch her as she turns the piece of toast over and over in her hands, as if she’s examining it for any minor flaw. He realizes now that she was probably peering into the mirror, looking for flaws of her own. He wants to tell her that she won’t find any, no matter how hard she tries to look. But maybe now isn’t the right time.

“It’ll be alright,” he says finally, grabbing her attention. She doesn’t want to start high school, and he knows it. Elementary school was so easy, wasn’t it? High school has heartbreak waiting to happen. And so he tries to be as reassuring as he can. “And if it isn’t, and the world does lock you away in a dungeon, I promise to join you down there.”

Now, the idea of being locked away in a dungeon sounds better than high school ever has.

Age 18 She’s not sure when she started crying. Maybe it was when things had started to feel a bit off a few weeks ago, and she tried a bit too hard to get him to tell her what was wrong. Maybe it was when he started canceling dates, telling her he’d reschedule, but never did. Maybe it was when she found him with her, tucked away in a corner of a restaurant, when he’d told her that he had to work that night. But either way, she’d been crying forever over him, this stupid boy from school who lead her on and lied, and never, ever comforted her when she cried.

She finally opens her eyes for a moment to look at the world around her, hoping it won’t look as dismal and awful as she feels. But the purples of her walls are duller than usual, her bed unkempt and messy, and she can hear the rain and the wind outside whip furiously through the trees. It’s mimicking her, the weather. It’s a carbon copy of how she feels inside. And yet, through her blurry vision, the sight through her windowpane is as clear as day: the boy from across the street, jumping through puddles and pulling his hood tight over his head, and within seconds, he’s sitting himself down next to her on her bed, tentatively placing a gentle hand to her shoulder.

The two of them sit in silence; it’s been eight years since they first met, and they’ve become strangely comfortable being together in complete silence. He lets her cry. He lets her throw things at her already broken closet door. He lets her start to yell and relay the whole damn story through bouts of anger, before she starts crying again. And he lets her fall into his shoulder and cry some more, her tears staining the collar of his button down shirt.

The clouds have turned dark and the rain has subsided, and her parents are calling for the two of them that dinner is ready. He’s absolutely starving, but she doesn’t feel like eating, she says. And so he stays put on her bed, massaging gentle circles into her back and speaking in soothing tones so she won’t be able to hear the grumble of his stomach.

“He wasn’t the one, you know.” he tells her, and she finally peers up at him with tears in her eyes and a small grin painted onto her face.

She nods slowly, and her lip wobbles as she opens her mouth to speak. “I know,” she squeaks, and he can hear the future cries that have yet to escape her. “I just wanted him to love me. I just want to be loved.”

“You are,” he replies, “and you will be.”

She snorts a little, and he’s trying hard to contain his laughter. He’s always found her snorts wildly hilarious. And then an involuntary, hoarse cry escapes her once more. “When?”

She peers down at her shoes, and she doesn’t know what exactly what he’s thinking, but his eyes are speaking the words he wouldn’t dare too: not here, not now. It isn’t right. And so instead, he says,

“He’s on his way, and he’s getting here as fast as he can, alright? I promise.”

Except, he’s already here, isn’t he? At least, he hopes he is. The truth is that he realized it a long time ago, and he’s been holding it close to his heart, along with her and every single small thing about her. The way her hair falls over her shoulders, the way she scrunches her nose at the sight of fish, the nervousness in her eyes when change is on its way.

It’s up to her to realize it now.

“You’re always helping me,” she whispers, not quite certain of why he’s always there in her rearview mirror, with all the drama she brings.

He grins. “Yeah, and don’t you forget it.”

She snorts again and throws a pillow at his head, and he begins to see shades of his old friend again, his friend before the heartbreak.

One day. One day he’ll speak the words he’s just swallowed, and one day, she’ll realize it, too.

Age 26 It’s funny, the way things can unfold.

Through injuries after falling out of trees.

Through painful days of high school, when kids can be so cruel.

Through failed tests, awful jobs, and a whole bunch of firsts: a first school dance, a first kiss, a first driving lesson. A first heartbreak, a first chance encounter, a first realization.

There were boys who lied and played with her heart, and there were boys who cradled it as if it were the most precious jewel in the entire world.

It’s funny, how things should have been like this years ago.

But perhaps they needed to go through all of these things to find one another, right?

These things that were theirs: like endless ice cream sundaes after being hurt by groups of friends who were manipulative and catty, like Friday nights in with tons of movies to help ease the pain of a broken bone from a rough game of football, like countless mornings watching the sunrise, just because they could.

Like that time they tried to bake a cake from scratch and they nearly added salt instead of sugar. Or the time that they (he) backed his dad’s car into the mailbox and needed to quickly come up with a story as to what had happened. Or all those times he swallowed his feelings for her, just to be a good friend.

She wished he hadn’t done that, she told him one day, in the spot she figured it all out. Underneath the willow tree.

But he’s glad he waited, he told her. He needed her to realize it on her own, just like he did.

He’s cradled her heart in his his hands for years. Because it’s precious, even more so than a jewel. He never did quite understand why people had treated it with anything but the utmost love and care. But it doesn’t matter anymore. Not when he’s promising to cradle it for the rest of his life.

She thinks she’s yelled out ‘Yes’ before he’s even finished, but the truth is, she said yes a long time ago. She said yes when realization struck. She said yes to him years ago when she let him sit down next to her in the grass, waiting for her parents that time when she broke her ankle, underneath this same tree.

She’s swimming in his turquoise eyes, and he’s getting lost in her violet ones, just like he always has. And after moments of laughter and tears and tight embraces, she looks above her, into the branches of the trees, and teases him. “Race you to the top.”

Him, her fiance, her forever. He grins at her. “You may end up with a broken ankle.”

“Maybe,” she replies, gripping the lowest branch and digging her shoes into the trunk, and suddenly, she feels ten again. “but I think it’s worth it.” And they both think back to that day, the one when they first met.

And to think: it’s been him, the entire time, all these years. The boy from across the street.

#im sad #its fine #writing #prose #my writing #fiction #fiction writing #pls do not steal ok this is very very very close to my heart #prose writing #write #literature #fiction literature #short story fiction #short story

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mirkwoodshewolf · 3 years

Text

GOC; AU! Queen x oc female x reader Chap. 7.2

Taglist:

@plethora-of-things

@waddles03

@psychosupernatural

@ixchel-9275

@simonedk

@jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels

@queensdivas

@queendeakyy

@geek-and-proud

@wormzteef

@dancingcoolcat

@queen-paladin

@kinole009x

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The scene once again changed and now you stood out in an open field. However unlike the other scenes before, it was the middle of winter because all that lay before you was nothing but pure white snow. Never have you seen snow this white and pure before (at least to this degree).

You both hear footsteps coming up beside you and coming up standing just a few feet beside you was Serafina. She looked older roughly around 15-16. She wore black winter dress with a blood red overcoat around her. Her hair was now almost down to her butt but it was tied up in a French braid.

Soon coming up beside her were two men roughly around their mid to late 40s. They almost looked alike except one had short hair and the other had long hair. Both their hairs were as black as night and they both sported short beards.

The one with the long black hair had piercing blue eyes and he held his presences like a king. His watchful eye scoured the field with intensity. The wind softly blew his hair around but he remained unfazed by it.

The second man was slightly younger than the other man and had a lighter shade of blue eyes, almost hazel like. He had a more relaxed spirit about him but there was still a wise aura you felt around him (the same aura you get from Brian).

“Protecting the borders of our homeland is sacred Serafina. It has been our family right since we were chosen by Thomas Riddle Deacon himself. No creature gets pass these rolling hills, and one day it’ll rest on you to defend it.” The long haired man spoke. Wow just when you though John’s father had a deep voice, this guy’s voice was like soft thunder.

“But father I just don’t understand why magical creatures need to be killed. Why not give them a warning or allow them to go free?” she asked him.

“They’ll seek to destroy us all if they could. Nagas, Dragons, Nokks, Faes.” You hear Freddie scoff.

“But it was Riddle who started this war! And we’ll gladly finissshhhh it!” Freddie hissed angrily.

“Easy Edmund no need to scare the poor girl.” The second man spoke. His voice in a way reminded you of Brian’s. Soft and warm and held a sense of comfort. “We understand your concern Serafina but…..there are some creatures who unfortunately cannot be reasoned with. Plus it’s just the way the Deacon family law states. And has been for thousands of years.” He said to Serafina as he placed a comforting hand to her shoulder.

“You always did try to sugarcoat everything Albus. But Serafina is my daughter and I know what is best for her to understand.” Soon a flash of light was shot up high in the sky. “It’s Regulus he’s found it. Come on!” he roared out the command and soon with a flash of speed, all three of them shifted into wolves and ran across the snow towards the flash of light.

“On her father’s side, as you now have heard, the Black family has been the protectors of England’s wizard tribe since the reign of……” he trailed off and when you turned to Freddie you swore you saw a flash of anger in his eyes. He took a deep breath in before exhaling out and continued, “The Deacons saw that the Black family were not only skilled in Transfigurations, which came in handy for less threatening creatures, but also their knowledge on Mythical creatures themselves. In fact a rumor has been said that the Black family may be connected to Archimedes himself. Because only he had such power of knowledge especially when it came to Magical creatures. But it’s never been proven.”

“I thought you could prove that? After all you see the past and future right?” you tease. Freddie glared down at you which made you back off.

“You are one step closer to finding out what the inside of a Naga’s stomach is like if I here another comment like that.”

“Sorry Freddie won’t happen again I promise!”

“Good. Now there is one last thing for you to see. And it’s what truly began John and Serafina’s journey.”

The snowy fields disappeared from your sight but for some reason the rest of the scene didn’t change. It was sunny and the field before you was now filled with tall yellow meadow grass.

“John! John wait. I—I still don’t feel comfortable about this.” Serafina’s voice said. Soon enough coming up from behind you were John and Serafina.

They were now the current age you’ve come to know them as however John looked slightly different. He had long black hair that went well past his shoulders, his skin seemed paler than when he was a child, but he was still pretty handsome.

And of course Serafina was as beautiful as ever. Her hair was now the same length as John’s. The two of them holding hands with each other as they finally stopped and Serafina said.

“John you know what my father has said about being out this far. Especially with what’s been lurking around the border lately.”

“I know but—he said he wanted us to meet here.”

“John I—I have to be honest with you. I’m scared.” John cupped Serafina’s face in his hands as she looked up at him with pleading eyes. “I’ve heard of the things your grandfather has done, and……what if—”

“Nothing will happen to you so long as I’m around. Besides he—he’s known about your skills and said that there’s no one better he/d rather have at my side.” He stroked her cheeks lovingly with his thumbs, “Plus he seems to be the only one in my family that actually approves of us.”

“I know you want respect from him but my father……he’s always feared your grandfather and if he finds out I met him……you won’t leave my side, will you?”

“Never. I’ll never leave your side.” She softly smiled and the two of them softly kissed one another when the sound of the grass rustling started them. “Grandfather?” John questioned after a moment of silence.

“It is time. You both musssst follow.” A familiar voice spoke. You quickly turn to Freddie in shock but he pointed out for you to keep watching.

“Get behind me John!” Serafina stood in front of John and took out her wand. “This man is under the protection of the Black family. Whatever you are, show yourself or face the consequences.” Soon slithering out of the tall grass was Freddie. Both John and Serafina stood there in horror as you watch Freddie tell them.

“Be calm. I do not wish to harm either of you. It issss time. You both are finally ready. The world needssss you both now. Follow me.”

“We aren’t going anywhere with you Naga! Now leave us alone!” Serafina growled as the tip of her wand began to glow.

“That is not your decision Serafina Rhea Black!” Freddie warned as he slithered closer to them and stood almost two feet taller than them.

Both John and Serafina stood there terrified and frozen with fear. They knew that magic wouldn’t work against a Naga so they were completely helpless at this point. As Freddie continued to glare down at the two of them, he was unaware of something stalking behind him.

A thunderous roar soon came from behind as Freddie was now jumped by a very large dark maned lion. The lion continuously scratched and bite at Freddie. He tried to grab the lion with his coils but it soon leapt off of him, leaving Freddie bleeding from his back and sides.

Soon all of Serafina’s family both on her mother’s and father’s side surrounded the area.

“GET OFF OF OUR LANDS NAGA!!” Her father roared as he now stood where the lion once stood. Her mother, cousins, aunt, and uncles all glared at Freddie with pure hatred as their wands were at the ready, glowing with the most powerful spell they could think of that would at least drive Freddie away.

Panting he lowered himself to the ground but not before staring once again at John and Serafina. Then with a quick burst of speed, Freddie disappeared into the grass never to be seen again. Serafina’s father now once again as the lion let out a fearsome roar as he panted aggressively.

Serafina turned to John and checked him over as did he, the two young lovers cupping each other’s faces to make sure the other was still there. For no one had ever survived a Naga encounter.

“Did it hurt you?” her father’s voice suddenly said as he took Serafina away from John. He soon began checking her over as Serafina said.

“Dad stop it I’m fine.” He then cupped her face as he said.

“Don’t ever do that to us again. We were so worried.” He placed his forehead against hers in a comforting gesture. Thankful that his daughter was still alive.

“Nothing happened dad, I’m fine. As is John.” That’s when her father briefly glared at John before turning to the two ginger haired twins.

“Fred, George. Take Serafina back to the Burrow along with the rest of the children.” The twins soon walked up towards Serafina and linked her arms with theirs.

“Fred, George put me down! Stop it you guys!”

“You’re lucky to be alive Serafina.” Said one of the twins.

“Yeah Serafina. Nagas eat wizards and witches. You would’ve been a perfect appetizer.” Then with a spiral of wind, the three of them disappeared from the field. You remember John calling it apparating.

The next scene however would prove to what Freddie told you earlier about Serafina’s father. And you would find yourself even being afraid of her father more than John’s.

When Serafina was gone, her father turned back to John who tried to make himself smaller.

“How. Dare you!” her father growled.

“I’m sorry sir.”

“YOU’RE SORRY!?” He roared. “First you take my daughter away from watching her younger cousins. Then you take her out straight to the border despite KNOWING! A NAGA WAS IN THE AREA!!!”

“I know a Naga was here. I don’t know what it wanted, I was only here because my grandfather—” that’s when John stopped talking and as Serafina’s father let out a low yet angry lion growl out of his throat, John’s face suddenly changed to an ‘oh shit’ face.

He knew he had screwed up by mentioning his grandfather before her father.

“YOU’RE GRANDFATHER WAS HERE!?!?” Edmund roared out.

“No. I—” John tried to save himself but Edmund pointed his wand right at John. The tip glowing bright green as he sneered.

“Do not lie to me John Deacon!” he towered over John’s frightened form. His eyes filled with fear as he looked up at Mr. Black. You wished you had existed that way you could defend John from the oncoming wrath of Serafina’s father.

“My grandfather said he wanted to meet Serafina. And he insisted it be out here but I’d never let him hurt her I promise!” John suddenly spat out as fast as he could. It almost sounded like he wasn’t even speaking English with how fast he was talking. Suddenly he was hit square in the chest with a blue blast of magic and knocked down to the ground.

The wind practically knocked out of him as he tried to sit himself back up.

“I don’t know what my daughter ever saw in you. But it ends now! YOU’VE ALWAYS BEEN A CURSE UPON MY FAMILY!!” John curled in on himself trying to hide like a turtle in its shell. That’s when you saw Edmund Black raise his wand and began to say.

“Avada Ked—” but then a crash of lightning lit up the sky before it began to suddenly downpour rain.

Serafina’s entire family was confused and one young girl around Serafina’s age (probably another cousin) spoke up.

“Why’s it raining? It’s dry season.” That’s when her mother said.

“It’s true. The Curse of Grindelwald!” that’s when her father backed away fearfully.

“You did this. You’re-you’re a demon! I’ve known it since you came into our lives!” he screamed down at John.

“What? No I’m not! I’m…….” John trailed off not knowing what else to say.

“If your grandfather won’t let me kill you. Then I’ll just erase my daughter’s memory of you. Every last ounce of it!”

“Edmund No! She didn’t do anything I’m sorry it was all me! Erase my memory just—”

“STAY AWAY FROM HER!! DEMON!!” then like Serafina and her cousins Fred and George did, Edmund Black apparated out of the fields.

John turned towards the rest of Serafina’s family and pleaded over the sound of the rain and thunder.

“Someone help me stop him! Serafina’s innocent in all of this! Rhea please!” he turned towards Serafina’s mother who refused to look at him with her chin up and her eyes closed.

“You’ve endangered my child for the last time John Richard Deacon. As her mother I know what’s best for her, you will be obliviated from her mind.”

“WHAT KIND OF MOTHER ARE YOU!?!?” He roared at her. “You would willingly allow your daughter to have her mind erased!? You’ve never liked me! Hell you never even loved her! If you were really her mother you wouldn’t allow this to happen to your only child!” John continued to unleash his wrath on Serafina’s mom.

“I do love her John! I love her so much it hurts! And never have I seen her more happy than when she’s with you!” her mother wept. “That’s the problem. Don’t you see?” this time her mother spoke with venom in her voice. “Merlin’s beard! You are a descendant of Balthazar! You are a Deacon for Merlin’s sake! And yet……”

She exhaled her anger shakily as she now continued in a softer tone.

“When I think back on the chaos your family has caused; All I think is the danger my daughter will be in. It makes me feel—” she trailed off as her face now showed pure heartbreak and you could swear from the rain, you saw a teardrop fall down her face as she choked out. “Afraid.” Her fearful expression then hardened as she spoke in a stronger tone now, “Fear. Is one thing that your family has forbidden in the cult!”

She then turned away from John once again as she spoke gravely.

“That’s why I never looked at you. Serafina should’ve done the same to protect herself. Love like that gets you killed. And if she has to be erased of that…….so be it.” She then turned to the rest of the family. “Let’s ensure that Naga is far from these borders everyone.”

Soon her whole family took off on their brooms to do a search party for Freddie but you watched as one wizard stayed on the ground. Serafina’s uncle Albus.

“Albus wait!” John pleaded. “You know this can’t be right. Please I really need your help. I can’t stop your brother alone please. Serafina wouldn’t want this.” Albus whom you had seen earlier to have a clam exterior finally broke as he turned to John and spat at him venomously.

“I may have been accepting of your romantic relationship with my niece John. But now I draw the line here!”

“I’m sorry. I was stupid to bring her out here with the Naga on the loose. I didn’t mean for it to happen.”

“It’s not the Naga I’m upset about. It was the mention of your grandfather that broke my trust in you. You know as well as I do that those you meet your grandfather never. Come. Back. Alive!”

“I said I’m sorry what else is there for me to say?!” John begged to her uncle.

“We don’t care what you say from here on out. We care what you’ve done. All of this is your own fault. As I once taught you back in school, you can solve this on your own.” He walked a few feet away from John.

“Albus come on!” her uncle Albus lowered his head before turning back to John with broken eyes and spoke softly.

“For the first time in 35 years I agree with my brother. After today I don’t want you anywhere near Serafina.” After he said that, John’s eyes filled with tears before he apparated away broken heartedly. All the while Albus with his own heartbroken expression on his face before flying off.

The scene faded away before slightly altering itself. You turn to Freddie, tears pouring down your own face.

“Must they really blame him for his families actions? Why couldn’t they see that he’d never hurt Serafina? Hell, even now a thousand years later he never harmed her.”

“That’s the fear of the hierarchy. The Weasley’s and the Black’s feared the Deacon family more than anything. As did almost every other family all over England. That’s what power and bloodline can do for you. But this is what really set John over the edge.”

The scene still showed it was raining. The ground was even more wet than it was in the last scene you saw.

“After they saw me, both John and Serafina’s memories were wiped away of seeing a Naga. But when her father tried to erase her mind of John like he promised, Serafina fled and no one saw her for three days. That’s when in secret her cousins Fred and George told John about Serafina’s disappearance. He was planning on fleeing England since he didn’t belong anywhere but when he heard about his beloved missing, he feared the worst. So he went searching for her, never stopping till he found her. Even as it rained for days on end. Till finally he came across something that changed the game for him.”

You soon saw John land down on the ground racing across the field crying out Serafina’s name.

“SERAFINA! SERAFINA MY LOVE! If you’re out there please! Please answer me!” you then saw him trip over something. “Morgana damnit what did I just trip—on?” a flash of lightning soon revealed the most horrifying sight that made both you and John scream.

There on the ground motionless, scarred up and eyes glazed over was the corpse of Serafina’s father. Dried blood stained from his gaping mouth and his back littered with whip marks.

“The first of the hierarchy will perish. The family that he……no!” John first muttered to himself before gasping in horror. He was just about to take off when a blue fire whip wrapped around his waist slamming John to the ground before dissolving n the rain. John slowly turned around and you could see a figure from the rain and mist that started to form around the man.

When the mist cleared there stood a man that just gave you such a feeling that you couldn’t help but hide behind Freddie just to shield yourself away from this man. He had the same hair color as John’s father but instead of long it was spiked up and each side of his head looked shaved off. Both his eyes were different colors, one was deep dark brown while the other was so white it almost made his eye blind.

A slight mustache could be seen from his upper lip and in his hand was a wand unlike any other wand you’ve seen. It looked like it was made out of human bone and the joints of them stuck out like little bulbs along the length of the wand.

“Play nice now Johnny boy. No cheating.” God even this man’s voice sent fear up every inch of your body. The way it groveled in that low baritoneish register.

“G-Grandfather Grindelwald. Th—this was the family you…….”

“A little overboard on your mother’s part. Now where are the rest of them?” his grandfather said as he got right into John’s face.

“I……..”

“As I said to you earlier John. No lying. Play fair for your grandfather unlike this poor soul.” He said as he gestured towards Serafina’s father. John remained silent before his grandfather snapped. “Answer me! Now boy!”

“They’re searching for one of their own! And the younger children are at the family home at the Burrow!” John surrendered. Oh god John what have you done?

“That’s a good boy. I’ll have to thank ole’ Albus for that little tip of his brother’s weak spot. It was very……informative. Now, my dear grandson. The time has finally come for you to take your stand amongst your family.”

“Wait! You can’t kill them!”

“You would still defend them even after they abandoned you?” his grandfather stroked John’s cheek with the back of his hand. You could visibly see John shaking underneath his grandfather’s touch as he continued to pull the heartstrings on John. “John Richard Deacon, my grandson. The next in line for the title of Sorcerer Supreme. Surpassing my own sons and your older brother. Mistreated by your own blood, unloved. And feared by others. Oh……but not all. There is one—who loves you so dearly.”

The whispers of his grandfather were haunting to listen to. This man was a true manipulator.

“If her family really knew her, they would’ve found her already. What do you say lad?” John stayed silent before looking down. His shoulders shaking and his grandfather wrapped his arms around John. “We can be her family now. You both can be together forever.”

“If you really want me to prove myself to you, let me be the one to do it.” John said. His grandfather released him from his hug and said.

“How do I know you’ll finish all of them?”

“I’ve been with them for over 16 years there’s no one they’ll trust more than me. I’ll kill every last one of them. Find Serafina and bring her to the manor. Even if I have to put her under a spell to do so! But call off the hunt and let me kill every last one of those filthy Half-blood traitors and cowards!”

His grandfather eyed him while John held firm. His eyes showing darkness and anger behind them.

“Very well. Go.” John walked past his grandfather but he gave John one last piece of advice. “And Johnny boy. None of this is personal. It’s what one does in order to keep the peace. We can’t allow naysayers or doubters in our midst. Once your Sorcerer Supreme by the end of the Summer, you’ll understand.” With that John flew off.

You and Freddie follow behind John to see him now landing at the Border’s entrance of the English wizard’s homeland. John turned around with solemn eyes.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered.

“JOHN! JOHN!!” His head raised up at the sound of a female voice calling out to him. Racing through the rain was none other than Serafina.

“SERAFINA!” he dropped his broom and raced towards her. The two of them embraced as he lifted her up and spun her around in his arms. The two of them frantically kissing each other. “What are you…..doing…..here?! Are you…..okay!? Why did…..you do this? Why!?” John said between his kisses.

“My dad was trying to erase our memories and I couldn’t let him do that to me and then I heard that my dad hurt you! I’m so sorry I wasn’t there to help you. I should never have allowed Fred and George to take me away! If only I fought against that Naga then my family wouldn’t have been there……this is all my fault!” she wept brokenly.

“No, no, no. Shhh, hey, hey shhhh. Shhhh” John embraced her tightly. He rocked her back and forth as she wept into his chest. “It’s okay, it’s okay. I’m sorry I put you in the middle of all of this.” He kept Serafina close to her, kissing the top of her forehead and the crown of her head.

After she calmed down, Serafina looked up at John and said to him.

“When my family finds us, I can explain everything to them. Including my dad. They’ll understand I promise.” Hearing the mention of her family’s ultimate fate and even seeing her father’s corpse with his own two eyes made John look down in shame. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” John said solemnly.

“No. Something’s on your mind. What is it John?”

“It’s just……I—I’m running away from home.”

“What?” she gasped out. “But you know you have a home with me. My aunt Molly and Uncle Arthur accept you. As does uncle Albus. I don’t care what my parents say you can stay with us at the Burrow.”

“It’s not that it’s just……” he trailed off again. His silence was beginning to worry Serafina down to her very core.

“John you’re scaring me. Tell me what’s going on?” suddenly a flash of lightning was heading straight down for Serafina but just before it could strike, John apparated the two of them out of harm’s way.

“Serafina I need you to trust me right now I promise I’ll explain everything but now is not the time! Please my love come with me!” John desperately pleaded with her as he extended his hand out to her. Serafina turned back towards their home before looking back at John.

“Are we—ever coming back?” her voice choked out. John remained silent before saying.

“Unlikely.”

“I’ve never been further than this before. I’m frightened.” She whimpered. That’s when John took her left hand with both of his and he said as he held her hand to his lips.

“Me too.” He gave her hand a soft kiss before continuing, “But as long as we’re together, we can face anything. Right?”

“Okay. As—long as we’re together.” John brought Serafina close to him and the two of them shared a soft kiss before getting on top of their brooms and flying off away from their homes, their old lives.

The scene fade to black as you felt that feeling of being pulled back upwards and you let out a gasp before coughing and finding yourself back in the attic.

It was now nightfall as you and Freddie stood there in the darkness of the attic together. Stumbling back, you left the attic and collapsed half way out of the hallway at everything you had seen. That familiar pain in your chest that you felt just shortly after your final test was now growing stronger.

You clenched your heart as you tried to take deep soothing breaths. You feel a pair of hands touch your shoulders and soon you’re looking into the eyes of Brian.

“I know what it is you saw. For it has also been in our minds.”

“I—I can’t……..” Brian rubs your back comfortingly as you feel the tears trinkle down your face. “Does…..Did she ever find out?” you say after a while of nothing but silence.

“She’s clever. After a few months of traveling together she pieced why John took her without a good reason. And she found out from John just who exactly killed her father.” Brian said.

“Earlier when John knelt down before Serafina and she looked like she wanted to attack him. Why did he not try to fight back?”

“Since it was his family that killed hers, every year on this date. John nulls his magic so that he’s powerless to even fight against Serafina. He then offers himself to her as penance for her to unleash her magical rage upon his body. To inflict every ounce of pain that not only has ran through her body, but her families. But every year she can’t bring herself to do it. Because she knows it wasn’t John’s doing.” Freddie explained.

“Poor Serafina. I can’t imagine the guilt that plaques her mind. Or what she’s going through. I mean I’ve lost family members naturally or back during the War but—I can’t imagine mass murder.” It was then Freddie left the hallway without another word.

“One other person can though.” Brian tells you. You turn to the Elven lord and he continues, “Remember when Freddie said that he and Serafina share something in common?” you nod. “Did he sneer at the name of Thomas Riddle Deacon?”

“Yeah in the flashbacks he mentioned that Thomas started the war and—wait. You mean……” Brian nodded solemnly.

“Never did I think it could be possible, but he did it. Thomas Riddle Deacon. John’s great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great grandfather was the first wizard of Balthazar’s line to destroy the kind wizard name of the Deacons. Thomas Riddle forged the most powerful wand known to all Wizards and Witches. The Eldar wand, made of the bone of a wizard and harnessed by the most powerful lifeforce. Legend says that that wand has enough power to extinguish an entire race. And with that wand, he used it to obliterate all the Nagas of the world. The Nagas fearing this power was too much for one wizard to handle, assembled an army to stop Riddle. In the end…..Freddie was the sole survivor of the massacre.”

Poor Freddie. No wonder why he’s so cautious around others, so quick to strike first. He had to watch his entire family be killed right in front of him.

And now learning of how Nagas can live eternally and last eons, carrying that guilt with him for that long—no wonder why he is the way he is.

“Can—can I see Serafina?”

“You won’t have much luck. She’s never spoken until after a week of mourning her family. You can try but don’t get your hopes up. And be cautious of what you say around her. Last time I tried to help, I got shot back 30 feet and ended up stuck in the tree of a wasp colony for 2 days.” You stand up and walk back out towards the garden.

The crickets chirping away their nightly orchestra song, the stars twinkling in the sky and the half moon high at the center of the sky. You saw Serafina, Roger and John in the same position as this morning, none of them moved an inch.

Slowly you walk up towards them and finally speak up the names of your teachers.

“John? Serafina?”

“What do you want?” John’s voice graveled out as he kept his head down low.

“I—I know what happened. I know your stories.” You say. None of them move till John slowly turns his head towards you. His eyes narrowed and cold.

“How much do you know?”

“Everything. Freddie showed me with Brian’s mirror and using both of your tears. The day you both first met each other, your families, even the day you both left. I know everything. I—”

“Don’t say you’re sorry! You don’t know the first thing about what we went through. Seeing it is one thing but actually going through it is another! Now leave us and let Serafina grieve in peace!” John snarled. His hand slowly starting to glow purple.

Fearing that he was going to attack you out of pure rage and send you flying across the sky, you slowly back away from John fearfully.

“Wait.” A voice spoke up. Roger’s and John’s face turn to pure shock as Serafina now finally free of her broken shell spoke up. She steps toward you and says in the same low tone, “After knowing everything, do you still trust John Deacon with your life (Y/n)?”

You turn to John who looks at you with a grim look on his face. Even after seeing what John went through in his childhood, you knew that wasn’t who he was today. You’ve seen how he’s acted around you, the guys, but especially Serafina. How loyal he is to her and how he’s protected her.

“Very much so.” You say determinedly.

“Then your final test was a success.” She said softly. “I had hoped mine would be the same after all these years, but—” she turned her head away from you, shutting her eyes tightly and biting her lower lip. You could see tears at the corner of her eyes even through the half-moon’s light.

“It wasn’t your fault though Serafina.” You say softly before reaching out and placing your hand on her shoulder. Her head snapped right back to yours and you saw for yourself her eyes glowing pure red with rage as she snapped at you.

“DON’T TOUCH ME!!” the red light faded from her eyes as she looked down and spat out, “I don’t want any more pity!” you back away from her. Even feel John’s hands on your shoulders as he pulled you away from her rage. “For this next week; Freddie, Brian and Roger will continue your training. I’m sure you also know why you’re learning all of this?”

“Yes ma’am. Freddie told me the morning of my final test.” You didn’t bother to even ask how she could’ve found out about that. Being a witch (and a very, very skilled telepathic witch as John told you on your one on one sessions) she must’ve known from reading either yours or Freddie’s mind.

“Of course, he did.” She sighed solemnly as she got down to her knees. “After a week John and I will resume your magical training.” With that she became that broken shell once again. Her face frozen yet her eyes looking like they were traveling far back in time.

Searching eternally for answers on why but only coming up with pain and regret.

“There. You’ve spoken your mind to them. Now let Serafina rest and John to accept his punishment.” Roger tells you sternly.

With that you don’t say another word. You turn your back on them and leave the three of them in the garden in the cool spring weather.

In your bedroom you just lay there staring up at the ceiling digesting everything that happened today. Suddenly an even greater pain struck your chest. You don’t know whether it was sympathy pains for John and Serafina but this time around after seeing their childhood, the pain in your chest was growing bigger and more painful than ever before.

“I’m sorry Serafina. I’m sorry John. I wish you both didn’t have to go through all that.” You shut your eyes, and fell into na restless sleep.

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