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redrobin-detective · 3 years

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The 101 Deaths of Danny Phantom

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One of the first things people learned about dealing with ghosts, other than not to try and date them, is to never asks about their death or obsessions. That doesn’t mean the citizens of Amity Park aren’t curious though, especially about their resident ghostly hero and the confusing and concerning comments he sometimes makes.

“Are you okay?” Phantom asked Maisie as she shook and tried to hold back tears after that car had almost slammed into her. She sometimes joked about getting hit crossing the street of her college campus to pay her obnoxious loans but it was another thing entirely to almost experience it herself. Maisie was nearly twenty, she shouldn’t be comforted by someone younger than her little step sister but here she was, shaking like a lead and leaning into Phantom’s comforting, chilly touch.

“Sorry,” she stuttered, “thank you, I’m sorry I’m just-”

“Hey, it’s okay to be upset that was very scary. The thought of dying is very scary.” Through her adrenaline and her tears, she took in the ghost’s unnatural glow, his faded, barely visible appearance and the fact that he was floating a foot off the ground. Maisie knows this ghost, this boy, knows more than she ever could about death.

“And getting run over by a car sure is a bad way to go,” the ghost kid chuckled awkwardly, taking his cold hand off her shoulder to scratch at the back of his neck. “You should see how my dad drives or my mom or my sister if she’s running late enough,” Phantom paused in thought. “No one in my family should have a license now that I think about it. Anyway,” he dismissed with a wave.

“My sister and I were getting ready to head out to school and my dad was backing out of driveway too fast and didn’t see us and uh, luckily I got my sister out of the way in time haha,” Phantom trailed off awkwardly. Was it because of the uncomfortable conversation or because he noticed her dawning horror.

Her best friend ran the community college’s Phan club so Maisie was a member by default. Phantom’s death was sometimes talked about late at night, everything from wrongful murder to a freak accident. She never in her worst nightmares imagined being him being runover in front of his own house by parental ignorance. It was so normal, a quick mistake and a life lost.

“Oh my god,” he said with an adorable little green blush. “Why am I babbling about that? You almost got hit by a car, I’m probably retraumatizing you or something. I should probably go get the jerk who almost hit you,” he said before disappearing into thin air.

“Tia is not going to believe this,” she whispered to no one. All she knew is that for the rest of her damned life she was going to look both ways when crossing the street. She’d seen first hand what a single moment of reckless driving could cause.

XxX

Matthew, not Matt or Matty or Hughie, Matthew shivered from the cold. He was only in his boxers with little Pacman on them. It had been fine when he’d gone to bed considering it was mid-August but Phantom and this stupid flaming mecha ghost had tussled outside the summer camp he was working at. He could see some of the kids snickering at his state of undress though he was just extremely glad they were alive enough to disrespect him like this.

“Oh man, I’m sorry,” the ghost kid said with big, sad eyes that looked so human despite the fact that they were literally glowing. He looked around at all the snow and ice left over from his fight. “Jeez you guys must be freezing, I wish I could warm you all up but all I can do is make things colder.”

“S’okay,” Matthew said through his chattering teeth. “Teaching the kids how to start a fire was supposed to be next week but we can get a jump on it.” That got a smile out of the ghost and within a half hour, the other counselors were distributing blankets and hot beverages to the kids clustered around multiple fires. They didn’t seem particularly upset by the potentially fatal attack, Matthew will breakdown about that at a later time when he was alone. For now, he just smiled as the children chattered happily with the ghost while he cleaned up as much of the damage as possible.

“So you spend all day fighting ghosts?” Zoe asked with stars in her eyes.

“A lot of the nights too,” Phantom nodded, “I do other stuff but yeah it seems ghost fighting takes up most of my time.”

“Where’d you learn those cool powers?” Zuri asked, miming a punch.

“Comes with being a ghost,” Phantom shrugged, “my ice powers came in later though so I still struggle a bit with them but I’m getting better every day.”

“Why ice though?” Morris said with his cocked curiously to the side. “I see some ghosts use fire or shadows, why do you have ice?”

“Ah that’s a little personal,” Phantom chuckled but his posture was easy despite the invasive question. “Specialty powers like my ice require special circumstances and a certain uh connection to the ghost. Someone like me couldn’t use fire or electricity or plants, ice is in my soul, it’s who I am.”

Matthew paused in drinking his lukewarm coffee as a horrible thought came to mind. He’s been an outdoorsman all his life, practically from the time he could walk. He’d been a deep woods camping guide for a decade before switching to working at summer camps. But the years working in the relative comfort of a stable camp didn’t erase his knowledge of how unforgiving and deadly the woods in the winter could be. A grown man, much less a young teen, would freeze to death in 20 minutes if it was cold enough.

It made sense for ghosts to develop powers related to their deaths. Had Phantom been one of the dozens of unfortunate kids he read about every year who ran away in the middle of winter only to found later as a frozen corpse. He eyed the boy’s snow white hair and frigid aura he exuded with mournful trepidation. God, what a horrible way to die.

“I’d get chilly with ice powers,” Tabby said with a shudder, she held out her cup of cocoa. “You want some of my cocoa to warm you up?”

“No thanks,” Phantom said with a soft smile that was warm despite everything. “The cold hasn’t bothered me for a while.”

XxX

Ghost attacks may be the norm but, if there was one good thing that came out of whole mess it was the fact that violent human crimes went down drastically. So when the rare murder did happen, the shock and fear rippled through the whole town.

Stanford Newton had only been sheriff of Amity Park for eight months after the last guy had gone gray overnight and moved to Florida the next day. It was a daunting position but one he bore proudly. This wouldn’t be his first murder investigation having initially cut his teeth as a beat cop in Chicago but it would be the first in Amity. And it certainly was the first in which the dead served in an active capacity.

“Amanda Chastain, 27. Officially she was a waitress down at Spengler’s Diner but she’s been picked up for prostitution twice in the last year,” Stan said calmly, ignoring the cold, angry presence over his shoulder. “History of polysubstance abuse as well, not that either of those things mean she deserved this.” Used, beaten to death and then dumped in the trash like yesterday’s paper.

He wondered if she’d come back a ghost or if she’d finally get some peace this world hadn’t offered her. “We don’t have many leads right now, I’m afraid. Acting illegally as they are, there’s not a lot of resources these poor girls have to turn to.”

“I’ll find them,” The Phantom said with blazing conviction, his voice thick and sharp as ice. “I’ll find and bring them to justice and make sure no one else is hurt again.”

“I believe you,” Stan nodded, shutting his notebook as he finally turned to face the teenage superhero haunting his town. He can’t say he liked what he saw. The Phantom looked even less human than usual, his aura flaring and flickering like the foggy mist before a heavy snowstorm. His unnatural green eyes glowered, painting his too young face in a terrifying light.

The kid looked furious, clearly taking this death to heart. He’d read the Fenton’s memos about obsessions and such but this seemed beyond that. “But don’t hurt anyone to do it, or yourself while you’re at it.”

“I won’t, I’ll make sure they’ll face human justice and don’t worry,” Phantom gave a snarling smile. “No mortal can hurt me, not like this,” he growled causing the hairs on Stan’s arms and neck to stand on end. He flew off after that, presumably to track down Amanda’s killer.

“Not like this,” Stan mumbled to him, pulling out his handkerchief and wiping his brow where a cold sweat had broken out. “Jesus Christ that poor kid.” Stan had seen plenty of murdered and mutilated bodies in his lifetime, some of them even kids. He just never got to talk to them after they’d had their life forcibly snatched away. It would explain the ghost’s near fanatical determination to save others, why he took a stranger’s murder so personally.

“I hope your own murderer is behind bars,” Stan said as he tucked his handkerchief back into his coat pocket. “Or even six feet under, for killing a good kid like you.” Stan made his way back to his squad car so he could head back to the station and move forward with the official investigation. But he’d eat his hat if there wasn’t a stammering lowlife there by tomorrow ready to turn themselves in.

Maybe after all this was settled down, he’d delve into some of the cold cases stacked in the cellar. Maybe in there he’ll find a picture of a smiling, carefree teen who’d disappeared and returned with the power now to ensure no one else suffered as he had.

XxX

“Yes, I know about the Phantom,” Luis Oliveira will say to anyone who so much as brings up the ghost kid. Locals know better by now but the tourists eat it up every time. He twists his finely combed mustache and gestures to the floor where his audience is standing. “He died right there oh ten or eleven years ago.”

Luis has worked his way all across the the United States since he emigrated from Brazil in the 70s. He finally settled in Amity Park about twelve years ago. He’d never intended to stay in the small Midwest town but the fatal shooting of a young customer kept his little corner market open.

“He was a nice kid, always said hi to me and paid in exact change. Was big fan of the snacks I made, would stop by after school and take half my inventory. He had big brown eyes and a crooked nose,” Luis would smile at the memory before closing his eyes and frowning sadly. “One day, he came late. His teacher made him stay after to go over a failed test, I remember he complained. He was pulling out his money when robber burst in, demanding my money. I fumbled for the register key, dropped it. I bent down to grab it and I hear shots going off. Two over my head, another right into the boy’s throat.”

Luis will hear the sound of that sweet boy’s guttural choking sounds as he drowned in his own blood until the day he himself died. The robber left after the shot, Luis called the police and held the young man’s hand as he died. The would be thief were never found and Luis never did learn anything about the boy who’d died on his floor for getting hungry after school.

“As soon as I saw Phantom on the TV,” Luis would say, perking up after his moment of somber grief, “I knew it was that boy come back. Those kind eyes, I’d recognize them anywhere. He’s never come here but one day he will and I will be able to pass on my regret on not being able to save his life that day.”

XxX

“I think he killed himself,” Mikey whispered to Lester during lunch period, angling his voice low. “The jocks may love Phantom for his powers but I just know he was one of us, an unwanted nerd. I’ve seen him chatting up a ghost I’m pretty sure is Poindexter, Casper’s suicide kid. They’re probably bonding over their similar deaths and the circumstances that led to it.”

“That’s pretty dark,” Lester whispered back. “I also get unpopular vibes from him but I don’t think he’s the time do uh do that to himself; he’s too stubborn and protective. But I bet he was the victim of a prank gone wrong. Dash locked Fenton in the Janitor’s closet last Wednesday, he got out okay somehow but maybe something like that happened to Phantom. He always looks kind of annoyed at the A-listers, maybe they remind him of old bullies.”

“Nuh-uh,” Clara said, pushing up her glasses with her middle finger. “The ghost kid totally got electrocuted or something. He was fighting that weather ghost and he sent lightning bolts his way and Phantom flinched. He fought the Ghost King and yet a little electricity scares him? It might not’ve even been a lightning strike but something manmade like a machine backfiring or something.”

“Get real,” Mikey scoffed, sipping his milk with an eyeroll. “I’m sure we’d have heard about some poor kid getting zapped to death; this town isn’t that big.”

“We’d have heard about a suicide too,” Lester noted with a wry grin.

“Shut up Mr. I base my theories around Fenton who’s a known weirdo”.

XxX

“I’m telling you, the ghost kid died of some debilitating illness,” Abbie McMillian, retired school teacher and three year reigning champ at the Tristate area’s Daylily Competition. She sipped her tea and spoke with as much confidence as she had back in the day wrangling Amity’s impressionable youths. “The superhero thing is clear wish childhood fulfillment, a chance to live and be free like he never got to in life. You see how happy and carefree that young man looks while flying? Clearly he spent his formative years sick and weak.”

“No way,” Greta von Martin frowned as she aggressively stirred her own tea to show her displeasure. “I worked in a hospital for close to 30 years and I know what chronically sick kids look like and Phantom doesn’t fit the bill. I will agree he’s carefree when he’s not battling spooks but he acts like a stupid teen. I’m telling you, the boy got into his parent’s liquor cabinet or took a few too many of whatever pill was going around his school. Tragic but something that happens every day.”

“Greta, dearie,” Abbie said with a pinched frown. “We’ve been friends since grade school and I love you like a sister but you are wrong and until you admit it, I won’t share anymore of my recipes.”

“You’re just being stubborn because you can’t see what’s right in front of you even after working with kids half of your life, Abbie, love,” Greta sniffed. “And you can kiss my grandson’s help weeding you garden goodbye until you relent.”

XxX

Perhaps one of the most human traits is curiosity, especially about what comes after death. Now the good people of Amity Park know a great deal about the dead so the lives before is what attracts their attention and none so more than the ghost boy. Maybe it’s because he’s their hero or maybe it’s because he’s so young. Or perhaps it’s because Phantom is such a mess of contradictions that it’s very hard to guess how the unfortunate boy met his end. But everyone has their own theories, from the mundane to the fantastic, some with evidence backing them up and others pure poppycock.

But for all their curiosity, as much as it burns them to know, they’ll never ask. They don’t want to risk the powerful ghost’s wrath but, moreover, it seemed in poor taste. The boy risked his afterlife to keep them safe, they couldn’t ask what traumatic and miserable circumstances had led to this point.

And besides, it was so much more fun to look up at ghostly figure as he sped through the skies and wonder.

#danny phantom #my writing #i made a headcanon post and immeaditly said 'i have to write this'#and then I did #tw: suicide mention #there is a non described background death of an OC #opinions are like assholes #everyone has one #and *everyone* has an opinion on how phantom died #some are reasonably close and some are waaaay far off #but they wonder and gossip and argue when the kid cant hear #its human nature

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prismatales · 4 years

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Endeavor with a quirkless child

These headcanons had already been requested before, but it felt like they were a bit messy and rushed so I opted to remake it as much as I could. Hope you enjoy it. This is going to be a long post.

Part 2 - Part 3

WARNING: Mentions of child negligence, panic attacks, mentions of abuse.

• You are Shoto's twin sister and youngest of the Todoroki siblings, your birth was a surprise for the whole family since the doctors only noticed one baby during the whole pregnancy and Rei didn't even look like she was carrying twins.

• You have your father's hair and eye color while the rest came from your mother, being a carbon copy of her with the same facial features and eye shape, it was like seeing Rei with a red wig and contacts.

• When Shoto's quirk manifested but yours didn't Enji waited for a while, but eventually he suspected his daughter was quirkless when there was no change, he took you to the doctor anyways, to confirm his suspicion.

• His guess had been right, you were indeed quirkless, after the doctor gave the diagnosis his whole attitude had changed, he barely paid you attention on the way home, but the moment you came back home it was like you didn't even exist, he wouldn't even look at you.

• His treatment caused a huge rift between you and your twin, Shoto wished your father would ignore him like he did to you, you wished he would at least remember your name. your other siblings -especially Touya- and your mother made sure to show you as much affection as possible, with Rei it was a bit harder though, she loved you but the sight of your hair and eye color would made her uneasy, then everything started going downhill.

• Her mental health had been greatly affected by your father's constant abuse, this proved to be fatal the day she accidently hurt Shoto, your father didn't hesitate when he sent her away. Then the day Touya died the rift got worse. Fuyumi ended up having to step in and take care of Shoto, who you barely talked or interacted with, your father made sure you wouldn't go anywhere near his "masterpiece" and distract him from his training, Natsuo took over Touya's place and helped take care of you, trying to spend as much time with you as possible, out of all your family you ended up taking after him the most.

• Eventually you ended up spending less time with Natsuo and Fuyumi, Natsuo was busy in high school and with after school activities, sometimes he wouldn't even sleep home, staying over his at his friend's house during study session. Meanwhile Fuyumi started college, she was always busy with her studies and with chores, sometimes you'd try helping her when it was obvious how stressed out she was. Being home alone with people that treated you like a ghost was hard. By the time Shoto and you were about to start high school there was no difference in your relationship, the two of you barely knew each other, let alone talk.

• Neither Shoto or your Dad realized you were also going to attend class in U.A., you had done everything yourself and convinced Fuyumi of helping you when it came to sign important stuff.

• A few days before school started you made the decision to dye your hair -sporting a pixie cut- a different color in order to avoid being recognized as a Todoroki, being in the Support department meant you'd probably end up interacting with your brother's class, and the last thing you wanted was to get his attention.

• It was during the sports festival people found out you were Endeavor's child. apart from your classmates and the school staff nobody else in school was aware you were a Todoroki. Personally you blamed Present Mic, he had been so excited during the obstacles race and accidently yelled out your full name, (Name) Todoroki. You could feel your heart rate dropping significantly, your secret was out.

• "EEEEEHHHH?!?!?!?!"

• The whole stadium was in chaos, everyone was yelling, you could hear some of Shoto's classmates screaming "that's your sister?!" Your brother was speechless, Fuyumi and Natsuo knew this would happen, the whole school was shocked. For the first time in years your Father had noticed you...and he was furious.

• During the Cavalry Battle the feeling of your father staring your way was pretty obvious, even from afar the feeling of his glare almost digging a hole into the back of your head was pretty obvious.

• After the Cavalry battle was over and the other activities started many students were trying to approach you, thankfully your friends made it easier to escape. It wasn't a surprise this would happen once people realized who you were, but to suddenly being roughly grabbed by the arm and dragged away by your father as soon as you were in the clear certainly was a surprise you did not see coming.

• Endeavor had confronted you, what were you doing in U.A. distracting Shoto and what had you done to your hair, he still hadn't let go of your now aching arm, you could only wince by how much it hurt, a bruise would definitely appear.

• "If you paid any attention you would know I'm staying as far away from him just like you ordered or did you forget I'm not allowed to talk to my own brother because I'm nothing more than a failure?" He wasn't expecting you to talk back, neither did he expect the way you glared at him, it was a glare filled with spite and frustration, he recognized that kind of look, it was the same way he glared at All Might. It was an Irony, his youngest daughter may not have a quirk, and she may have her mother's face, but that glare was one-hundred percent his, it easily rivaled Shoto's.

• The moment he made a threat about pulling you out of school he quickly regreted his words "So that's how it is? you're going to get rid of another distraction aren't you? Just like you did with Mom!? Just like you did with Touya?!" the shock of your words quickly made him let go of your arm on reflex, an ugly bruise had already shown up.

• It was at that moment Enji finally took a good look at you, he was expecting a scared and docile child, but now? that look filled with hatred was proof enough you weren't said kid anymore. Before he could do anything else you had already ran away from him, neither of you had noticed Shoto had been listening on the conversation.

• After the Sports Festival was over the whole school went on break, during those days Enji slowly started to notice your presence around the house, every now and then he would hear Fuyumi and you talking, the conversations were often short, he asked her about it, She mentioned that you were often on your phone talking with Natsuo when he wasn't busy with college since he was closer to you than her, sometimes it made her sad to know you were closer to him, but you always made sure to let her know how much you appreciated her, it's just that Shoto needed her more than you did.

• The relationship with Shoto a bit more complex, it was hard for him to talk to you considering your habit of avoiding him, at first he felt hurt, but with some time and patience you eventually stopped, the both of you would make small talk every now and then, it was awkward but it was a start, the truth is the both of you hadn't really made an attempt to talk. Until the day you had run into each other when he went to visit your mother, who you often visited since middle school, Rei had thought you two were getting along and was so happy, neither of you had the courage to tell her it had been just a coincidence so you both opted to make an effort to mend your relationship as siblings. As a way to start over he offered to introduce you to his classmates once class started again, you did the same.

• When it came to Enji though, it was obvious you were ignoring him, If he came into the same room you were in, you would get up and leave without hesitation. You wouldn't answer if he tried to talk to you and if he insisted all he'd get was a blank look or a glare, a snappy response every now an then.

• The only time you wouldn't leave was during dinner, mostly because Fuyumi and Shoto convinced you to stay, otherwise you would have stayed in your room, the dinner had been awkward, you had stayed and talked with your siblings, but refused to acknowledge your father's existence. Enji was starting to get annoyed by your "childish demeanor".

• During the internships he contacted the support company that was in charge of his costume, they were more than happy to offer "Endeavor's daughter" an internship with them. When you found out you had been furious, the moment they contacted you they never referred to you as anything other than his daughter, you hated it, all the blood, sweat and tears you put into your work and what do they call you? "Endeavor's Daughter", Not (Name) Todoroki.

• Enji and you had an argument, you had rejected the internship, you were going to get it based on your achievements, not with his help. He told you "The mere fact you have my last name is already helping you being noticed, you're still a child, you could use their help!" you gave him an incredulous look, This.meant.war.

• A few days later he barged into your room after receiving a notification with a huge bill on his credit card from an expensive hair salon (Shoto had stolen his credit card and took you to get your hair done by a professional recommended by Kirishima, turns out you had messed up with your hair dye).

• Enji noticed you weren't there but your laptop was left on, the content on the screen caught his attention, you had an assignment from school that consisted of creating a Powerpoint presentation where you had to recommend ideas for support items or upgrades for official Pro-heroes, maybe it was bad luck or someone thought it would be a nice joke, but you ended up being assigned to work on his hero costume. What caught his attention was how your work was so professional.

• The presentation had a picture a journalist had taken of him during patrol, he had to admit you actually picked one of his favorite ones. The presentation itself was nicely elaborated, you were meticulously pointing out how his costume worked, the materials used so the costume wouldn't burn away by his flames, how some aspects could be better and possible upgrades that could be implemented without changing the design as well, an example was a temperature regulator like the one present on Shoto's newest costume. He was impressed nonetheless.

• Besides the Laptop was a stack of papers, they were your notes from school, test results and report cards, he felt like a child peeking on something he shouldn't. the only thing he could think to defend himself was "As your father I have the right to know about your grades" while looking thought the report card. It was excellent, all of your subjects had perfect scores, every single question on every single test was answered correctly. There was post-it notes from your teacher congratulating you for your grades, even letters with offers for possible internships with other support agencies. You were easily the Number 1 student in the support course. All this time he thought you only went to U.A. to mess around with Shoto. He didn't realize you were a genius. No wonder you had been so angry.

• By the time Shoto and you were back Enji wanted to talk to you about your grades, but stopped in his tracks when he saw what you had done to your hair this time. It was blond, but not any shade of bond, it was exactly the same color as All Might's. He nearly burned down the house.

• It wasn't until All Might's fight against All for One that Enji began to think about the things he did and the lives he ruined, how his actions ended up breaking Rei to the point she had to be sent to a hospital, the ways he hurt all of his family, how the majority of his children probably despised him, and what he could do to try and fix his mistakes. The day he was forced to take the mantle of the No.1 Hero left a bitter taste on his mouth, how could he accept the title of the new symbol of peace?!

• After his conversation with All-Might about the true meaning of being a hero, he made an oath to try and fix his relationship with his family...he wished it was that easy. He didn't know where to start.

• He tried to be more present in your lives, He asked Fuyumi when was your birthday: "It's on January 11" "No, that's Shoto's birthday" Fuyumi didn't know wether to laugh or cry in frustration "...Dad...they're twins..." "..."

• Enji would leave gifts outside of your door, hours later he would find them in the trash, not even opened. He tried to be present during Shoto's hero license course just to end up being ignored, when he told him he would become a hero his son could be proud of, boy did you rub off on Shoto pretty quick. "Maybe you should start by becoming a half-decent father to begin with" ...Ouch...

• After the fight with the high-end nomu he ended up on the hospital in critical condition, during one of his visits Hawks told him a young fan had asked about his condition, he paid no attention to that. Enji was released from the hospital and came home to find all his children having lunch, Natsuo, Shoto and you were busy slurping soba, but you were not looking at him or anyone else, there was a mix of doubt and distress on your face.

• When Natsuo tried to leave, Enji tried to stop him to stay and talk, all hell broke loose, he talked about how their mother and Fuyumi were trying to forgive him, about growing up having to hear Rei screaming and Shoto crying, he talked about Touya, and then he mentioned you, the look you gave Natsuo was a plead to stop, but he didn't. He was furious.

• "I know you complained about her hair, but do you even know why (Name) did it in the first place?! The first time she went with us to see mom she had a relapse when she saw (Name) because her hair reminded her of everything she went through! (Name) ended up having a breakdown once we came back home, I went looking for her when I heard her screaming and you know what I saw? I saw my little sister with a pair of scissors and almost all of her hair cut off!" Enji was speechless, he thought it was just teenage rebellion or pettiness, you couldn't help but look away in shame.

• That night Shoto talked to him, he knew the reason you were so down, you both had moved into the school dorms and were together when the Nomu attacked, he was there when you had a panic attack the moment everyone thought the Nomu had killed him, it took a long time for his teacher to calm you down, the aftermath ended up leaving you with an internal conflict. Then Enji found out it was you who had gone to the hospital, YOU, the daughter he had neglected the most out of all his children.

• Didn't you hate him? Why had you been so afraid if you "hated" him? did you wanted to forgive him? yes, he's your father, but did you have to? did he deserve it? all those thoughts had gone through your head during that moment, you weren't on good terms with him, but you didn't want him dead either.

• He made the decision to talk to you in private.

• You had been confused when your teacher said you were needed at home after class, and someone would come pick you up. Why hadn't Shoto been called?

• You didn't expect to see Endeavor's personal chauffer waiting outside, along with your father who said he needed to talk to you in private.

• The ride was awkward and silent, Enji noticed your body language, back rigid, hands gripping tightly on your uniform, slight shaking, you were clearly nervous and uncomfortable, this was the first time you two had been this close to each other. Until the car stopped in front of a place that made you relax a bit, it was your favorite cafe.

• He found out you frequented this place through social media, He saw a few pics from people mentioning how the Todoroki twins came at least once a week. it was small and cozy place, it felt like home.

• Once you both had picked a table away from other customers and ordered your drinks did Enji start speaking.

• He didn't realize how much his treatment had affected your whole family until it was too late, he asked for your forgiveness for everything he did to you and the others, for being a terrible father, for the way he neglected you, for the way he screamed at you once for trying to talk to Shoto when you were younger, for not realizing how much potential you had. Then he handed you a folder.

• "These are papers for an emancipation request, if you want to move away from home I won't reject your decision, and I'll provide you with all the financial support you ask for, all you have to do is sign the document, a lawyer will take care of everything else and work as an intermediary if you wish not to talk anymore, I'll understand".

• Enji thought you would sign right away by your silence, that you were reviewing the details of his offer, he didn't consider you would close the folder, there was no anger or fear in your face, you were calm.

• "Please understand one thing...I...I'd like to say that I forgive you, I don't...hate you, but you just can't expect things to change overnight, it's not that easy, you hurt our family for years. If you really want me to forgive you...prove me you can change, if you're willing to make up for everything, not with money or connections, but with your actions, maybe, just maybe I can actually see you as my da--as my f-father" you reached out for a handshake, a truce, he looked at your hand for a few seconds before reaching out, you were giving him a chance, and he would make sure not to waste it.

• Slowly your dynamic changed, the first time he noticed was when you stopped ignoring him like before, something as simple as a "good morning" was enough, dinner wasn't awkward between the two of you anymore, Natsuo was still hesitant to forgive him, but he was being civilized for your sake. Fuyumi was so happy when she noticed you stopped reaching out for her to sign anything school related, now Enji was the one taking care of everything, making sure to let you know he was proud of your work.

• How did he realize you were starting to make amends? Your hair.

• A few months later Enji heard you and Shoto talking in the living room. "Your roots are starting to show, are you going to retouch your hair soon?" "ah...no, not anymore" you ran your fingers through it, your red hair was clearly visible, it was starting to look like a bob cut "I'm going to leave it natural again". You were finally starting to accept him.

I'm considering doing a part 2 mainly from Shoto's perspective, I have some headcanons that would fit him instead of Enji.

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fulokis · 3 years

Text

Fulokis WandaVision Rewrite- Chapter 1

Hey wanted to take my two cents at something that made more sense than what they actually did to quicksilver. Hope you like it!

Peter stood staring at the man in front of him. He hadn't spoken for what seemed like a few minutes, still processing what Peter had told him. Peter sighed, he hadn't meant to let it slip, he still wasn't sure how it had happened. One minute the two were arguing with each other and then the next the room was enveloped in an awkward silence.

"Why didn't you want to tell me?" Erik asked. He had assumed that Peter was his son since the Pentagon, but he didn't want to freak the kid out.

"Just forget it." Peter said quickly trying to bury his feelings in his chest.

"Pietro, why didn't you want to tell me?" Erik asked knowing he was pushing.

Peter looked down at the floor, "I haven't been called that since the Cuban Missile crisis. Not even in the house."

"Those damn soviets am I right?" Erik attempted to joke.

"No." Peter said, "It was so that me and Wanda could go to school without getting harassed. So we could live life. So that we could protect ourselves when we didn't have a father to protect us."

"Wanda?" Erik asked, "Peter if I had known..."

"But you didn't because you left. You left and Wanda died!" Peter said, surprised at his own reaction and his anger. "Not because of the Russians, not because of the Americans, because of you. Because you left us, Wanda died. You know what killed her Bullets. Bullets from guns. Both things made of Metal! You could have stopped them, you could have saved her. But you were too busy killing the president to care about your family."

"Peter..."

"No. It's too late for that." Peter said storming out of the mansion.

Peter ran. He always ran, it helped him think. But all he could think about was his twin sister, her body laying there on the pavement. Him helpless to do anything. That's why he'd developed speed, he was too late, and running became an obsession. When his mother had gone into labor with Lorna his powers developed. He didn't even realize that they had until he was sitting by his mothers side in the hospital watching his newborn sister asleep.

Peter stopped running, he was probably an hour's drive from the mansion by now. He looked around his surroundings, he was in New York City. The sounds of horns from angry drivers, and the buzz of the electricity made the night loud and bright. The buildings loomed over head, one caught Peters eyes in particular. It was shorter than the rest only about four stories tall, the most noteworthy feature of its appearance was the large circular window on the top floor. Something about it reminded him of his sister.

Peter walked up to the door, to his surprise it was unlocked. Walking inside he shouted "Hello?"

"Pietro?" He could hear a woman's voice call out.

"How do you know my name?" He asked walking in the direction he heard the voice.

"Because I am the Sorcerer Supreme." The woman replied walking down the right side of the twin staircase that circled the entry room. "I know all Pietro."

Peter looked up at the woman "Yeah, Yeah and every old person claims they know all. Tell me something I haven't heard."

"Wanda is alive, in another universe that is." The sorcerer said finishing descending the stairs, "I can bring you to her."

Peter thought for a second, "How do I know I can trust you? And were you stalking me?"

"I won't force you. But I Think you're curious." She said, "I think you want to know how your sister would have turned out. Who she is." She rose her hand in front of the door and Peter looked through.

A woman stood in front of a cradle singing a lullaby in a language he didn't recognize. She looked up from her children as if almost sensing that he was there. Peter gasped, she had mom's eyes. He chuckled how many times had he seen those eyes look at him with disappointment. But this time they weren't, they were looking towards him with adoration. A look he'd only seen a few times from his mother since Wanda's death. The woman's hair was even the same color he had been jealous he didn't inherit.

"How did you do that?" He asked, unable to take his eyes off of the door.

"With a spell of course." She replied.

"What's that language she's speaking?" Peter asked, watching as someone else appeared on the screen and talking to who he assumed was Wanda.

"It's from a country that does not exist here."

"This isn't possible. You're messing with my..."

"I'm a twin." Wanda said, "I had a brother, his name was Pietro."

"What?" Peter said looking at the Sorcerer Supreme.

"Keep watching Pietro." She said nodding towards the door.

"He was killed by Ultron, wasn't he?" The other woman said.

Peter turned around, "So you're saying that there's this universe where Wanda is alive and I'm dead?"

"Fascinating isn't it?" The woman said, "A universe where you're dead and one where your sister is. Pietro the Multiverse works in strange ways, if anything this is destiny."

"It's fake. It has to be." Peter replied, "There's no way that its real."

"Then how is it possible that your father can bend the electromagnetic fields of the earth to change its polarity? Or that your beloved professor can send a message to the minds of every person on the planet? You know its more than possible Pietro, you know more than anyone how probable it is."

Peter swallowed, "I should go back, they're probably worried about me."

He turned to walk away but the woman stepped in front of him, "We both know they're not. We both know they don't care where you are or what you're doing."

"I should go." Peter said getting choked up thinking about what the woman in front of him was saying. Wanda was there, in another universe, but she was there. There and she clearly loved him and missed him, more than his father had. It wasn't like any of them would miss him if he popped over for a few minutes if only to give her a hug.

"You don't want to go do you?" The woman turned her head inquisitively.

"No." Peter admitted, "Maybe its too late for her here, but there I doubt it is."

"You want to go?" She asked.

"Yeah, so do I just step through this door or like..." Peter asked.

"It's a little more complicated than that." The woman said motioning for him to follow her up the stairs. Peter followed resisting the urge to use his speed to explore the building. The woman led him to a library that reminded him of the one at the x-mansion. There were books on everything, from simple fake magic tricks to forbidden spells. Peter's eyes were drawn by a particular book. The title was almost impossible to read from the spine, so he picked it up and looked at the cover. The Strange Phenomena of the Witch Blessed Mutants the title read. Peter had seen the book before, strangely not at the mansion but in his own house outside of D.C. "What are you doing?" The woman asked popping right next to Peter.

"What are you doing?" Peter asked her.

"Do you want to see your sister or are you here to snoop?"

"You know more than you're letting on." Peter said, "What aren't you telling me?"

"Pietro, why would you think that?"

"This book, its in the wrong spot. It shouldn't be with the A's it should be with the H's if we're going by last name." Pietro said.

"Oops my bad." The woman said through gritted teeth.

"Either that or you wanted me to find this and its all some part of an elaborate plan to trap me in this other universe for some shady reasons." Peter watched as the woman's face dropped and he smiled, "I'm kidding, lighten up will ya?"

"That's a good one." She said awkwardly throwing up a fake smile, motioning for Peter to follow her. Peter followed her until they got to an open room. "Stand in the middle." She commanded.

"Okay." Peter gulped his anxiety resurfacing. He stepped into the middle of the room and a purple ring surrounded him.

"In order to travel through dimensions you need a protection spell. It keeps you from loosing your mind at the possibilities and the infinite outcomes between dimensions." The woman explained. She threw her hands up slightly and nothing happened.

"Was that supposed to do anything?" Peter asked looking around the room.

The woman ignored his comment and started chanting in Latin. The circle around Peter lit up with a purple glow. Peter attempted to touch it but yanked his hand back when he felt the heat the magic was producing. Peter watched intently and imagined Wanda doing something similar with her magic. The woman pulled out a necklace and made it float near the circle. The necklace began to syphon the energy off the circle, making the air around Peter unbelievably hot. Peter tried to stay conscious but the heat was unbearable and he hit the ground a few seconds later.

The woman kneeled over him and shook him gently. Peter startled looking up in confusion. "Uh..."

"Relax Pietro," The woman said "It's normal to feel overwhelmed by magic, especially when it's your first time."

"First time? Pfft I'm not that lame lady. Least you could do is take me out to dinner first." Peter said attempting to sit up.

"Take it slowly." The woman almost barked "Going to fast could potentially be fatal."

"Fatal? What is there like a list of side effects?"

"All the standard Magical ones." She said standing up, "Nausea, Heart attack, stroke, cancer..."

"I'd have said no if I knew it was going to kill me." Peter said easing onto an elbow.

"Possible side effects darling." She replied flipping through a worn out book.

"Darling? That's a little fast even for me."

She sighed and walked over to him, extending a hand down to help him up. "You should get going, after all your sister is waiting for you."

"Is it weird that I feel like I'm gonna barf?"

"No." She replied to him "Oh before I forget, you'll need to put this on before you go through."

Peter took the necklace and slipped it over his head "And you're sure this will work?"

"Of course it will. My magic never fails." She said and looked at him with a smile leading him down the stairs.

"By the way what's your name? You know if I want to come back home and what not."

The woman stopped dead in her tracks, "I'm... Agnes." She said.

"Coolio." Peter replied following her to the door.

Agnes motioned and the doorway led to a small field, "This is the closest that I can get you, you'll need to run a few miles to the west. There's a wall around the town your sister lives in, it's a security measure against humans harming the perfect little mutant community that lives there."

"So what your saying is my sister has a bunch of mutants that live with her?"

"Yes Pietro, she found her people." Agnes said pushing Peter through the portal and closing it behind him.

Peter fell landing in a mud pile. "Not cool!" He shouted "So not cool." He took a breath and stood up. The night was cool a slight wind blew through the trees. Peter looked around, he had landed in a corn field, the stocks were brown and fragile. He smiled to himself as he saw a scarecrow sitting in front of him.

"You stuck here too buddy?" He asked the limp sack of hay. Before smiling and starting to run. Peter ran and this time instead of thinking he enjoyed the air running across his face. The feeling of his feet hitting the ground, the sounds that each foot made when coming into contact with the mud. Peter kept running until he nearly collided with a military vehicle.

Seeing the vehicle he decided to take a look through the area. There was a drone on a table glowing red. A guy in a quarantine unit, being questioned by medical staff. Peter kept running, there seemed nothing related to mutants anywhere in the facility. He figured that they had no idea that there was a mutant community.

Peter kept running until he found the wall. Taking one look at it he decided to run through it. Running through he could hear and feel some of the most painful times of his life and he stopped as he could feel apocalypse trying to crush his skull. The pain was so real almost like living it again, almost like nearly dying again. Out of breath Peter collapsed on the ground, a new sensation spreading across his body. His body burned, it felt like his blood was causing his body to burn. He could feel the pain everywhere in his body, circular areas burned the most. Then he opened his eyes again and Peter couldn't explain what he saw. Metal corpses littered the ground even more were flying around shooting concentrated fire of some sort. Peter tried to call out to his father, he tried to call out for the professor or someone for help, but all he could feel was the burning hot pain from his injured nerves. Then it was quiet the dust and metal settled and everything was dark, but he could hear someone calling to him. Wanda he thought smiling before passing out.

"My goodness Ralph!" Agnes cried, "You're filthy and tracking mud into my kitchen!"

"Aw cut it out will ya?!" Ralph said back "At least I'm not running around the house getting in your way."

"You're not supposed to be running at all. If they find out you were using your powers..."

"Ha, if they do I'll be long gone."

"I swear it won't be my fault if you end up in prison for twenty." Agnes said.

"It'd be a blessing if I did." Ralph mumbled.

"What was that?" Agnes asked in a shrill tone.

"I said you look lovely tonight."

"Why yes I do don't I?"

"What's the reason?" Ralph asked.

"Of course you forgot! Why did I think you would remember?" Agnes sniped.

"Because you forgot your self?" Ralph offered up.

"Forgot? Ralph you know I don't forget." Agnes said, "Tonight is the night we're having a picnic in the yard. Go clean up."

"Why not just the gazebo in the town square?" Ralph asked after he had run upstairs and changed in a matter of seconds.

"We've been over this Ralph, it's best for you to not draw attention to yourself. Which means..." Agnes prompted.

Ralph sighed "No powers, No criminal activity and most of all no doing things that the people in town will think as of odd. But I'm pretty sure that having a yard picnic would be considered odd, gazebo not so much."

"Ralph people don't care what you do in your own yard, besides if you really are that worried you can tell them I asked you to."

"That's the reason I married you, because you asked me to. Though I do question that decision, what with the creepy basement and all."

"Oh Ralph you charmer." Agnes said leading him out of the house. She walked over to where their yard intersected with the next door neighbors yard. With a wave of her hand she placed down a picnic blanket and a bunch of food.

"'It won't be my fault if you end up in prison for twenty' yeah right, totally won't be your fault if you keep using your powers." Ralph said sarcastically under his breath.

"What was that?" Agnes asked from on the blanket.

"Nothing important." Ralph said.

"Come join me, please." Agnes said, "Look I know the move hasn't been easy on you. Especially since we've literally had to become different people. But Ralph I don't regret it, I can't regret it."

"Eh didn't much like it there anyway, here is nice it's quiet. No trouble for you to get into, no weird sorcerer fights I have to save your ass from."

"I'm still a witch Ralph."

Ralph chuckled and looked up at the stars, "No you're not, you can be anything you want, but not a witch not anymore."

"Do you miss teaching?" Agnes asked eyeing the house behind them.

"Teaching?" Ralph asked vaguely remembering something like it "Feels like a lifetime ago." He said slowly.

"Interesting." Agnes said.

"Huh?" Ralph asked.

"Nothing it's not important."

Ralph shrugged it off and continued looking at the stars in silence, "You ever think how massive the universe is, and how little you really know?"

"Yes I do." Agnes replied keeping focused on the neighbors house.

"I want to know how life got here. On earth I mean. Out the trillions of planets out there, why this tiny hunk?" Ralph said glancing over at Agnes. "What's something you want to know?"

"How she did all this." Agnes said a dark tone seeping into her voice. Agnes turned to face Ralph and started to cast a spell.

"You freak me out when you do that without a warning you know." Ralph said watching her guide the purple energy flowing out of her hands.

Agnes ignored Ralph and continued to chant until the spell was ready. Without warning she shot her magic at the necklace her companion wore, smiling as it hit the beads. Something seemed to stir inside the man and he stood up. Using his super speed he ran to the front door of the neighbors house and stood there.

Peter felt weird, he couldn't remember how long he had been running. Or even how long it had been since he left the mansion. The last thing he could remember before blacking out was his body on fire and hearing Wanda calling to him. He looked down, some how he had managed to change clothes. Instead of his typical jacket he wore a brown one, much like the one he had seen his father wearing every once in a while. His shirt was a purple flower print. He smiled, maybe it was weird to wake up in these random clothes, but at least they had his second favorite color.

Peter looked up at the door. This was it, after nearly 15 years he was about to look his twin sister in the eyes again. Only he knew it wasn't quite his twin sister. Peter swallowed nervous at the action he was about to perform. He rose his hand and considered using his speed to get the nerve wracking action over with. Deciding against it he firmly pressed against the plastic button of the doorbell.

The shouting from inside the house he had heard earlier had been replaced with hushed voices, that were seemingly surprised at a sudden visitor. The door swung open with a creak and a young woman stood in front of it. Peter stood there looking at her, waiting for some semblance of recognition.

"Wanda who is this?" A man from slightly further inside the house asked.

Peter waited for a second before extending his arms out and stepping forward slightly. "Long lost bro get to squeeze his stinkin sister to death or what?"

The woman stared for a second processing what was happening. "Pietro?" Her voice cracked.

Peter made a movement with his head to indicate that it was indeed him. Wanda sighed softly and took her brother in her arms. Peter closed his eyes at his sisters embrace, it felt good to have his second half here in the same room with him. Wanda broke contact and Peter glanced around the house. It was quaint reminded him of their moms house, simple yet useful. Peter locked eyes with the man who asked Wanda for his identity. "Who's the popsicle?"

Next >>

#quicksilver #dadneto #peter maximoff #pietro maximoff #wandavison rewrite #agatha harkness #agnes #ralph bohner #wanda maximoff #xmen #x-men #magneto #erik lehnsherr #vision #the vision #fanfic

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purplehairedwonder · 3 years

Text

Lead Me Back to Suffering Chapter 1

Fandom: One Piece Rating: R Pairings: Trafalgar Law/Donquixote Doflamingo (Non-consensual), Trafalgar Law/Monkey D. Luffy (eventual) Words: 4,718 Characters: Trafalgar Law, Donquixote Doflamingo, Monkey D. Luffy, Shachi, Penguin, Bepo, Kin’emon Warnings: Rape/Non-con Note: This was written for the “Kidnapping” square on my Bad Things Happen Bingo @badthingshappenbingo card. Anon prompted Law and Luffy.

The title comes from the Vertical Horizon song “Shackled.”

Summary: In the wake of Kaido's fall, Law is kidnapped from the shores of Wano.

Read also at AO3

Law huffed irritably as he stalked down the coast toward the Polar Tang. He could still hear the raucous celebrations of the Straw Hats, his own idiots, and their allies further inland, and it set his teeth on edge. In the days since Kaido had fallen and Wano had been freed of his tyrannical rule, there had been endless celebrations—and pirates, as was their wont, did not shy away from parties. Especially ones thrown in their honor.

Luffy might refuse to consider himself a hero (“I’d never share my meat, Torao!” he’d said, aghast, when Law had joked about it after Dressrosa), but that did not change the perceptions of the people of Wano. And that high regard extended to the Heart and the Kid Pirates as well. Despite losses, injuries, and the impending need to rebuild a once-isolated country, the parties had continued.

Law, however, had grown tired of the goings on. He’d never been particularly sociable, even as a child, and years of being seen as a monster when white spots dotted his skin only reinforced his antipathy toward social interaction. His nakama were the exception to that, and even then, he was usually on the perimeter of gatherings rather than the center—unlike his allied captain.

Besides, he and Chopper, between treating the various injuries of the combatants, were working together to figure out how to reverse the effects of the failed SMILEs. Doflamingo might not be creating them anymore, what with the SAD supply on Punk Hazard destroyed and the factory on Dressrosa dismantled, but there were still plenty in circulation, and Law intended to erase their ugly mark on the world—one final fuck you to Doflamingo, as it were. Since Luffy had let him live.

That afternoon, he’d been trying to study his notes when yet another celebration had broken out. Luffy had tried to drag him into the impromptu party, and Law had irritably pulled himself free of the rubbery limbs and snapped at his allied captain about having work to do. Luffy had pouted, so, rather than resort to removing body parts, Law had headed for his ship for some peace and quiet to continue his work.

Kikoku in one hand and his pile of notes in the other, he was crossing the deck of the Tang toward the door when he heard something clatter behind him. Law felt his irritation spike. Was just a few minutes of peace so much to ask for?

Apparently, when you were allied with Straw Hat Luffy.

He didn’t think anyone would blame him if he removed an arm or leg at this point. (He’d put it back eventually. Probably.)

“Straw Hat-ya, I thought I told you—” he started, spinning around. But the other captain was nowhere to be seen. Law frowned and glanced around. The deck was empty. What—

His Observation Haki flared just a moment too late, his senses and body both still recovering, as a loud crack rang out through the air. Law’s eyes widened and he gasped as pain ripped through the back of his right shoulder and exploded down his arm. The strength drained from his still-healing body, and Kikoku clattered to the deck next to him while his papers slipped from his fingers and scattered across the wood. He sank to his knees, his body seeming to move on its own.

Seastone bullet, he realized as he reached behind him to feel a hole in his shirt and wetness spreading on the fabric. His hand came back red. He looked down at the undamaged front of his shirt; the bullet hadn’t exited.

Kneeling on the deck of his own ship, Law couldn’t make his body move. Between the new gunshot, the half-healed wounds from fighting Kaido and Big Mom, and the weakening effects of the Seastone, his limbs felt impossibly weighed down.

He cursed as he watched a shadow rising behind him, a large figure with a gun in hand. Law pushed his pained body to move—to do something—as the shadow approached, and he managed to twist himself halfway around before the butt of the gun slammed into his temple. Another wave of pain jolted through his body, and he had the faintest sensation of falling as everything went dark.

-----

“Torao!” Luffy called, approaching the Polar Tang. “Enough work! Come play with the rest of your crew.” And me was left unsaid but still obvious in the demand.

“I don’t think that will encourage him to come out,” Shachi muttered, hands stuffed in his pockets, as he, Penguin, and Bepo followed the Straw Hat captain toward their ship.

They’d managed to distract Straw Hat for a couple of hours before he’d decided Law had worked for long enough and demanded his allied captain join them. The three Hearts had shared glances and just hoped their captain had had enough time to himself to avoid murdering or dismembering their ally before joining him in his retrieval mission.

There was no movement from the ship, but if Law were inside, he probably hadn’t heard them approach anyway. Luffy hopped up onto the deck while Shachi, Penguin, and Bepo climbed the ladder on the stern to join him.

“Torao!” Luffy called again before making a confused sound.

Shachi pulled himself onto the deck then froze, his eyes going wide at the sight that greeted him.

“What the—” Penguin said as he joined Shachi.

Bepo inhaled sharply as he came up behind them.

There were papers scattered around the deck. Kikoku lay discarded near the railing, and Law’s hat rested ominously by itself.

What had happened? Shachi mutely walked over to Kikoku and knelt next to the nodachi; he could feel something vibrating in the air from the cursed blade. Anger? Worry?

Law didn’t go anywhere without his sword—or if he did, he was always deliberate with where or with whom he left her. He wouldn’t just leave the sword on the deck of the ship, no matter how annoyed he’d been when he stormed off.

“These are Law’s notes,” Penguin said quietly somewhere to Shachi’s right. He was looking down at the strewn papers. Law had copious notes on the SMILEs that he’d been trying to go over when he’d left the group in a huff. Law was meticulous with his work—had been for as long as Shachi had known him—so there was no way he would just drop his papers.

“Torao’s hat,” Luffy said, bending over and picking up the fuzzy item a few feet from the fallen blade. He stared at it for a long moment before looking back up at the Hearts, expression unreadable.

“There’s blood,” Bepo said, nose twitching. “It’s… Captain’s.”

There was a small bloodstain on the wood of the deck. It was far from a fatal amount, but combined with Law’s sword, hat, and notes, it was clear there had been an attack.

Shachi and Penguin exchanged glances before hurrying into the ship, splitting up to check every square inch for their captain. Maybe he’d been wounded in the attack and was treating his injuries. But Law wasn’t in the infirmary. Or his room. Or any of his usual haunts.

By the time Shachi and Penguin emerged back into the daylight, they’d covered every inch of the ship and hadn’t found anything—or anyone—out of place. Law didn’t seem to have entered the ship at all. Shachi shook his head when Bepo and Luffy looked at him. Bepo’s shoulders drooped while Luffy’s expression darkened.

“We have to find him.”

“But where…” Penguin started to ask but was cut off by approaching shouts.

“Luffy-dono! Law-dono!” Kin’emon called, running toward them. He skidded to a halt at the edge of the coastline and doubled over, huffing. He was still recovering from the heavy damage he’d taken from Kaido and probably shouldn’t be running, Shachi thought absently. “Luffy-dono,” he panted. “Terrible news. Where’s Law-dono? He’ll want to see this too.”

“He’s…not here,” Penguin said after a moment, voice strained.

Kin’emon frowned, glancing between the somber figures on the Tang’s deck.

“What is it, Kin’emon?” Shachi asked wearily. Their captain was missing. What else could be so terrible?

Kin’emon straightened and held up a newspaper. With the borders of Wano opening again, they’d started getting News Coos, though because Wano was not part of the regular distribution pattern yet, the papers were often days, or even weeks, old.

Shachi stiffened as he registered the front page. Penguin cursed and Bepo whined.

“Doflamingo escaped Impel Down,” Kin’emon said. “He’s out.”

-----

The first thing Law felt as consciousness returned was pain. He screwed his eyes further shut as fire seemed to consume his entire body, but after a few moments of breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth, he was able to start cataloging the sensations more clinically and recognized the pain as coming from his head and shoulder.

Right, he’d been shot in the shoulder with a Seastone bullet and hit in the head with a gun. Gunshot wound and possible concussion. He’d faced far worse than that.

As he continued to assess his situation, he realized he was sitting in a chair. He could also feel the telltale weakness of Seastone, but it didn’t seem to be radiating from his shoulder anymore. Had someone removed the bullet? And where was the weakness coming from then?

Ah. His wrists, which were positioned behind the chair he sat in, were weighed down with shackles. Seastone restraints, no doubt. And he was held to the chair with—

His eyes flew open, and he stared down at strings wrapping around his chest, trapping him in the chair. His breath caught in his throat. He’d recognize those strings anywhere.

It wasn’t possible. He was locked up in Impel Down.

You knew Impel Down wouldn’t be enough to hold him, a mocking voice said in the back of his mind. What are bars and bureaucracy to a former Celestial Dragon?

You never should have let him live.

But it hadn’t been Law’s choice to make that day, he thought with no little bitterness. Luffy had been the one to land the final blow to end Doflamingo’s reign over Dressrosa, and he’d chosen to let the man—the monster of Law’s nightmares—live. Law had tried, had given it everything, but he’d been too weak; he’d been forced to the sidelines, one arm useless and his stamina depleted. He’d only been able to watch the fight he’d spent more than a decade preparing for play out in front of him, a spectator to the last.

Cora-san had been unable to pull the trigger, and Luffy had refused to.

Feeling the familiar beginning of a panic attack, Law forced himself to breathe, counting each breath slowly and evenly, until panic ebbed. Swallowing, he took in his surroundings. He was tied to a chair at a small table across from a second empty chair. This seemed to be a bedroom of sorts—there was also a bed, nightstand, and dresser as well as several doors. One must lead outside but the others… perhaps a bathroom and closet? The room was sparsely decorated, and the curtains were drawn over the windows, though the fading light coming through indicated it was nearing dusk.

That meant he’d been unconscious for hours. He could feel the familiar movement of the ocean, meaning they were on a ship. Who knew how far from Wano he could be. How far from his nakama…

Law’s head jerked up as one of the doors opened, and his hands balled into fists behind his back as Doflamingo stepped through the door. He paused, lips quirking upward when he met Law’s eyes through those infuriating sunglasses.

“Good, you’re awake.” He shut the door behind him and entered the room, coming to stand a few feet in front of Law.

“The security at Impel Down must truly be atrocious,” Law drawled.

Doflamingo chuckled. “You didn’t really think a mere prison would hold me, did you, Law?”

“I’m not as naïve as Straw Hat-ya.”

“No,” Doflamingo agreed. “You’ve always been many things, but naïve is not one of them.” He paused. “I must commend you, however, on the success of your alliance. Defeating Kaido?” He shook his head. “Very impressive. I’d like to think I may have played at least a small part in the man you’ve become.”

Law pursed his lips. They both knew full well that Law had been irrevocably shaped by Doflamingo’s influence. Law, for his part, wasn’t entirely sure who he was without his vendetta against this man driving him. Taking on Kaido alongside Luffy had been a good distraction from that reflection, but since Kaido’s fall, the thoughts had returned in full force—especially with the Straw Hats’ not so subtle hints at learning whether Law intended to continue their alliance. Rather than deal with those questions, he’d jumped headfirst into reversing the effects of the failed SMILEs.

And now…

Now, it seemed Law was unable to rid himself of Doflamingo’s corrosive influence whether he wanted to be or not.

“What do you want?” he demanded rather than rise to the bait.

Doflamingo pressed a hand to his chest in mock offense. “Can’t a pirate break out of an impenetrable fortress and travel halfway across the New World to kidnap his one-time protégé just to congratulate him on taking down an Emperor?”

Law was unimpressed.

“Fine, fine,” Doflamingo relented, before slowly starting to move around the room, a feral cat preparing to stalk its prey. Law forced himself not to tense as Doflamingo disappeared behind his back.

“Since my untimely arrest, there has been a vacuum in the underworld, and fools like the Vinsmokes had no idea what they were getting into when they tried to fill it. But there’s only one person capable of weaving all those webs without getting trapped themselves.”

“Joker,” Law supplied, starting to see where this was going.

“That’s right,” Doflamingo purred, breath warm against Law’s ear. Law was unable to fully suppress his shudder, and Doflamingo chuckled. “Fufufu.” Then he was standing in front of Law again, towering over him like Law was still a child. “I’m going to take back my empire. And you’re going to help me, Law.”

Law blinked, momentarily unsure he’d heard correctly. Then he barked a laugh. “Why the hell would I do that?”

“To make amends, of course.”

“Amends,” Law replied flatly.

“It’s your fault it came to this,” Doflamingo replied, as if the answer were obvious. “Without your little… temper tantrum, I would still be ruling Dressrosa, as is my birthright.”

“Temper tantrum?” Law repeated, fury erupting in his veins at the dismissal of more than a decade’s worth of planning to avenge Cora-san—his savior—as the unreasonable reaction of a toddler. He jerked at the shackles secured behind him, the Seastone biting sharply into his skin in response. “You killed Cora-san.”

“Yes, yes, we’ve been over this,” Doflamingo said, bored. He waved a dismissive hand. “My traitor of a brother ‘saved’ you. I remember. But what about what I lost?”

“Your brother?” Law supplied, newly enraged at Doflamingo’s dismissal of Cora-san’s life. His goodness. His value.

“My righthand man,” Doflamingo retorted. “Not only did I lose my brother, but I also lost my second Corazon. And you should have been the third, my second-in-command, Law. We could have ruled together. But when he gave you the Ope Ope no Mi, Rosinante took that away. From both of us.” He tilted his head consideringly. “I suppose you also cost me my first Corazon, too, didn’t you?”

Law’s eyes narrowed, but he ignored the reference to Vergo. “I’m not going to do that operation. Not for anyone, but especially not you.”

“We’ll see,” Doflamingo said, pacing once more. “But that fruit is valuable for more than just that ability. Combined with your medical knowledge and tactical skills, it truly is the ultimate Devil Fruit. Kaido learned that the hard way.”

Something about that statement slotted the puzzle pieces into place in Law’s mind. “You could have escaped at any time,” Law realized. “But you waited until Kaido was no longer a threat. Impel Down was protecting you from him.” He huffed a laugh. “Unbelievable.”

But it wasn’t really unbelievable at all; it was exactly the sort of opportunistic move Doflamingo would make, spinning even the worst situation to his own advantage.

Doflamingo’s lips twitched. “Very good. But it’s not the only reason.” He stopped, mid-turn on his heel, to look at Law. “Do you know what they’re saying about you now?”

“I really don’t care.”

“That you could be the next Emperor. Take Kaido’s place.” Law blinked in surprise as Doflamingo chuckled “Fufufu. Little Law, first a Warlord and now perhaps an Emperor. Quite the meteoric rise, considering where you began.”

Law wasn’t feeling particularly regal, bound to a chair and shackled in Seastone as he was.

“Even if that’s true,” he retorted, “you’ve still given me no reason to help you.”

“You know what kind of Family we are, Law,” Doflamingo said, pausing once more to stare Law down. “No one leaves the Donquixote Family. Not without paying the price.” Law opened his mouth to argue, but Doflamingo cut him off, voice turning cold. “Not even you. You will help, either as a partner or prisoner. But you will help me.” The strings suddenly fell away from Law’s chest. “Your choice.”

“Go to hell,” Law growled, surging out of the chair at the other man, rage driving him forward. The logical voice in the back of his mind was screaming that this was a trap, that he couldn’t do anything without his fruit or blade, but his body wasn’t listening to logic; it was running on pure emotion.

Doflamingo tsked as he stepped aside, sticking one foot out to catch Law off balance. Law cursed as his feet tangled up beneath him then gasped as he was slammed face-first into the wall. His vision whited out as a hand squeezed his shoulder, pain exploding from the gunshot wound, and he sagged bonelessly against the wall, his healing wounds protesting the movement.

He’d clearly been spending too much time around Luffy to pull such a thoughtless move.

He came back to himself just as a metallic click sounded loudly in his ears. His eyes widened as Doflamingo murmured into his ear, “I admit, I was hoping you’d say that.”

Law swallowed, only to feel pressure at his throat. His hands—suddenly free from the shackles—went to his throat; his fingers grazed cool metal that pulled strength from even the slightest touch. Seastone—and dense, too.

Horrified, he tried to whirl around, but Doflamingo was still pressed up behind him, his weight an immovable object in Law’s current condition.

“A collar?” he could only hiss. He’d been collared. Like an animal. Like a slave. “You son of a bitch.”

Joker had been one of the biggest names in the slave trade for years—of course he would do something like this.

Jean Bart wasn’t the only freed slave on Law’s crew; between his nakama and his time both with and later studying Donquixote Family, Law had a very clear understanding of what the collar meant—especially to Doflamingo.

Law jerked as strings suddenly wrapped around his wrists and pulled him backwards with force. He let out an off oof as his back hit something soft—the bed—and his arms were pulled taut over his head, strings digging painfully into his wrists. Law gasped as pain lanced down his shoulder from his gunshot wound to his fingers. He looked up to see the strings around his wrists winding tightly around the bedposts at the head of the bed. Panic rising in his chest, he turned back to see Doflamingo watching him from the end of the bed. He swallowed again, painfully aware of the Seastone collar.

“I told you, Law,” Doflamingo said, approaching his captive, “that there was a price to pay for the last thirteen years.”

With a growing sense of urgency, Law pulled at the restraints on his wrists but found no give, and Doflamingo chuckled. “Fufufu. What kind of price did you think I meant, Law?” The larger man knelt on the edge of the bed, his expression predatory.

Law jerked futilely against his bonds. “No.”

Heart pounding in his ears, Law knew he nowhere to flee. His best chance was to fight Doflamingo at every step, to make the conquest more trouble than it was worth. As Doflamingo moved toward him, the mattress dipping under his weight, Law aimed a kick at his head. His leg came to an abrupt stop as Doflamingo grabbed it, eyes never leaving Law’s face. Shit. Law struggled to free his leg, but the other man’s grip tightened painfully around his ankle. Unwilling to give in so easily, Law twisted and bent his other knee, aiming a kick at Doflamingo’s other side—but that foot was also stopped midair.

He was reminded, then, of being held midair by one arm, completely vulnerable right before Doflamingo…

Law swallowed once more.

Doflamingo tsked. “You never know when a fight has been lost, do you, Law?”

Strings wrapped around Law’s ankles and, like the ones around his wrists, pulled Law’s legs taut as they tightened around the bedposts at the foot of the bed. Law swiped his tongue across his lips, frantically assessing his options. Spread out on complete display like a specimen prepared for dissection, Law didn’t see any.

Dammit.

“I confess,” Doflamingo went on, “I’ve always liked that about you. That tenacity is what has kept you alive for so long. It’s why I wanted you at my side. Then and now.”

“Well, we don’t always get what we want,” Law retorted, doing his best to keep his voice even.

Doflamingo merely hummed in response as he shifted to straddle Law’s hips. Law tried to twist away, but Doflamingo’s weight held him firm. Defeated, Law stared up at the ceiling. He could feel that Doflamingo was hard.

“We’ll see about that,” Doflamingo said.

Law tensed as large hands worked their way slowly up and down his sides, rucking up his shirt. Moments later, there was a ripping sound and Law couldn’t help but look down in surprise to see Doflamingo pulling his ripped t-shirt away, leaving his upper body exposed. He shut his eyes as Doflamingo’s fingers started lightly tracing over his tattoos. The touch was far more tender than it had any right to be, and it made Law’s skin crawl and nausea roil in his gut.

“You know,” Doflamingo said after a long moment, and Law opened his eyes but didn’t look at the other man. “The first time I heard the name of your crew, I laughed.” Law’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t trust his voice in the moment to respond. “It was foolish of me—I realize that now—but I thought you were sending me a message.”

“I was,” Law gritted out. He jolted as Doflamingo’s fingers found his nipple and squeezed. He could feel himself growing hard at the attention so forced his mind to thoughts of his crew and allies. How long before they would realize he was missing?

He didn’t doubt they would move heaven and earth searching for him, but…

How would they find him?

“I had hoped you meant you were coming home,” Doflamingo went on, his other hand working at Law’s other nipple, and Law fought not to squirm. “And, I suppose, you did come home eventually. But I was not expecting an unhealthy preoccupation with my brother to be the thing that brought you back.”

“Unhealthy preoccupation—” Law’s eyes snapped furiously at Doflamingo, and he cut himself off as he realized his mistake. Doflamingo had been baiting him, and he grinned viciously when he met Law’s eyes, grinding down against Law’s growing erection. Law groaned at the friction despite himself, and his head flopped back against the pillows.

“We’ll have to correct that little flaw.”

Doflamingo’s hands continued tracing Law’s body, fingers finding the scars from the bullets he’d pumped into Law. He paused his ministrations, the tips of his fingers lingering on the scar tissue so long that Law risked a glance down at him.

“The lead bullets were a bit on the nose, don’t you think?” Law scoffed, breaking the quiet. He was pleased his voice didn’t crack.

Doflamingo started at the sound of his voice then snorted. “I thought you’d appreciate a personal touch.” His hands started moving again, finding smaller scars from other string attacks and lingering on them, too, as if reliving the damage he’d done to Law that day in Dressrosa. Sick bastard.

Law hissed then as Doflamingo leaned forward to touch his right arm, fingers finding the ugly knot of scar tissue from the reattachment of his arm. The gunshot wound in his shoulder throbbed against Doflamingo’s touch. Law turned away, eyes finding the far wall while his skin crawled under the other man’s touch. He couldn’t suppress his shudder as he felt the vibration of Doflamingo’s humming in his chest as he caressed the scar that was the source of many nightmares since Dressrosa.

Finally, the fingers withdrew from their mapping of Law’s skin. The relief was temporary, however, as Doflamingo shifted, and the sound of zipper echoed through the room. Law’s eyes widened.

No.

Law writhed, trying to get away anew, but his bindings held him fast and the growing pain from his wounds—both old and new—was wearing him down as surely as the Seastone. Doflamingo pulled Law’s jeans and boxers down to his ankles, and Law’s head spun. As Doflamingo’s hand wrapped around Law’s erection, Law’s mind went blank, and he felt Doflamingo’s movements and his body’s reflective responses as if from a great distance.

Dissociation, the medical part of his brain informed him. A defense mechanism against trauma.

When Law slowly came back to himself, he was surprised to see that the bedroom was dark; night had fallen at some point. His entire body ached, but Law still forced himself to assess his surroundings. He was still on the bed, but his wrists were free, and a blanket had been pulled up over him. Law didn’t need to look to know that the even sounds of breathing from next to him were Doflamingo’s. His stomach turned at the thought. Taking a breath, Law lifted the blanket. He was naked beneath the fabric, but that was not what caught his attention; though his wrists had been freed, his right ankle was still bound by string and connected to a bedpost.

When he pulled at the string, he noted there was some slack to it. Was Doflamingo that confident Law wouldn’t turn that on him? At the moment, though, Law was so weak, he wouldn’t have put up much of a fight, even if he caught the other man off guard. Frowning, Law forced his battered body into a sitting position. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure Doflamingo was still asleep, then unsteadily pushed himself to his feet. He needed to…

He needed to…

He didn’t know what he needed.

Instead, he tested the slack of the string, which surprisingly allowed him to make it to the window but no further. He pulled back a curtain to see a particularly dark night—new moon, he thought absently—and the reflection of the brightest stars on the black waters of the ocean.

He’d been taken in the mid-afternoon, which meant he’d been sailing away from Wano for at least half a day in who knows what direction. Leaning forward, he rested his forehead against the cool glass and shut his eyes. Doflamingo had bound him to keep him from going too far, but where would Law go? He couldn’t use his fruit, he couldn’t swim, and he was unarmed. And he had no idea where he was.

With no other options presenting themselves, Law returned to the bed and slid under the blanket he was apparently expected to share with his nightmare. Keeping his back to the other man, Law pulled his knees up to his chest and stared at the wall, trying not to think.

#This is one of the darker things I've written #And uh it's gonna get worse?#Before it gets better?#Trafalgar Law #Donquixote Doflamingo #Monkey D. Luffy #One Piece fic #One Piece fanfiction #Bad Things Happen Bingo #Caitlin's fic

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crashingmeteorz · 4 years

Text

you’d better look out below

an au where tarrlok leaves the north pole with noatak.

title from arcade fire’s “wake up”. word count: 8k. read on ao3.

trigger warnings for: self-harm, child abuse (implied), violence

Tarrlok has asked about their mom four times already, and Noatak can tell by the way he stares off into the northern sky, he’s working up to a fifth.

“She’ll be fine,” snaps Noatak. Tarrlok’s eyes go wide as saucers, and Noatak pretends he can’t see the tears forming there.

“I didn’t say anything-“

“You were thinking it,” Noatak grunts, and the conversation stops abruptly. Tarrlok goes back to gazing out their boat.

It’s slow going, getting out of the north. They’ve been sailing for three days straight, and they can survive on the fish they catch and the salt water they purify, but that doesn’t stop them from going stir-crazy. Noatak would just bend them across the sea, but the noise attaracts the attention of tiger-sharks, and Tarrlok begged him to just rely on the waves and their oars. Noatak wonders darkly if this would have been easier on his own.

Tarrlok is company, at least, but he spends most of the journey worrying over their mother, or asking if they’re close to land. He’s hopeless at bending, compared to Noatak, and he eats a lot for such a scrawny kid. Lately, Noatak’s been fantasizing about pushing him overboard. It wouldn’t be fatal or anything, he’s a waterbender after all, it just might shut him up for longer than 10 minutes.

But Noatak lets the fantasy in, sits with it for a while, and then lets it out. He won’t be like their father anymore.

“She wouldn’t want us to be miserable, Tarrlok,” Noatak says as gently as he can. He doesn’t understand his brother’s concern for her - she never questioned their father’s influence, never wondered why her sons were always so miserable to train with him. But Tarrlok was always the softer one, he wouldn’t hurt a dragonfly even if it bit him on the nose.

“I just don’t want him to take it out on her,” Tarrlok says sadly. It’s certainly a possibility, without his sons to bully anymore. But Noatak’s doubtful.

“He won’t,” says Noatak confidently. “He has nothing to fight for anymore. He’ll just turn into the bitter old man he was always meant to be.”

For the first time all day, Tarrlok seems to relax. He takes off his glove and trails his fingers in the water absently, watching his wobbly reflection stare back at him from the sea. Noatak hunches over, shifting further down into his seat. Tarrlok still enjoys the little things, the feel of the water on his skin, the way the breeze ruffles his coat, the vision of white surrounding them. By the time he was Tarrlok’s age, most of that had been tainted.

It’s confusing, to feel both affection and envy for this quality his brother has. He wants to protect Tarrlok, he wants to be like Tarrlok, he wants Tarrlok out of his life. Noatak doesn’t know how much of his anger is his father, and how much is just him.

“Can we go to Kyoshi Island? I want to see the elephant koi,” says Tarrlok, oblivious as always.

“We’re going to the first port we see and moving inland,” is Noatak’s terse reply. Tarrlok nods sagely, seemingly satisfied. Then-

“So is the first port Kyoshi Island or...?”

“No, Tarrlok,” Noatak says through gritted teeth, “we are not going to Kyoshi Island.”

“Oh, okay,” says Tarrlok, disappointment written all over his face. Noatak can’t find the energy to care. “It’s just-“

“Enough,” says Noatak tersely. Tarrlok clamps his mouth shut. Noatak hates how ugly he sounds, how Tarrlok recoils. It’s a familiar sight, and it’s not one Noatak enjoys.

“I’m sorry,” Noatak says, trying not to sound as irritated as he feels. “I’m just sick of this boat. Things will be better when we reach dry land.”

“How are we gonna pay for stuff?” Noatak asks, immediately forgiving.

“We’ll sell the boat and go from there. If we need to live off the land for a while we can.”

Tarrlok looks backwards, in the direction of what used to be their home.

“I’m glad we left,” Tarrlok says honestly, and Noatak feels a sudden burst of joy. It’s the first time he’s expressed any relief about leaving. “But I think I’ll miss home.”

“One day, you’ll forget all about that place. Besides,” Noatak says, reaching over to clap his brother on the shoulder, “we’re together, Tarrlok. We’ll make a new home.”

It’s mid-afternoon on the fourth day when they spot land. Tarrlok had finally grown irritable as well, and they were liable to strangle each other when he excitedly pointed out the rocky shore.

They sail for another hour before finding a small fishing village where they can dock. Tarrlok had begged for them to just stop near the rocks and bend the water to bring them in safely, but Noatak had refused. They couldn’t risk damaging the boat, it was their only source of income at the moment.

The local fishermen eye the boat curiously. Being of watertribe origin, it’s sturdy and narrow, perfect for avoiding boulders among the rapids. Noatak informs them he won’t settle for less than 30 gold pieces. They laugh in his face.

“Gold pieces?” asks an elderly fisherman. “Boy, we use yuans here, or didn’t you know?”

“I’ll give you 30 yuans for it, how about that?” calls another to uproarious laughter. Noatak’s smart enough to figure out that’d be a robbery, so he grabs Tarrlok by the shoulder and stomps away.

“Where are we going?” asks Tarrlok, ducking his head to avoid the teasing sailors.

“Into the market. Well listen to the sales and try to figure out the going-rate of yuans,” Noatak explains, steering Tarrlok along the winding path.

“Couldn’t we just ask someone?” Tarrlok says in confusion.

“So they can scam us? I don’t think so.”

They spend almost an hour in the market. It takes them 20 minutes just to find items moderately close in value to their boat, and even that is a crapshoot. They end up listening to jewelers and one exotic pet salesman. Tarrlok beams at a sleeping jackalope.

“Isn’t he cold all the way up here?” Tarrlok asks the merchant.

“Oh, very,” says the man in a very sad, and very fake, voice. “Are you going somewhere warmer? Perhaps you could take him with you?”

“Noatak, can we?” Tarrlok asks excitedly. “You said we’re going somewhere warmer -“

“No,” Noatak says, eyeing the price on the jackalope’s cage - 50 yuans, almost a quarter of what he’s thinking of asking for their boat. “And he’s fine, Tarrlok. The desert freezes at night. I’m sure he’s used to it.”

The merchant gives Noatak a nasty look as he nods for Tarrlok to follow him back to the docks. Noatak doesn’t miss the way his brother hangs his head.

“Maybe we can find you a less expensive pet,” Noatak suggests.

“Sure,” Tarrlok says dejectedly. Okay. They might be able to splurge on the jackalope. Besides, it might keep Tarrlok’s attention off of him for a while.

When they get to where they tied the boat, there’s nothing there. Tarrlok isn’t really paying attention, and Noatak knows panicking won’t help, so he circles the docks. And then he does it again.

“You,” he says, shoving a finger at the old man from earlier. “What’d you do with our boat?”

“Tell you what,” says the old man as the sailors snicker, “give me 30 gold pieces, I’ll take you to it!” The fishermen’s laughter roars in his ears. Noatak grabs the front of the old man’s coat with both fists. The dock goes quiet.

“Tell me where my boat is,” Noatak seethes, “or I’ll turn you inside out.”

“Noatak!” shouts Tarrlok. Out of the corner of his eye, Noatak can see the advancing fishermen. He releases the old man, and the other men relax a little.

Then, almost inexplicably, the old man begins walking backwards, inching to the edge of the dock. His eyes bulge out of his skull. He opens his mouth, but no sounds come out. Everyone shouts in concern, yelling for him to stop.

“Noatak,” Tarrlok whispers, reaching out to hold his brother’s hand. When their fingers interlock, Noatak realizes his younger brother is shaking.

The old man stops suddenly, just before the edge of the platform, and falls to his knees. The other sailors run to him, asking him questions, suggesting a heart attack. Noatak and Tarrlok melt away, forgotten.

They sprint back to the marketplace, and Noatak pointedly does not mention the tears streaming down Tarrlok’s face. They round a corner and Noatak skids to a stop. He grabs Tarrlok and they hide in an alleyway, beside the exotic pet hawker.

“Don’t,” Tarrlok whispers.

“You want the jackalope or not?” Noatak asks him, trying to keep anger out of his voice. Tarrlok looks to the greasy merchant, to the animal far too big for its cage. He nods.

Noatak tries to be quick, not out of mercy, but out of a desire not to arouse suspicion. The merchant chokes out a protest, but is unable to stop himself from picking up the keys and unlocking the jackalope’s cage. He pokes at the thing, once, twice, and then the animal is awake and bounding out into the sunlight.

Tarrlok waits until it is about to pass their alleyway and reaches out, cuddling it. At first the jackalope struggles, scratching Tarrlok’s cheek with its antlers, and then it relaxes, nosing at Tarrlok’s chest.

“He smells the sea prunes,” Tarrlok says laughing. Noatak watches as the merchant gets his bearings back and starts looking around frantically.

“He can eat them later, let’s go,” Noatak grunts, and the two of them sprint out of the market, the animal seller none the wiser.

Later, when they make camp in a cave along the forested path, the jackalope is resting in Tarrlok’s lap and Tarrlok’s stroking its ears thoughtfully.

“What’s on your mind?” Noatak asks him, all venom gone. Even with their earlier failures, Noatak’s just relieved to be on solid ground.

“We could’ve been caught today,” Tarrlok tells him. “They would’ve arrested us.”

“No one can bloodbend in daylight except for dad, and everyone assumes he died over 15 years ago,” Noatak tells him. “You heard them, they thought the old man had a heart attack.”

“What about the merchant?”

“No one saw that, Tarrlok,” Noatak says tiredly, flopping down by the fire.

“Still, if they talk, they might put it together, it could come back to us-“

“Tarrlok, we’re not getting caught,” Noatak says firmly. Tarrlok frowns and goes back to petting the jackalope.

“That’s not all,” he says after a little while. “I shouldn’t have let you bloodbend that merchant. It wasn’t right.”

“He’s a lowlife scam artist, just like those sailors and he deserved-“

“You’ve never been bloodbent before, Noatak. How could you know that they deserved it?”

Noatak doesn’t really know what to say to that. Guilt pools in his belly and slithers it’s way up to his chest, wrapping around his heart.

“We’re starting over, right?” Tarrlok asks him after what feels like forever.

“Right,” Noatak agrees.

“Then no more bloodbending.”

“Tarrlok-“

“No more bloodbending, Noatak,” Tarrlok says severely, staring hard at his brother. “Or I leave.”

Then leave, hisses a nasty voice in Noatak’s head, but it’s practically drowned out by the rushing panic. Tarrlok can’t leave - Noatak is doing this, all of this for Tarrlok. He doesn’t know what he’s doing out here if his brother isn’t with him.

“Fine,” he relents. “We’re good enough waterbenders without it, anyway.”

Tarrlok smiles at him, and the ocean of fear in Noatak’s ears dulls to a trickle. It’s not ideal, but then maybe it’s for the best. Bloodbending, more than anything else, was his father’s most precious lesson. If he and Tarrlok abandoned it now, Yakone’s teachings would die with them.

“We’re really sticking it to dad, huh?” Tarrlok says as though he’s read Noatak’s mind, unable to keep the glee out of his voice.

“Yeah,” Noatak agrees grinning, “we are.”

They spend the entire next day walking. They happen upon a traveling fruit vendor and offer some water tribe delicacies in exchange for fresh apples and moon peaches. They get sticky from the juices, and Tarrlok’s jackalope licks his face clean.

“You’ll have to name the thing,” Noatak tells him, trying and failing not to smile at the two of them. He can’t remember the last time Tarrlok looked so happy.

“I’m thinking Jack,” Tarrlok says, lying flat on his back and allowing the animal to sit on his chest and lap at his cheeks.

“You’re not serious?” Noatak asks him incredulously. “That is the stupidest name I’ve ever heard.”

“Well, what’s your idea?” Tarrlok says, sitting suddenly. The jackalope squeaks indignantly, and then stretches up to resume its feast.

“What about Zhī?” he asks. Tarrlok laughs loudly.

“Perfect!” he says. “From now on, youre T - hey don’t lick inside my mouth you weirdo!”

They move on, traveling for almost a week. Noatak struggles to hunt without bloodbending, but together they manage to develop a system - Tarrlok frightens the animals in Noatak's direction, and then Noatak stuns them with a water whip. It's not fail-safe, but it gets them some meat, at least. One day they travel for almost 12 hours without food, only stopping to rest their feet, climbing winding hills until the sun is just beginning to set. At last they spot a large, walled-in structure sitting prettily at the bottom of a mountain. Tarrlok’s stomach growls.

“We’ll see if they’re willing to trade,” Noatak says, and they make their way to the front gates, only to find out the structure is an abbey. Both boys bow upon being welcomed in by the Mother Superior.

“Where are your parents?” asks one of the sisters, who offers them supper, much to the brothers’ relief.

“They passed away a month ago,” Noatak says quickly. It’s not a total lie - he and Tarrlok ran into the blizzard about a month ago, around the same time Noatak had decided his parents were dead to him. The nuns all make varying noises of distress, and Noatak arranges his face to look appropriately sad. Tarrlok just keeps chewing until his brother nudges him, and then he bows his head to hide his stuffed cheeks.

“There’s a large sanctuary south of here, but it’s quite the journey,” says the woman who fed them, Sister Meifen. “You two are welcome to stay here, until we can find you proper arrangements.”

“Thank you, but-“

“Is it okay if Zhī stays, too?” asks Tarrlok, picking up the jackalope and showing them all. The nuns titter at the animal, and reach out to pet the its fluffy ears.

Noatak isn’t sure how it happens, but before he knows it, he and Tarrlok have each been given a mat and linens for bed. They’re told the nuns wake early, so don’t expect to sleep in. Noatak doesn’t really know why it matters if they sleep in, because they’re not nuns, but he agrees anyway.

“Tarrlok, we can’t stay here,” Noatak whispers to his brother. “We’re not getting sent to any sanctuary.”

“Then what are we doing?” Tarrlok asks him.

“I don’t know, but I’ll be 18 soon, so I can be your guardian-“

“In four years!” hisses Tarrlok. Noatak shushes him.

“I look older than I am,” Noatak whispers. “We’ll get jobs somewhere, Omashu, maybe.”

“But that’s so far from here!” Tarrlok argues. Noatak rolls his eyes.

“How do you know that?” he asks his younger brother. “You don’t even know where Kyoshi Island is.” Tarrlok pouts.

“Sister Meifen said so,” Tarrlok says, sticking his tongue out. “What about Republic City? That’s just south of here-“

“We are not going there,” Noatak interrupts coldly. “Or did you forget where dad grew up?”

Tarrlok shuffles under his blanket. Zhī snorts a little and adjusts as Tarrlok moves.

“I didn’t think that would matter,” Tarrlok says in a small voice.

“Of course it matters,” Noatak says bitterly, even though he’s not exactly sure why. Then, with less heat, “We’ll find a place. A village or something."

Tarrlok doesn't say anything in response. Noatak waits him out

"But, in the meantime, we can stay here, okay?" Noatak says after a while, as a peace offering. "It's safe and they'll keep us fed. We'll just have to listen in, make sure they don't plan anything without telling us. I'll see if I can find some maps, maybe you can finally learn to read one, right Tarrlok? Tarrlok?"

Noatak nudges his brother lightly, but the younger boy only lets out a snore. Noatak sighs and settles into his mat. There are worse places to be in, and as mistrustful as he is, he doesn't really think a bunch of nuns will try to trick them.

He also thought their boat was safe in the fishing village. Suddenly, Noatak's wide awake. He scooches closer to Tarrlok. Their father never went into detail about his work in Republic City, but Noatak recalls a few stories of children going missing. The superstitious blamed it on spirits. Their father blamed it on interested buyers.

"What does that mean?" a much younger Tarrlok had asked. Yakone only let out a dark laugh. If Noatak's certain of anything on this journey, he's certain he'll do anything to protect Tarrlok, and he doesn't care who he has to hurt to do it, nuns included.

Noatak doesn't remember falling asleep, but the next thing he knows he's being shaken awake.

"What is it, what's wrong?" he barks, sitting straight up. Tarrlok is squatting in front of him with a sleepy smile and messy hair. At least someone slept well.

"Nothing," Tarrlok says happily. "But Mother Superior says we need to earn our keep, whatever that means."

"It means she's putting us to work," Noatak grumbles, motioning for Tarrlok to turn so he can fix his hair. He begins to affix the usual pair of ponytails, and then stops himself.

"Wanna try a different style?" Noatak asks.

"I don't know," says Tarrlok. "I always wear it this way."

"What about something more traditional, like the chief wears?" suggests Noatak. Tarrlok hesitates a moment too long, and Noatak begins to part his hair in disappointment.

"Sure," Tarrlok says suddenly. "Let's try it." Noatak grins. He combs Tarrlok's hair and gathers a section of it up in the center of his head, pulling it into a ponytail, making sure to include side pieces so that it stays out of the boy's face.

"You missed a piece," Tarrlok singsongs, picking up a chunk of hair by his right ear and waving it with his fingers.

"Not necessarily." Noatak makes a small braid out of the hanging piece, leaves the end free, and then affixes the beads they usually use on Noatak's two low-hanging ponytails. He ties the braid.

"Aren't these for warriors?" Tarrlok asks him hesitantly, taking the braid between his fingers.

"They signify battles won," Noatak says. He does not elaborate any further. "Leave it. It suits you."

He fixes his own hair, and then they're off to report to Sister Meifen.

The nun is delighted when they tell her they're waterbenders. She shows them the perfumes the nuns make here at the abbey, as well as the scented soaps and bath products. She asks them if they'd be willing to help her separate the vats of solution into smaller vials. She explains that they sell their products as a means of fundraising for the abbey, and that excess sales go to the less fortunate.

"Did you know," Sister Meifen says almost smugly, "that the great Chief Katara once stayed here? She, Councilman Sokka, and Avatar Aang used this abbey as a resting place during the avatar's preparation to fight the Firelord."

"How interesting," Noatak says evenly, exchanging an awkward look with Tarrlok. They'd certainly heard a lot about Chief Katara and the others, though none of it as reverential as Sister Meifen might think.

"Who knows?" says the nun, raising her eyesbrows playfully at them. "Maybe you two will prove just as talented as her."

Noatak doesn't really know how he manages not to roll his eyes. The effort almost gives him a headache.

It's easy work, more precision than anything else, which Tarrlok has always struggled with. After his third spill, he curses and balls his fist.

"Careful," mutters Noatak, effortlessly dividing the perfume up into 10 different vials. "I don't think they'd like your language."

"I don't get it," Tarrlok groans. His cheeks redden with frustration. "This is easy. Why can't I do it?"

"You haven't had to bend in a while. Take a break."

Tarrlok doesn't seem satisfied, squeezing his nails into his palms, straightening his hands out to stretch his fingers, and then repeating the process. Noatak glances over to his brother and realizes Tarrlok's palms are red and raw. He stops his work.

"Tarrlok," he says in what he hopes is a calming voice. It still comes out nastier than he'd like.

"What?" his brother snaps, fingers still curling in and out, in and out. Noatak reaches for his hand. Tarrlok freezes, and looks down in confusion.

"We'll work on your control another time," Noatak tells him, and it comes out too sharp. He loosens his grip on Tarrlok's hand significantly, speaks in almost a whisper. "Let's see if we can find a different job for you."

"What's the point?" Tarrlok asks, voice tight. "I'll just screw it up."

"Dad's not here, Tarrlok," Noatak tells him sternly, making sure not to let his hand squeeze. "Don't let him get to you from across the ocean."

Tarrlok nods, though he's clearly still upset. They find the sisters feeding Zhī bits of whatever it is they're preparing for lunch. Fortunately the jackalope has a sense of loyalty, and bounds over to Tarrlok the moment he spots him, leaping into the boy's arms. Tarrlok brightens considerably.

"Tarrlok hurt his wrist the other day," Noatak says easily. Tarrlok side-eyes him, and then lets his right wrist hang limp atop Zhī. "I can continue filling the vials, but it irritates his hand. Is there somewhere else he can help?"

Fortunately the nuns seem to see Tarrlok as a little darling, and are more than happy to give him a less intensive job.

"But for now," Sister Meifen tells them, "you've earned a break. It's lunchtime."

They stay at the abbey for one week, and then two. Tarrlok follows Sister Meifen around like a loyal dog, and Noatak successfully bites his tonuge. Tarrlok's obviously latching on to the first kind woman he meets, but he's happy, and he's not bringing up their mother as much, so Noatak leaves it.

The nuns aren't quite as fond of Noatak, which is no surprise. Boys stop being cute once they start to look like men, and Tarrlok has enough baby fat left to get his cheeks pinched by older women with no sense of personal boundaries. It probably doesn't help that Noatak watches Tarrlok like a hawk, often pausing his work when he hasn't heard Zhī’s surprisingly loud squeaks or the sound of Tarrlok's laughter. The latter is almost a shoddy indicator - he's not used to hearing it so often, but he's warming up to the sound.

In any event, Noatak gets his work done in record time each day, and when he finishes he offers to assist in other areas. It's not exactly a deep relationship, but the nuns are grateful for his willingness to work. They always give him extra helpings at meals. One evening he notices Tarrlok staring into his cleared plate, so he offers some of his own food. Tarrlok greedily accepts.

"Tarrlok, why didn't you just say you were still hungry?" Mother Superior gently scolds him. Tarrlok freezes like a deer in headlights.

"I, I'm sorry-"

"You should have offered him more food," Noatak says sharply. The table goes quiet.

"It's my fault, Mother Superior," Sister Meifen says. "I always give Tarrlok snacks during the day, but today we were so busy scent-testing we didn’t stop for anything. I should have told him he could ask for seconds."

The sister and Mother Superior exchange a look that Noatak doesn't understand, but they seem to come to some sort of agreement, and dinner resumes. Tarrlok blushes furiously, leaving the food untouched until Noatak nudges him.

"Eat," Noatak says. "Also, when were you going to share your snacks, huh?"

Tarrlok grins sheepishly, and finishes his dinner.

In the evenings before bed, they practice waterbending. Noatak recalls what his father would say, how he would react, and tries to do the opposite of that. He finds himself getting frustrated easily when Tarrlok messes up, but he keeps the anger from seeping out into his tone. He overcompensates when Tarrlok gets it right, complimenting him profusely. It feels fake, but Tarrlok's smile is genuine, so he keeps at it.

By their third week, Tarrlok joins him at the perfume. He's thinking too hard about it, hyping it up too much. He waltzes up to the ceramic pots like they're a pack of wolves ready to strike. When he first goes to divide up the liquid, he spills it all on the stones.

"Breathe," Noatak tells him in a calm voice, clamping down on the part of him that's laughing viciously. "It's just perfume, Tarrlok. You can do this in your sleep."

Tarrlok nods, too seriously, but does as Noatak says, takes a deep calming breath, and bends the perfume perfectly. Noatak smiles broadly, telling Tarrlok he did great, and it feels genuine this time.

They get through all of the vials without a single mess. It takes almost as long as when Noatak worked alone, due to Tarrlok's cautious approach, but when they finish Tarrlok's beaming with pride. Sister Meifen takes his face in her hands and congratulates him on his improvement.

"Noatak's a great teacher," he says happily. Sister Meifen nods almost gratefully at Noatak. He doesn't nod back. She's been acting like she's Tarrlok's mother, like Noatak’s some wayward stranger who took this precious kid under his wing. Everything about this place makes Noatak feel like he's a transient and Tarrlok's their newest resident.

He's antsy to leave.

The nuns get antsy as well, towards the end of their third week there. He'd noticed them cleaning with more vigor, returning from the market with a variety of fruits, vegetables, and, to Tarrlok's delight, sweets. They're all whispering to each other hurriedly, but when Noatak gets near, they quiet at once and go about their day. It's infuriating.

"You need to try and find out what's going on around here," Noatak mutters to Tarrlok while they're dividing up the perfumes. "Don't make it obvious, but see what you can find out from Sister Meifen."

"She said something about a party yesterday," Tarrlok says nonchalantly. "It's probably that."

Noatak freezes his motions and nearly drops the liquid. He sends the perfume shooting down so viciously into the vials that they shatter. Tarrlok stops what he's doing, surprised.

"It's a going-away party." Noatak feels his whole body shaking with anger. He can only think of one reason the nuns would keep this from him, wouldn’t just tell them they've found a suitable sanctuary.

They're going to separate Noatak from Tarrlok.

Well, they're going to try. They'll have to kill him first, and somehow he doesn't think these nuns have it in them.

"Noatak?" Tarrlok asks, but Noatak doesn't hear him. His ears are ringing too loud.

"Finish this...crap," Noatak spits out, stalking away to find Mother Superior. A thousand scenarios run through his head, each more violent than the last. Several of them involve bloodbending Sister Meifen off a cliff.

When he gets inside, he hears male voices, and it's all the confirmation he needs.

"It's truly an honor to host you-" Mother Superior is saying when Noatak rips open the curtain and reveals-

The Avatar. The literal Avatar. Avatar Aang is talking to Mother Superior. There's another man with him, much younger and with skin closer to Noatak's, but wearing the same air nomad robes and sharing the same surprised expression.

"Noatak!" Mother Superior starts in surprise, eyebrows drawn together sternly. She's too startled by his sudden appearance to say much else. Noatak shakes his head and gathers himself, remembering his resolve.

"Are you going to take me away?" he asks The Actual Real Life Avatar, pointing an accusatory finger in his face. Mother Superior looks scandalized. The Avatar just looks amused.

"I don't think so," Avatar Aang, THE Avatar Aang says slowly. "Did you want me to take you away?"

"No." Noatak lowers his finger slowly as realization hits him. The nuns are throwing a party. The Avatar is here. The Avatar doesn't know who he is.

"The party's for you," Noatak says, thinking out loud and feeling incredibly stupid.

"A party?" asks the legendary, bridge-between-the-worlds, bringer-of-peace Avatar, clapping his hands in delight.

"Well, yes, of a kind, but, Noatak!" says Mother Superior. "What in the world are you doing, bursting in here like this? And accosting Avatar Aang like that, it's the height of disrespect-"

"Please, Mother Superior," the very-much real Avatar says with what can only be described as a goofy grin on his face, "I barely respect myself. It seems like there may have been a miscommunication." He gestures to Noatak, and Noatak realizes he's being asked to speak.

"I thought you were throwing a going-away party," he tells Mother Superior with as much dignity as he can muster, "for me. I thought you were separating Tarrlok and I."

As an afterthought, he bows to the Avatar. Mother Superior walks over to Noatak, and he absolutely refuses to back away despite his screaming instincts. To his surprise, she cups his cheek in her hand.

"Dear boy," the Mother Superior says in the softest voice he's ever heard her use, "I would never separate you from your brother. Frankly, we'd keep you both all to ourselves, but it's not right to deprive children the opportunity for a loving family out of selfishness."

Noatak allows himself to lean into the older woman's warm touch, for just the barest of seconds. He uses it to ground himself. The nun's confession is overwhelming, to say the least.

Then he stands straight and bows deeply to her, far deeper and far longer than he did for the living-legend Avatar.

"I apologize, Mother Superior," Noatak says sincerely, gravely. "I misread the situation. I did not mean to embarass you." She smiles at him a moment longer, and then turns back to her usual severe self.

"Go get your brother and wash up. We have guests."

Noatak's too relieved to notice the curious look Avatar Aang gives him as he turns on his heel to go find Tarrlok.

"Do you think he's hear to arrest us?" Tarrlok asks for what feels like the millionth time as Noatak brushes his hair. The nuns have prepared a luncheon feast, and it seems all work activities for the day have been cancelled.

"No, Tarrlok," Noatak says tiredly. He doesn't have the strength for his usual annoyance. The day's earlier panic knocked him out. "He didn't even know who I was."

"What if he was just pretending?" Tarrlok presses.

"He's the Avatar," Noatak reminds him, placing the beads at the end of Tarrlok's braid - he's been wearing his hair this way since Noatak first suggested it. "He took dad's bending away. He doesn't need to pretend."

"I can't believe you talked to him," Tarrlok gushes, switching tones with lightning speed. Noatak doesn't know how he does it. "What was he like?"

Noatak had, smartly, in his opinion, left out a few key details of his encounter with the Avatar.

"Fine," Noatak says in a bored voice as he brushes his own hair. Tarrlok rolls his eyes, dissatisfied.

"Nice," Noatak adds. "Dopey."

"Dopey?" Tarrlok repeats. "He's the Avatar! How could he be dopey?"

"Ask him yourself," Noatak suggests, standing once his own ponytail's secure. Tarrlok follows suit and they head into the dining hall.

"I'm not asking the Avatar if he's dopey," Tarrlok mutters under his breath. Noatak grins.

They dine on fruits and nuts, and then they are served sweet buns and bean curry. There's no meat, presumably since the Avatar and his company are vegetarians, but it's very filling. Tarrlok can't get enough of it. They nuns have pushed away the tables and set up mats like the ones Noatak and Tarrlok have been sleeping on. It's the most casual Noatak's ever seen the abbey. He and Tarrlok find a pair of corner mats and keep to themselves.

"May we join you?" says a deep, friendly voice. Tarrlok's jaw drops, and so does the dumpling he was holding. Avatar Aang and the younger man he was with are standing above them. The Avatar is smiling broadly, the other man looks like he's trying to smile, but it's something akin to a grimace. Noatak very badly wants to say no, but after his earlier display, he owes it to the nuns to be polite.

"It would be our honor," he answers, bowing his head. Tarrlok swallows whatever was in his mouth and bows as well. The Avatar and his companion settle beside them.

"We were never properly introduced," he says kindly, looking between the brothers. "I'm Aang, and this is my son, Tenzin."

Tenzin bows his head.

"Noatak," he says, pointing to himself, "and Tarrlok."

"I wanted to say I'm terribly sorry about your parents," Avatar Aang says seriously, and Tarrlok freezes again. "When Mother Superior told me how recently you lost them, my heart broke for you."

Noatak doesn't think Tarrlok could sigh any louder. Fortunately, the Avatar seems to take it as a display of sadness.

"Thank you," Noatak says politely. "We'll be alright, as long as we have each other."

Avatar Aang smiles sadly at him.

"I'm glad to hear it," he says, and in spite of his misgivings, Noatak is inclined to believe him. Their father had always spoken of the Avatar's weakness, his bleeding heart. Noatak eventually took that to mean that Avatar Aang possessed compassion, which Yakone was sorely unfamilar with.

"I'm going to sound like everyone's grandpa," the Avatar continues, looking at an absolutely starstruck Tarrlok, "but when I was your age, my friends were all the family I had. I know how important it is to have someone you can rely on."

Noatak realizes with a start he's talking about Chief Katara and the other important people his father despised. For some reason Noatak still feels a pang of anger for Chief Katara, mixed in somewhere with his anger for Yakone. Misplaced loyalty, maybe? He's not sure.

"What brought you to the abbey?" Tarrlok asks curiously.

"I thought it would be nice to visit the sisters, their abbey’s on the way home from the Southern Air Temple. You see, it was time for Tenzin here to select an air bison," Aang says proudly, clapping his son on the shoulder. "Traditionally air nomads choose their bisons during childhood, but we needed to ensure the herd was healthy and happy before separating them. Tell them his name!"

Tenzin blushes furiously, which Noatak finds pretty funny considering he's a grown-man.

"Oogi," he says quietly, but the man's baritone reverberates whether he wants it to or not. Noatak can't help it. He barks out a laugh, and quickly attempts to cover it up with a cough.

"That's great!" Tarrlok says sincerely. He whistles, and his jackalope comes careening towards them. Noatak's not sure when he tought him that trick. Tarrlok holds the animal up proudly, and Noatak notes it's getting a little heavy in the middle. "This is Zhī!"

"Hello, Zhī," Aang beams, reaching out to the jackalope and offering it a carrot. Zhī sniffs at the vegetable, and then leaps a little too excitedly, landing on Aang's head. Noatak and Tarrlok gasp in horror. The Avatar and Tenzin laugh.

"I'm great with animals," Aang chuckles, extracting Zhī and setting him in his lap while the jackrabbit munches on the carrot. Tarrlok, for his part, is ecstatic about this turn of events and chats happily with Aang and Tenzin, trading animal stories. The Avatar mentions his lemur, Momo, who apparently resides on Air Temple Island for the most part. Tarrlok asks them if they've ever encountered another jackalope in their travels.

"They're usually found in the Ba Sing Se Desert," Tenzin muses. "This one's pretty far from home. Where did you happen to find him?"

Tarrlok glances at Noatak nervously.

"We met it in the fishing village north of here," Noatak says, smooth as anything, "there was an exotic animal merchant there, and he accidentally let some of the animals out. We would have brought him back, but Zhī didn't seem to be very well cared for."

Tenzin nods, smiling at little at him, apparently satisfied with the explanation. Aang squints a little, his calm expression never faltering. Noatak stares back at the Avatar with what he hopes is a neutral expression. He also hopes Tarrlok is smart enough to keep his head down.

"Well, I can't fault you," Aang says lightly. "I'm an animal-lover myself, after all. I hate the thought of them feeling uncomfortable. It's why we left the bisons a little south of here, Oogi isn't great with small spaces just yet."

"They're here?" Tarrlok asks in wonder. Aang smiles warmly at him.

"Would you like to meet them? After dessert, of course."

Tarrlok again looks to Noatak, who glares at his younger brother. Why would the Avatar offer them such a thing? He's certain Aang doesn't know they're Yakone's sons, but he doesn't know what the endgame is here. What reason would the Avatar have to introduce a pair of orphans to his precious air bisons?

"Sure," Noatak says after mulling it over. He'll just have to stay on his guard. If he and Tarrlok need to make a daring escape, well, it's about time they move along, anyway.

Tarrlok tears through his fruit tarts like a rabid platypus-bear, except sloppier. Aang and Tenzin leave to sit with the nuns, and Noatak hears them expressing gratitude for the traditional air nomad meals. Noatak had always beleived that the monks ate very little, refusing indulgences. But while Tenzin appears more reserved, Avatar Aang digs into his deserts almost as heartily as Tarrlok. He's nothing like Noatak would expect. He's just kind of...

Dopey.

"I can't believe we're eating with the Avatar," Tarrlok says through a moutful of macaroons. Then, lowering his voice to a whisper he says, "Imagine the look on dad's face."

Noatak silences him with a glare.

It's late afternoon when the Avatar and his son finally stop chatting with the nuns and suggest they go meet Appa and Oogi. Noatak fills his waterskin up, just in case. He's not idiotic enough to think he could win against the Avatar in a fight, but he's sure he could create enough of a diversion to buy them time to escape.

They follow the winding path to a wooded area, and Aang cups his hands around his mouth.

"Appa!" he calls in a singsong. "Appa! Oogi! Where are you?" In response, something among the trees lets out a loud groan. Aang, at nearly 60 years old, takes off at a run towards the bison.

"Dad!" Tenzin shouts, running after him. Noatak and Tarrlok glance at each other, and then they're following suit. They tear through the brush and leaves, Tarrlok giggling all the while, Zhī being jostled under the boy's arm. Noatak hears the groan again and turns a sharp corner, barely managing to grab Tarrlok by the elbow so that he doesn't go sprinting off in the wrong direction. At last they crash through a clearing, and are greeted by the sight of two grown-men cuddling up to a pair of enrmormous furry creatures.

"Wow," Tarrlok breathes, and Noatak can't help but feel the same sense of awe. The bisons are huge, bigger than they could have ever imagined. The biggest creatures up north are the yaks, and they don't hold a candle to Appa and Oogi. And the bisons are, for lack of a better term, adorable - fluffy and incredibly affectionate, if the way they respond to their masters' attention is any indication.

"Come meet them!" Aang calls, waving them over. Tarrlok doesn't hesitate, he runs over to Oogi, the closest one, and immediately begins petting the bison's face. Zhī struggles free of Tarrlok's hold and begins sniffing at Oogi's feet. Noatak is more cautious, approaching Appa slowly. He's never loved animals the way Tarrlok does, but he's more than happy to get a closer look at the unusual beast.

"He won't bite," Aang says gently after Noatak just stands in front of Appa for a few minutes, staring. Noatak still doesn't really care to pet the animal, but he can tell how highly the Avatar regards Appa, and he doesn't want to insult him. Steadying himself, Noatak reaches out to gingerly presse his hand to the bison's wet nose. Noatak holds his breath. Then, Appa leans into the touch, letting out a low snort.

Something both foreign and familiar washes over Noatak. It's not an emotion he can identify, but it feels warm.

He and Tarrlok spend the next few hours playing with the bison. Appa is far older than Oogi, evident by the slow way he moves and the gray around his eyes, but Noatak is more than happy to sit by the bison's belly and rest in his fur. Avatar Aang sits beside him. Oogi is excitable, jumping around the clearing with Tarrlok, and eventually Tenzin, once he loosens up. The airbenders tell them all about the bisons, how they can fly long distances without growing tired, how they can carry whole families on their backs, how they're inherently gentle creatures.

"Oogi came from the Northern Air Temple," Aang explains proudly. "An old friend of mine, Teo, he's been helping to repopulate them up there. He designed Oogi's saddle, actually."

They talk for hours, the sun going lower and lower, and Noatak grows tired, comfortable in the softness of Appa's fur. Even Tarrlok and Oogi tire eventually, flopping down among the leaves.

"It's getting late," Tenzin says, producing some snacks for Appa and Oogi as he speaks. "We should head back to the abbey for the evening." Aang nods, and, in the first display of airbending Noatak's seen yet, the Avatar breezes effortlessly into a standing position. He offers Noatak his hand. Noatak eyes him suspiciously, and then, letting exhaustion win, allows himself to be pulled up.

The journey back to the abbey feels far longer than the first time. When they arrive, Tarrlok is swept up into a loving hug by Sister Meifen, and she even reaches out to hug Noatak as well, although he doesn't reciprocate. Noatak doesn't know why she's being so affectionate, they were only gone for a few hours.

When he and Tarrlok find their sleeping quarters, they both fall asleep the moment they lay down.

In the morning they're roused by Mother Superior.

"Get dressed, you two," she says. "The Avatar would like to speak with you."

"Couldn't he speak with us after sunrise?" Tarrlok whines, rubbing at his eyes. Noatak puts himself together quickly, a ball of nerves. He's not sure why Aang has taken such an interest in them, but he was under the impression the Avatar would be leaving today. They already saw the bison, what else is there to do?

When Noatak and Tarrlok trudge over to Aang, Tarrlok's still half asleep. He's tied his coat around his waist and has Zhī sleeping in the hood. Both the Avatar and his son are meditating. Aang peeks an eye open as he hears their footsteps approach.

"Ah!" he says, motioning them over. They sit cross-legged in front of him, and Tarrlok practically sits on Zhī who squeaks and trudges into the boy's lap. "I'm sorry about the early wake-up call, but Tenzin and I are leaving soon, and I wanted to discuss something with you both. Well, you three."

"Is everything alright?" Noatak asks in as relaxed a voice as he can muster. Aang smiles warmly at him.

"Yes, Noatak, everything's fine. You aren't in trouble," Aang says. Noatak feels his heart slow down, lets his facial features relax.

"I told you last night I was devastated to hear about what happened to you," Aang explains. "Mother Superior told me how you're both talented waterbenders. I immediately felt like our meeting was more than luck - like we were all meant to be here in this place, at this time."

"I am fortunate enough to be married to the Chief of the Southern Water Tribe, and, in my biased opinion, one of the greatest waterbenders the world has ever known. Although I'm sure I'm not alone in saying so," Aang adds, winking.

"What I'm trying to say is - if the two of you are looking for a more permanent home, I would be honored if you would return to the Southern Water Tribe with me."

Noatak's mouth flies open, but no words come out. Tarrlok's eyes are practically bursting out of his head. Zhī, oblivious, sighs sleepily.

"Like...to live with you?" is all Noatak can manage. Tenzin chuckles. Aang inclines his head.

"If you'd like," the Avatar says, voice light but sincere.

"But you're the Avatar," Tarrlok says in confusion. Aang laughs, throwing an arm around his son.

"I'm also a father to three incredible young people, if I do say so myself," he says merrily. He retracts his arm and looks seriously between Noatak and Tarrlok. "You're under no obligation to come with me. If it's not what you want, I completely understand."

"How do you know Chief Katara won't mind?" Noatak asks him suspiciously. Aang smiles, his eyes lighting up with adoration.

"If you knew my mother," Tenzin tells them, "you wouldn't even be asking that question. Helping people is her passion."

Every fiber of Noatak's body is screaming in protest, telling him to grab Tarrlok and run for the sea, to run far away from these men and their promises. But he's planted in place, rooted by disbelief and confusion, and, worst of all, hope. It seems too good to be true. But then, if it is true, there's no where safer for him and Tarrlok from their father than the other side of the world, among the people Yakone hates most.

"May I speak with my brother?" Noatak asks. Aang inclines his head again, and he and Tarrlok step out into a hallway, leaving Zhī in the airbenders’ care.

"I think we should go with them," Tarrlok says the moment they're out of earshot. Noatak grimaces.

"I think we should discuss it," Noatak says irritably. "We can't just go with them-"

"What, like we just left the North Pole?" Tarrlok hisses. "He's the Avatar, he won't hurt us."

Noatak bites his tongue, refusing to let spill all the angry words about how parents aren't supposed to hurt you, either. Now's not the time for that discussion.

"Tarrlok," he says, trying desperately to convey severity. Thankfully, Tarrlok closes his mouth and listens. "If we do this, that's it. We live in the South Pole from now on. We listen to Avatar Aang and Chief Katara. We're Noatak and Tarrlok, the tragic boys who lost their parents. We give up our freedom."

"I don't think we're giving up our freedom," Noatak says, looking back towards the room where they left Aang. "Aang - the Avatar, he seems like he loves freedom. I just think we'd be safe."

Noatak looks back towards the room as well. They could say no, grab Zhī, and head southeast, towards Ba Sing Se. They'd make it, he's sure, living off scraps, resting their heads somewhere new each month, doing odd jobs. They could survive like that for a few years, until Noatak found a decent job. But would they be happy?

Noatak can practically feel Appa's soft fur under his hands. He can hear Tarrlok's hysterical laughter as Oogi and Zhī licked him mercilessly.

"Okay," Noatak says to Aang, once they've reentered the room. "We'll go with you."

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xtruss · 3 years

Text

A Muslim Writer on Finding Her Voice in Post-9/11, Post-Trump America

— By Aisha Sultan | 09/01/21 | Newsweek.

A new generation of Muslim Americans is making its mark. Spencer Platt/Getty

Like most Americans old enough to remember, I know exactly where I was and what I was doing on September 11, 2001 when the first hijacked plane hit the World Trade Center in New York City. I was showering when I heard my husband yelling for me. Dripping wet and wrapped in a towel, I watched in shock, along with tens of millions of others, as the Twin Towers fell, killing thousands of people inside.

Emotions from that day feel so much closer than two decades ago.

My stomach turned in revulsion. My body tightened with fear for my relatives who worked there. Dread settled like a heavy rock on my chest. Like other Americans, I wondered, who was attacking us. But as a Muslim, I had other questions too: Did the attackers claim to be Muslims? And, if so, what would happen to the rest of us?

I quickly got dressed and headed to the St. Louis Post-Dispatch, where I worked as an education reporter. I talked to stunned school officials and students while still trying to process what was happening.

That evening, I checked in with my family in Texas. My brother, then in middle school, had been in class when his teacher broke the news. He became nervous and, in the teacher's eyes at least, asked too many questions. "Is this World War III? Did they bomb downtown? Are they going to bomb our town next?" The teacher told him to shut up and leave her classroom, that she couldn't bear to look at his face.

Riz Ahmed attends the "Mogul Mowgli" press conference during the 70th Berlinale International Film Festival Berlin at Grand Hyatt Hotel on February 21, 2020 in Berlin, Germany. Ahmed recently criticized “dehumanizing and demonizing portrayals of Muslims" in films. Andreas Rentz/Getty Images

My mother's co-workers at the department store where she had worked for years suddenly refused to speak to her. Cops escorted my hijab-wearing cousin off her college campus because it was no longer deemed safe for her to be there.

In the immediate aftermath of that day's horror, my grief and anger as an American was so compounded with my fear and anxiety as a Muslim that it compelled me to do something unthinkable for me: I poured my heart out to the readers of the Sunday paper.

Back then, it was unusual for a news reporter to pen a personal response to a national tragedy. This was long before social media made us all performative, confessional animals. I needed my neighbors in the Midwest to know that while Muslim Americans shared their grief and anger, we also feared whether our country would turn on us.

I ended that column with the questions my college-aged sister had asked me: "Will the government come after us like they did with the Japanese? Will other Americans stand up for us?"

I told my readers the same thing I told her: I don't know.

I wasn't sure what to expect but dozens and dozens of readers responded to her question with expressions of support: Yes, we will stand up for you, you and your family are one of us, they said, in one way or another, in message after message. There were just two negative, Islamophobic emails in the bunch.

Such an overwhelmingly positive response seems inconceivable now, given how polarized our discourse is now and how normalized hate speech has become—an irony, when you consider how heightened anti-Muslim sentiment was at the time.

Key moments after 9/11 also feel unimaginable now. Back then, a Republican president, George W. Bush, visited the Islamic Center in Washington D.C. days after the attack to tell the American people that the attacks violated the tenets of Islam—"Islam is peace," he famously said—and to defend Muslims as equal citizens worthy of respect and protection. Our last Republican president, by contrast, touted a "Muslim ban" across the country. Even my state, Missouri, now bright partisan red, was a swing state back in 2001, where Democrats sometimes voted for Republicans and vice versa.

Coming together after tragedy: U.S. Muslims sing "God Bless America" at an interfaith memorial service in Pasadena, California for 9/11 victims two days after the attacks. Lucy Nicholson/AFP/Getty

It was against this backdrop that I felt moved to share my vulnerability with readers who may never have met a Muslim before.

Their responses reassured and comforted me, but the expressions of support didn't always—or even mostly—translate into action on a national scale. Instead, the Muslim community bore the brunt of the fallout of 9/11 for years. The government targeted Muslim communities with surveillance, questioning and confinement. It seemed law enforcement and the media used the label of "terrorism" for heinous crimes only if the perpetrator was Muslim. The number of anti-Muslim hate crime incidents reported to the FBI rose from 28 in 2000 to 481 in 2001— and those are just the official numbers. Countless incidents are never reported to the FBI.

Yet, in those ensuing years, creative work by Muslims also bubbled up in the country. A trio of Muslim comedians—Preacher Moss, Azhar Usman and Azeem Muhammad—launched the "Allah Made Me Funny" comedy tour in 2003. Writer Laila Lalami's debut novel, Hope and Other Dangerous Pursuits, was published in 2005. Actor Aasif Mandvi began appearing on The Daily Show in 2006. G.Willow Wilson published her first graphic novel, Cairo, in 2007.

People who had lived as Muslims in America prior to 9/11 became American Muslims, more engaged in its civic, cultural and political institutions. Muslims creatives were reclaiming the narrative and telling our own stories instead of responding to the false dichotomy of victim or villain told about us.

I was among them. Seven years after the attacks, I began lobbying my editors for a features column, a departure from a decade of straight news reporting. I had become a mother with two small children. I was trying to make sense of the confusion and isolation that parenting provokes. My first column in 2008 described a bleak winter day when I was sleep-deprived and frustrated and feeling slightly suffocated by the tight bonds of motherhood.

The author: St. Louis Post-Dispatch syndicated columnist Aisha Sultan. Elizabeth Wisemen

Again, readers in the heartland responded with overwhelming support and commiseration. I wasn't making any overtly political arguments. As readers got to know me, they appreciated the commonalities in our parenting experiences despite our differences. I wasn't trying to be an ambassador or spokeswoman for my faith or an ethnic community. I was sharing my observations and struggles as a suburban, middle class American mom who happened to be Muslim and of Pakistani descent.

An older, childless white man who lives in a conservative exurban county wrote to say I was the only Muslim he knew besides the attackers on 9/11. He said he had changed his perspective on Muslims in America after reading my column for years. We weren't just a faceless enemy to him anymore. He saw me as a person, my humanity very real to him.

We've stayed in touch for more than a decade.

Over time more Americans have become like that reader, increasingly comfortable with the idea and presence of Muslims—as neighbors and even family members. Yet simultaneously, the conservative right turned Islam into an effective political weapon and used it to bludgeon Muslims who have sought greater representation and political power.

These opposing forces once again became evident in the correspondence I got from readers, The tone and tenor changed notably in the summer of 2016 as the political rhetoric of the presidential campaign came to a boiling point. Public writers have always had our share of angry critics. But the criticism I received turned increasingly vitriolic, with a deep undercurrent of anger. People who disagreed with what I'd written weren't merely looking to dissent but to silence me.

Increasingly, pushback was laced with profanity, racial slurs and calls to go back to where I came from. Anonymous writers called me a 'raghead c*nt' and others told me to "get out of America, you towel head bigot b*tch." One reader mailed a handwritten letter after I wrote about talking to my children about the killing of Travyon Martin, the Black teenager fatally shot by a white member of a neighborhood watch patrol in Florida. She said she would make a point of cutting out my column photo from the paper every weekend so she could put it in the toilet and piss on it.

After the 2016 election, the heightened anxiety about personal safety I'd felt right after 9/11 returned, even stronger and lasted for years. It's not hard to understand why. During the period between 2015 and 2016, the number of assaults against Muslims rose significantly, surpassing the aftermath of 9/11, according to a Pew Research Center analysis of hate crimes statistics from the FBI. Over the following years, disinformation and conspiracies began taking hold in America at a level I'd never seen before. White rage was palpable online and eventually, on the streets.

The memories and feelings associated with the events of 9/11 continue to play a role in attitudes toward the American Muslim community in some quarters. Here, the annual 'Tribute in Light' memorial in lower Manhattan near One World Trade Center. Spencer Platt/Getty

And yet during this period, Muslims in America continued to create art and cultural capital at an unprecedented level. Playwright Ayad Akhtar produced his Pultizer-winning play Disgraced. Hasan Minhaj reclaimed the title Patriot Act, launching a show that became a cultural touchpoint for a generation of American Muslims too young to know firsthand how that legislation was wielded against the Muslim community. Ramy Youssef won a Golden Globe, Mahershala Ali won two Oscars and Lena Khan is directing Hollywood films. Models, pundits and Olympic athletes came into the spotlight while wearing a hijab.

At some point, I too decided that whatever the costs of speaking out, far greater was the cost of silence. If someone was going to attack me for speaking out against white supremacists, that was a risk I was willing to take. I couldn't back down from writing about controversial issues that I knew would provoke an angry backlash, even when it felt reader abuse could possibly escalate to violence.

What I've observed and experienced over the past 20 years, as a columnist and as a Muslim, perhaps boils down to this: As the politics of exclusion grow more strident, parts of the culture embrace inclusivity. Each force is a reaction to the other.

Certainly this has happened in my own relationship with readers. Even as the negative emails ramped up in intensity and bile, I still have far more readers who send words of kindness and encouragement than hatred. Many reveal their own secrets and most vulnerable stories.

My goal when I began writing a column was to give a voice to parents struggling to raise kids in this digital, social media saturated age. I hope I've done that but along the way something else important happened: I found my own voice too.

My youngest sister, who was in college when I wrote my first personal story in the aftermath of 9/11, decided to attend law school after she graduated. She eventually ran for state judge in the 113th District in Houston and was elected in 2018 as part of the record-setting number of Muslims who won public office that year.

With the benefit of two decades of hindsight and the insights I've gained from my interaction with readers over the years, I realize I could have given her a better answer when she turned to me as a frightened college student in 2001. I could have reassured her: Yes, there will be other Americans who will stand up for us.

More importantly, we will learn to stand up for ourselves.

— Aisha Sultan is a syndicated columnist based at the St. Louis Post-Dispatch.

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amyscascadingtabs · 4 years

Text

just know that i’m already home

Amy and Jake bring their son home for the first time.

read on ao3 ✨

It doesn't feel real to Amy until they're home.

At that point, she’s nearing forty-eight hours of having a baby. Nearly two days now, she’s been a mom to someone who now exists outside of her body, but it still doesn't feel real until she walks over the doorstep of their apartment.

The days at the hospital were a beautiful, exhausted blur, made up of trying to recover from an intense and painful event and learn her son’s signals while also seeing visitors and remembering to do other, suddenly deprioritized, things like eating and showering. Amy's certain she’ll never forget the nervosity and magic of those hours and hours spent curled up in her hospital bed just staring at their son, but at the same time, they seemed like something happening inside of a dream. Although she knows for a fact that Mac is very much theirs, that he lived inside and came out of her - she's reminded of that every time she stands up - she can’t shake the feeling that they're just borrowing him, and the hospital will make them give him back any second. When the doctor confirms that yes, everything looks perfectly on track for them to go home with their son today, Amy doesn't understand how they can just let them walk out of there.

Still, they do. No one even stops them on the way to their car to say they don't know what they're doing, and together, Jake and Amy make it through the most nerve-wracking car ride of their lives. Not that it’s especially dramatic, or because traffic is any crazier than usual, but because in the backseat next to Amy, sleeping in the safest baby car seat all of New York had to offer, is their son. He's dressed in his fuzzy white jumpsuit with ears and he keeps pulling up his fists to cover his face even as Amy tries to adjust them, and he’s the most precious cargo either of them has ever been in charge of transporting.

They're silent for most of the car ride, stunned with shock and disbelief that this is at all happening, but at every red light, Jake glances back to exchange a smile with her, and each time, it brings the happy tears a little closer.

They take the car seat first, anxious to get their baby home and not force him to be stuck in there any longer than he has to. Mac starts squirming in discomfort the second the vehicle stops moving, and by the time they've reached their door, he's close to crying. It physically pains Amy to hear - she gets that it’s related to the overflowing hormones, but she still wonders how the tiniest of cries can feel like a knife being twisted in her heart - and it's with some sort of supernatural speed that she kneels down the moment they're inside, unbuckling her baby from the seat and holding him close, close.

“It’s okay,” she tells him, rocking slowly back and forth when the whimpers don't immediately cease. “You’re home, baby. We’re home.”

That's when it finally, truly, hits her.

They are home. The three of them, a family, and from this day on, they are going to live here together. They will sleep in the same room tonight, Mac hopefully in his crib at arm’s length away from her, and tomorrow, they will wake up together. They will have breakfast, probably take-away from the nearest bakery to celebrate, and maybe eat it in bed if they're tired. Jake will go buy it while Amy feeds their son, maybe listening to NPR in the background like she loves to do on lazy mornings. They will spend their day together, packing up their things and eating ready meals from the freezer, forgetting every priority except sitting on the couch and being mesmerised by their son’s every move. Maybe Jake will put on Die Hard and insist his son needs to get familiar with his namesake from a young age, maybe they won't be able to fend off another visit from Charles and they’ll spend an hour listening to more arguments for why his nickname should be Uncle Chi-Chi, and maybe they'll fall asleep on the couch all together in the afternoon when Mac naps. In the evening, they're going to go to sleep in their bedroom all together, and the day after that, they'll get to do it all over again.

This is their home. This is where they will start their life together.

They’re a family, and now they’re home.

Mac still doesn't seem too happy, though. Amy unzips her jacket, trying to hold him as close to her skin as she can and rock him to calm him down, but it's clear from the flailing fists and repeated cries that something is still bothering him.

“Do you think maybe he just wants to eat?” Jake asks her, and when she looks at him a little surprised, he shrugs and says, “All the books I read said to try that first when they’re upset.”

“He fed for forever before we left, though,” Amy mumbles, feeling the tears burn behind her eyelids just from listening to Mac’s clear unhappiness. “It just seems too soon. But I guess we could try.”

She makes herself comfortable in the living room armchair, and Jake gets her the nursing pillow from the bedroom as she tries to manoeuvre the situation, still not totally used to the motions of handling a crying baby and unclasping the hook of her nursing bra at the same time. She's still skeptical, thinking that it feels way too short from when he last ate, but it only takes a minute of slight confusion for Mac before he latches on decisively and the fussy crying is replaced by the sweet sound of a slow, content, suckling.

“You were right,” Amy whispers to Jake as he hands her a glass of water. “He was just hungry.”

“Of course I was,” he blushes. “Or, I mean. I took a chance. I guess it was mostly a lucky guess. But, I was right, so, y’know - bragging rights.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying, do you?”

“Nope, I don’t remember what sleep feels like. How are you still sitting up?”

“Hormones,” she mumbles. “God, I’m so tired. I must look like a mess.”

“You look badass,” Jake insists so quickly Amy wonders if it’s instinctive. She’s currently wearing maternity sweatpants and a stolen hoodie from her husband, she has one boob out trying to feed a baby and she knows from looking into the mirror this morning at the hospital that her nights of minimal sleep are showing. She’s certainly felt less badass, and yet Jake is looking at her with the same amount of love in his eyes as he had the night she agreed to name their son McClane. “You are badass.”

“I am?”

“I don’t know anyone else in this room who could give birth to a baby, without any drugs or medication, in a police precinct during a city-wide blackout. So, yeah. But it didn’t surprise me,” he grins. “You’re just that awesome.”

“The craziest birth story.” Amy smiles, putting down the glass of water so she can use her free hand to stroke the back of Mac’s head. “I guess it makes sense. I mean, if you think about our history as a couple. We had our first kiss undercover, we broke all the rules and slept together on our first date, and we gave a man a fatal heart attack from making out at work only in our first day as a couple. You proposed to me during a Halloween Heist. There was a bomb threat at our wedding and we ended up getting married outside the precinct. Mac just wanted to catch up.”

“For sure.” Jake laughs, reaching over to wiggle his son’s feet the way he’s done about a hundred times in the last few days. “I get it, buddy. You wanted to have a crazy-ass story, too. You know, we would still have taken you in even if you were born at a hospital under normal circumstances, but I get it.”

Amy giggles. “He just wanted to start in time. It’s okay. It makes for a fun story,” she yawns. “But the next time better be a hospital birth.”

She doesn’t realize what she’s said until she notices Jake freezing, staring at her in disbelief. “You’re thinking about the next one?”

“No! Maybe?” She grimaces. “Yes? A little. I’m just saying - some time in the future -”

“You’re insane, you know that?”

“I’m too tired to know what I’m saying!”

“We’ll see how we do with the first one,” Jake says, shaking his head. “And then we’ll decide. Either way, we are not talking about it tonight, that's for sure.”

“That’s fair,” Amy says, booping Mac’s nose. “Let’s start with focusing on our first perfect baby.”

“That I could do forever. Have you noticed how cute his cheeks are?”

“Every time I’ve looked at him in the past two days, and then again every time you or someone else have mentioned them, and then again every time I’ve taken a picture of him, and another time when I’ve looked at the picture.”

“They’re so good. I keep thinking I’ve settled on the cutest thing about him, but I keep changing my mind, because every single thing about him is just so perfect.”

“Yeah.” Amy strokes her index finger over Mac’s soft cheeks as he starts to pull away from her breast, stretching his hands out the way she’s noticed he will do whenever he’s full. “I think he’s done. How do you feel about being burped in the face by a two-day-old human?”

“Oh, it would be the greatest honor of my life, thank you.”

Amy passes their son over to Jake, clasping the hooks of her bra back together and folding down her shirt while Jake holds their son in an already well-practiced grip, patting his back to help him get rid of the air he’s swallowed. She finishes the last sips of her water as she watches Jake snuggle his nose into Mac’s neck, breathing in the oh-so-addictive baby scent. Then it seems like he can't get enough, because he holds Mac so they're face-to-face while he presses kisses all over his son's face. Mac opens his mouth in what looks to be a yawn, and then, true to the words that were intended to be just a joke, he burps his dad in the face.

“Charming,” Jake mutters while Amy keeps laughing at his shocked expression.

“Well, I did warn you, babe.”

Mac still doesn't seem content afterwards, though. He’s fussy, cranky, and not even being bounced in his father's arms seems to relax him as he makes tiny, jerking moments before letting out yet another upset cry. They try to see if he's still hungry, if he didn't actually eat until fullness, but that just makes him pull away his head and get even angrier. His little mouth twists in discontentment, making the saddest little upside-down U, and he manages to shatter Amy's heart with just one devastated look.

Then she gets an idea, or maybe it’s instinct, but it feels more like a lucky guess. She adjusts Mac so that he’s laying upright on her chest, his nose against her neck and his heart beating against hers, and after one final shaking cry, it looks like Mac draws a breath of relief. Amy's hand strokes gently over his back, unbuttoning the top buttons of his little jumpsuit with green dots to maximize the skin-to-skin contact, and feels her son relax against her. The tension in their seems to melt away at the same time, and Amy feels like she could cry again from how natural, how fragile yet unbreakable, and how special it feels.

Her son just wants to be close to her. Her heartbeat, her simple presence, is calming to him. This child knows he is safe with her, and his sudden calm in contrast to the earlier panic is the most beautiful love-letter Amy has ever received. She feels his exhales against the skin of her neck, warm and smelling like sweet milk, and for the one-thousandth time in the last two days, she falls in love.

She is Mac’s safe place, and when he lays on her chest, he is home.

“Is it nice to be home?” Jake asks her as she carefully moves to the couch with Mac, letting her husband throw her favorite soft blanket over the three of them before he rests his head on her free shoulder.

“Are you asking me or Mac?”

“Can it be both of you?”

“Yeah,” she smiles. “I think we're both enjoying it.”

Mac grunts like he’s trying to get involved in the conversation, and they both laugh.

“He definitely is,” says Jake, kissing the top of Mac’s head. “Welcome home, Mac. And you too, Ames.”

“Welcome home, Jake,” she whispers, watching him light up in an exhausted, but nevertheless incomparably bright, smile. “It's really, really good to be home.”

Five minutes later, Jake falls asleep on her shoulder, holding his son's fist in one of his hands and drooling slightly with his mouth open. Amy sighs to herself, instantly realizing that she’ll have to wake him soon unless she wants to be stuck in this impractical position forever, but then she looks at the sight of her husband and son and feels her annoyance melt away.

Her two favorite people in the world, sleeping on her because she's their ultimate safe place and home, and they're hers. She's home with them, and they're home with her, and they're all home in the apartment where they will begin their life together. Tomorrow, and the day after that, and then for many more days to come.

Together, they're finally home.

#my writing #b99 fic #b99 fanfiction #jake x amy fic #jake x amy #jake peralta #amy santiago #mac peralta #i did it guys i wrote my fic.. two weeks later!!!!#but i did it!!!!

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greekgeek21 · 3 years

Text

Percy Jackson & The Avengers: Convergence - percy is taken by the men (women) in black

Ok, so by what I've been hearing, there has been some confusion regarding the timeline, so here's the full explanation: figure it out for yourselves. My beta reader and I have already discussed this (MONTHS AGO IN FACT!) and we ultimately decided to not go into any specifics because it wasn't important to the story and the only thing you guys needed to know was that Percy and Annabeth were 18 now, and it's after the first Avengers movie and that Thor's not there. Got it? Ok, now to the real good stuff!

Thank you to all the people who have responded kindly to this story. Honestly, it made my day to find that I had already received 3 reviews on ff before it had even been out an hour. So, thanks so much guys.

THIS IS STILL CANON I JUST HAVEN'T HAD THE CHARACTERS MENTION MAGNUS CHASE OR THE KANES YET YOU MONGRELS!!! Ok. I think I covered everything. Stay safe and happy reading!

- your author

PS hopefully these will start to get shorter cuz I hate reading long A/Ns on other fanfics so I don't want to be THAT person.

Ω ♆ Ω

Knock Knock

"Come in, Hill," Fury said, already knowing it would be his second-in-command.

As she entered, Fury noticed a slight change in her attitude. It wasn't large, but it was noticeable to the experienced spy's eyes. It was almost- confusion? What could she have discovered that caused her to be confused?

"Sir, I found a possible suspect. He's...not what we expected," Hill told him, placing a file on his desk.

The file included a single piece of paper. A SINGLE PIECE OF PAPER!!! Who was this guy that could evade SHIELD's suspicion for so long? Surely, someone smart. Very smart.

"What do you mean, Hill?" he asked, picking up the paper.

The woman in question cleared her throat before responding, "See for yourself. He's just a kid."

Not displaying any surprise, though there was some going through his head, Fury read the information on the sheet:

Name: PERSEUS "PERCY" JACKSON

Gender: MALE

Age/DOB: 18; AUGUST 18, 1993

Status: ALIVE

Last Known Location: MANHATTAN, NY

Place of Birth: MANHATTAN, NY

Race: CAUCASIAN

Height: 6'1"

Hair: BLACK

Eyes: GREEN

Disabilities: DYSLEXIA, ADHD

Family: Sally Blofis (Formerly Jackson), Mother - ALIVE

Paul Blofis, Step Father - ALIVE

Estelle Blofis, Maternal Half Sister - ALIVE

Gabe Ugliano, Step Father - MISSING

BIOLOGICAL FATHER UNKNOWN

Education: GOODE HIGH SCHOOL - EXPELLED

YANCY ACADEMY - EXPELLED

...6 OTHER EXPULSIONS

Abilities/Weapons: CLASSIFIED

Other Info: Was involved in a nation-wide manhunt at 12 years old; Pushed class into shark tank; Blew up school bus with colonial cannon; Flooded an Aquarium; Seen traveling Greece with six other teens after missing three months of school (wasn't reported missing by parents);Suspected abilities; Was seen at Brooklyn Bridge explosion

Fury sighed. Just great. Another troublemaker to give him a headache. And what was with the Classified stamp? Nothing is classified to the director of the company who created the file, so why was this?

Deciding to put it off for further thought, and steeling himself over again, Fury gave his orders to Agent Hill, "Find him. Bring him in for questioning. Don't make a scene."

They were simple orders in themselves, but Fury knew better than to expect everything to go smoothly. Any second grader could figure out that Perseus Jackson was not one to do things smoothly. Hell, it would be a miracle if they even got the chance to talk to the kid before he did some crazy stunt that would most likely get someone hurt. That's just how Fury's luck was.

"Understood, sir. I'll let you know when we have him in custody," Hill answered before briskly striding out the office door.

Fury sighed once she was gone, running a hand over his face. With nobody watching, he could truly let the stress on the inside seep into the outside. It wasn't just this one case either, there had been a couple other bombings popping up around the US, and they weren't any closer to finding the source. All they knew about them was that they were connected and that they were seemingly random attacks. Add finding Jackson to the mix and his mind was about ready to implode.

But unfortunately, the director of SHIELD didn't have time for breaks, so he went back to work on the multitude of information residing on his desk.

Ω ♆ Ω

Percy and Annabeth were back at home, which was currently the Blofis apartment, and they were enjoying every minute of it. With his sister Estelle around, there was always something to do. Percy absolutely adored his sister. There was nothing he wouldn't do for her. Just another side effect of his fatal flaw.

He hadn't told his mother or Paul what had happened during their trip, not wanting to worry them, but he had given Annabeth the simple explanation when he got back. He made sure to stress that he had been discreet, so she had eventually given up the interrogation. That's why it was such a surprise when they were sent a visitor not a week later.

When it happened, Percy was playing with Estelle in the living room while Annabeth studied in their room. Even though she had graduated from high school early, and they weren't due to start at New Rome University for several months, she insisted on keeping up with her studies. He, on the other hand, couldn't have cared less about school. The only reason he was going to college was so he could stay near Annabeth.

Sally was cooking lunch in the kitchen, and Paul was at work. There wasn't much the man could do for the case of Percy's expulsion from Goode, but he still worked there as an English teacher. And Percy used the powers of being a savior of Olympus to get a diploma for himself from the gods anyway. Annabeth still made him study sometimes, but he figured it was the least he could do after practically giving his girlfriend a heart attack when he announced he wasn't planning on finishing mortal high school.

Just as he was about to let Estelle win their game of cars, there was a knock at the door. Since his mother was closer to it, Percy didn't feel the need to interrupt his playtime with his baby sister. A year ago, Percy would have bolted to the door to make sure it wasn't a monster, but ever since the end of the Giant War, monsters tended to steer clear of the smell of the sea. Besides Kelli, of course. She was a perpetual nuisance for Percy.

And just as he was about to make his car lose, his mother called him, "Percy! There's someone at the door for you."

He was immediately on alert. The way his mom's voice sounded made it seem like she was trying to warn him, so his mind went straight down monster lane. Gripping Riptide in his pocket, Percy made his way to the front door, trying to act casual, but his muscles were tensed for battle.

"Coming, Mom!" he answered.

What he found was certainly not what he was expecting. Sure, it wouldn't have been a surprise to find that it wasn't obviously a monster, but his eyes weren't completely masked by the Mist. He could still tell when in the presence of something related to the divine, and he most-certainly was not in that moment.

As he got to the door, he noticed that his mom had positioned her body to block the entrance to the apartment. So not a monster, but possibly a threat, he concluded.

"Who's this?" he asked his mom, taking her place in front of the doorway.

"I'm Agent Hill with the FBI, and I have a few questions to ask. Would it be alright if we stepped inside?" the woman introduced herself, flashing a badge.

Percy wished he could have checked the badge's authentication, but his dyslexia prohibited that. He did his best to keep a cool persona as he acted like he could actually read what was on the badge. Given that his mother hadn't made any protests, he passed it off as good enough.

He narrowed his eyes at the agent, assessing her threat level quickly before deciding that saying 'no' would cause more trouble than saying 'yes' and answering with a simple, "Sure."

He and his mom backed away and let the women enter before shutting the door behind them. As the woman walked inside, Percy and his mom shared a silent conversation. He told her to take Estelle to her room and stay with her after alerting Annabeth of their visitor. He was sure that his girlfriend had already figured it out, but better to be safe than sorry.

"Take a seat. Do you want anything to drink?" Percy gestured to the kitchen table and went to grab glasses out of the cupboard.

The woman took a seat before saying, "Some water would be great, thank you."

Percy mentally noted that the woman was keeping a professional front while trying to still be friendly.

After he had gotten the water and sat himself down across from Agent Hill, he said, "You said you wanted to ask some questions. I'm not sure why, though. I haven't done anything."

Hill took a sip of her water before responding, "Well, we are just going over some of our older files and wanted to fill in some blanks on yours. For instance, where were you when you disappeared? We have a record saying you were spotted in Greece."

Percy had been prepared for this question. Annabeth had ingrained it in his head after he had run into his old swim team and had fumbled over an answer. After that, Annabeth had come up with a whole explanation for what seemed like every possible question out there.

So, he quickly answered, "I was with my dad."

He had been told that it was best to answer with short sentences. That way there was less room for confusion. Honestly, he was surprising himself with the calmness he exhibited. Annabeth had suspected he would end up needing her to rescue him if the need for these explanations ever arose.

"I thought you didn't know who your dad was," Hill countered smoothly, gaze becoming almost snake-like.

"We recently connected. He lives in Greece," Percy said.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could make out some blond curls peeking out from the edge of the hallway leading to the bedrooms. His mind let out a sigh at the knowledge that his Wise Girl was here to save him from whatever inevitable mistake he made.

"Ok, then could you please inform me of his name?" Hill asked, "And then maybe we could travel somewhere more private for the rest of my questions."

She could tell that they were being spied on, then. That seemed like a little above the average skill-level of an FBI agent to Percy, but he was just basing his thoughts off of movies, so he wasn't too sure.

Whatever the case, there was no way that he was going to go anywhere with Agent Hill. Here at home, he was on his turf. Wherever he was taken would be unknown territory, and it was common sense to not go into there.

Trying to dodge the name question, he said, "I'm not going anywhere with you without a warrant. I have rights, you know."

He was just saying what sounded right. Honestly, he had slept through US History. He barely knew who the first president was, let alone his constitutional rights.

"Those are irrelevant with probable cause, and we're only going to ask some more questions. I promise that if you come calmly, there will be no record of it anywhere," Hill said, standing up and brushing off invisible dirt from her clothes.

Percy thought about it, he really did...for a whole three seconds. I mean, what would one expect from the most irrational person on the planet?

"Yeah...sorry but I'm not going anywhere with you, especially not calmly," he said, standing up and reaching into his pocket again.

Even though he knew that the Agent was a mortal, and that Riptide would be useless in a fight against her, he still had an instinct to go for his most-trusted weapon when endangered. And in the moment, he felt extremely endangered.

Hill seemed to be trying to inconspicuously reach for her gun, but he saw it. His ADHD had kicked into overdrive, and he was noticing every little movement the woman made. ADHD could come in handy sometimes.

"Mr. Jackson, I highly suggest you stand down and let me take you in. I don't want this to get messy," Hill said smoothly, holding a hand out in a placating gesture.

"Too bad everything I do gets messy," Percy said, trying to simply swipe Agent Hill's legs out from under her, but she jumped over it and threw a punch to his temple, which is swiftly dodged.

Percy may have been taught to never hit girls when he was younger, but when he became a demigod, he learned that a threat could come from anywhere, and more often than not, it came from the female gender (or something resembling a female).

His signature troublemaker smirk made its way onto his face when he realized that this fight was actually something he had to work for. He wasn't arrogant persay, but he knew what he had defeated before, and a simple mortal isn't usually a comparison to them. But he knew better than to underestimate any opponent. Annabeth taught him that one. Speaking of Annabeth, she was still hiding behind the wall, probably waiting until the prime moment to strike. Always the strategist!

Hill and Percy's fight become a fluid motion. Sometimes they got a hit in, but most of the time it was a game of defend and retaliate. Nobody had the upper hand...yet.

Percy may be better at swordsmanship, but it wasn't like he was completely ignorant to hand-to-hand combat. He knew some stuff, including how to feint and attack. Blame Luke for that one.

So, Percy used the technique. He wasn't actually expecting it to work, considering the obvious skill level of the agent he was fighting, but maybe a simple trick was just the thing he needed to knock her off her game. Even so, when he feinted a punch to her temple, just to pull back and knee her in the stomach, he didn't stop in shock. He let his adrenaline guide him into pulling the woman into a headlock that even Tyson, with all his cyclops strength, would have trouble getting out of.

Hill pulled at his arm a couple times before giving up on that strategy and trying another one: talking, "You know, Perseus, this little display makes it really hard for me to believe you're innocent. In case you haven't noticed, you're holding a federal agent in a headlock."

Percy grip barely loosened, but his determination to defy the agent's questions lessened. She was right. What makes her think that he's one of the good guys if he fought another one of them? Nothing, that's what. Because of this, he let out a large sigh, making eye contact with Annabeth (who's eyes widened in realization and shock), and released Agent Hill. He knew that she had manipulated her, but he also knew that what she had said was true.

As soon as Hill was out of his hold, she turned around while simultaneously pulling her gun out and pointing it at Percy, chest heaving for breath, "Don't move! Get on your knees and put your hands behind your head."

Percy complied, but he could see Annabeth finally slipping into the light, ready to fight off the woman arresting her boyfriend. He met her eyes and tried to convey his thoughts, but she ignored him, instead opting to go ballistic on Agent Hill.

"What do you think you're doing?! Let him go!" she yelled and grabbed Percy as Hill cuffed Percy with some seriously high-tech handcuffs and tried to pull him to his feet.

Hill kept a steel face as she shoved Percy towards the door, "He assaulted a federal agent. I have probable cause."

All of the noise had pulled Sally out of her hiding spot in her daughter's room. Once she saw what was happening, she joined Annabeth in protest. Percy just really wanted them to let it happen. Better it be him than anyone else.

"Mom, Annabeth, let me go. I'll be fine, I promise." Percy said, eyes pleading as they reached the front door.

Annabeth scoffed, eyebrows furrowing, "Like that means anything!"

"Mom, let me go. I'll be fine," After saying that to his mother, Percy turned to Annabeth, "Tell my cousins what's going on. They can help."

He prayed that she understood what he was trying to say. He wanted her to tell their demigod friend's what happened to him, and then they could help her with whatever plan she comes up with. Knowing Annabeth, she already had a plan, though, so there was no doubt in his mind that she had understood what he was insinuating.

Annabeth hesitated before giving him a curt nod. Hill took that as her signal to tug him out the door, but before he was completely gone, Annabeth grabbed his face in her hands and gave him a kiss. They were deepening it as the Agent once again pulled him away. Annabeth and his mom's worried faces followed him until he was inside the elevator, heading down to the lobby.

On the ride down, his entire body tensed up as flashbacks from the Doors of Death shot through his mind. Usually, he could push them away when Annabeth was there with him, but the stress of the previous hour was weighing on his mind, so it became difficult. Hill seemed to think that he was going to try to resist again, so she pulled out her gun again, aiming at his side. For the first time, Percy noticed that the gun looked a little odd; it was glowing blue. Then, before he could react, Hill pulled the trigger and the last thing Percy saw before he blacked out was blue liquid seeping out of his side.

Ω ♆ Ω

How was it? Let me know in the comments! As always, like, follow, and reblog pls!! Thank you to my amazing beta reader, nightskywithrainbows on Ao3! This would suck without you! Go check out their writing!

- your author

other chapters :)

#pjo #heroes of olympus #the avengers #mcu #percy jackson and the olympians #fanfic #writing #superheroes #team up #I don't know what other tags to put so here is a super long one

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harryskalechips · 4 years

Note

Can you do one where Harry and y/n have a huge fight and she says something she doesn’t mean and he’s too hurt by it to listen to her apologies and walks away from her. She thinks he hates her as they don’t talk for a couple days. She cries some more before leaving the house and driving off somewhere. She ends up in an accident, going off the road and getting trapped between trees. No witnesses, no help comes for a while until Harry finally finds her and they make up and he gets help.

LMAO sis, you wrote a whole piece by yourself!!! I just read this and I could already picture the angst and everything! Such a cool idea, I’ve never read anything like it. haha okay anyways, I did write it, I may have accidentally exaggerated it oops, I’ve been writing all day and this one hyped me up too much!!!! enjoy!!!

Word count 1467

“Harry, you should’ve said something.” Y/N bitterly says as she walks in their house with Harry following right behind her. They had just come back home from Anne’s house and some things were said that left Y/N completely embarrassed. The whole ride was basically death since she couldn’t even look at him and he was already pissed about her overreacting.

“My mum wasn’t even trying to embarrass you, love. Take a breather and stop thinking like that.” He takes his coat off quickly, tossing it on the bench near their front door. She was already getting a glass of water from their fridge. He walks down the few little steps and meets her in the kitchen.

“You think I’m overreacting? Harry, your mother literally made a backhanded comment about me.” Y/N harshly slams her cup on the counter so she can mimic Anne. “Oh, you work as a librarian? That’s nice. The world needs more of those. Don’t you think Harry?”

“I really don’t think my mother was trying to insult your job. She raised me well and I know she’s not that type of woman.”

“I get it though! My job seems really boring but I generally do care about what I do. I just wish you would’ve said something about it for me.”

“You can do that yourself.”

“What? Why should I talk back to your mother? You should be on my side!”

“Oh my God, honestly, I’m over this.” Harry rolls his eyes and walks out of the kitchen.

“Harry, can you come back over here? We’re not done.” Y/N folds her arms across her chest. If looks could kill, Harry would have been done for.

“What? What do you honestly want me to say, Y/N? That I’m sorry your job is boring, unlike mine?”

“I’m saying that I want you to defend me when your mother is belittling me. This won’t be the last time!”

“Can you hear yourself? You’re so narcissistic!”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Y/N yells back as their screaming match becomes louder.

“What! You’re literally making my mum seem like the worst person you’ve ever met!”

“You’re the worst person I’ve ever met! I’m so fucking sick of brushing over these things in our relationship that you think is small. I’m so tired of you!”

“Oh.” Harry’s face drops as his voice becomes normal again. His throat hurts from yelling at her but he truly didn’t think he was wrong. “If you’re so tired of me. I think it’s better if I just leave.”

“Harry, I didn’t mean that.” Y/N wipes away her tears, trying to move around the counter island so she can reach out to him. “Harry, where are you going?” She begins to cry again as she watches him grab his jacket and make his way out the front door.

“I’m leaving.”

“Harry, please stay, can we talk?” She tries to hold onto his arm but he’s already shaking her hold off him.

“No, I should leave. “

“Harry, I love you, please… say something back. Let me know you’re coming back.” But Harry couldn’t even reply to her as his heartfelt broken. He wanted to tell her that he still loves her but after her heated confession, he can’t help but feel pissed off. Pissed off about the fact she thought of him this way. Pissed off that she’s tired of him because, in the whole truth, he has never been tired of her. All he wants to do is keep her… forever.

He leaves without another word making Y/N fall to her knees as she watches him go into his car and look at her. He didn’t show any ounce of emotion which broke her heart more. He backs out of their driveway and zooms off, leaving her ears numb to the sound of his engine.

It’s been three days since Harry has left home. She tried to leave voicemails in his inbox but he probably couldn’t understand anything after the 7th one, because after that she was just full-on sobbing. Was she a bit extra about him leaving? Yeah, probably but he was her first love and for him to leave her because of something she didn’t truly mean just made her more disappointed in herself. She’s been with him for 4 years and if anything, she didn’t want their relationship to end because of this stupid fight. They are both stubborn and too sensitive that their relationship felt like it no longer had a future at this point and it scared her… a lot.

Without another thought, Y/N grabs the keys of her Tesla that Harry bought for her last year. She didn’t know where she was going to go but she needed to look for him. She needed to find him and make him listen to her. She truly didn’t want to lose him. She’s not tired of him. She can spend the next 100 years of Harry leaving the toothpaste open. She can spend the next 100 years of Harry talking about his dreams and his ideas because she loves him. She’s always been in love with him.

Wiping away her tears, she hops in the car, glancing at her rear mirror. She was an absolute mess. Her eyes were still red and her cheeks were still puffy but she just wanted a hug from her boyfriend. She just needed reassurance.

Their house was in the middle of nowhere with trees and mountains all over. The roads are secluded and definitely the opposite of where Harry used to live. When he bought this house, he wanted to pick a private property where he and Y/N can have runs and picnics and the paparazzi wouldn’t see them.

With all these advantages, however, it had one disadvantage. The curvy roads. They had loops after loops. Sharp turns everywhere before you can hit the main road. Y/N was already getting flashbacks of her and Harry laughing in his car as they drove through these roads for the first time. How excited she felt about seeing their house for the first time. How he kept smirking at her astonishment of the view they can see out their windows.

She could remember his eyes and the way he held onto the wheel as he drove through these roads and I guess this was also how she missed a turn and headed straight into crashing in a tree.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

The only thing that was keeping her conscious was focusing on the beep her car was making. She couldn’t move a muscle but her eyelids slowly tried to open themselves to see what everything looked like.

It was a mess really. She could see her windshield broken with shards all over her dashboard and herself. Her arms were dripping with blood and she can feel herself slowly struggling to take another breath.

So, this is what dying feels like?

“Y/N!” A voice rings through her ears. It makes a tear fall out of her sore eyes as she hears the melodic voice. At least, before she dies she can hear him once more. Maybe, she apologizes once more in her head, he can forever hear it in his. Her eyes close once more as she tries to not only focus on the beep of her car but the birds and maybe the wind too.

But something breaks her out of her trance as she hears the sound of the ambulance and firefighters coming.

They won’t reach her in time. They won’t reach me in time.

She smiles softly to herself as she feels her heartbeat slow down. What a shame. Her family will think she died of a heart attack but in reality, she died because of a broken heart.

“Baby, can you hear me please.” She opens her eyes a little. Her heartbeat picks up a bit as she watches a tearful Harry grab onto her hand. “Stay with me, baby, please. I’m sorry. Please!”

“Harry?”

“I’m sorry I left you. I love you so much. You’ll be okay. I’m right here.” He rambles on. “Baby, I was at my mum’s house these past few days. You’re right, my mom even said I should be on your side. I fucking love you! She told me to come here and get you back. I saw your car and I fucking freaked. Please.”

“It’s okay, I love you too.”

“Sir, please back away. We need to get her out quickly.” A man in uniform tries to pull Harry away.

“You’ll be alright baby. I promise you.”

Luckily that night, Y/N did survive her fatal car crash and if anything, Harry promised to never brush away the little problems in their relationship anymore.

#Harry Styles #harry styles oneshots #harry styles burbs #harrystyles blurbs #blurbs #harry styles angst #asdfghjkl this made me sad

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ellewritesathing · 4 years

Text

So Close - S.S. XLI

Summary: The universe has a funny way of putting the things you want right in front of you, but just out of reach. Stiles and Y/N have been best friends ever since Scott brought him home, but when Stiles realizes that he might want to be something other than best friends, she leaves to go to some fancy private school up North. Now that she’s back though … maybe he’s got a shot? A Teen Wolf AU in which the reader has always been so close to Stiles and yet so far.

Masterlist Prev. | Part 41

Word-count: 6.7k+

A/N: not to like shamelessly self-promote but like. you guys might like this prompt i did for stiles 👀

You couldn’t sleep. Even with your friends safely back in your life and Stiles asleep next to you, you couldn’t sleep. Eventually, you rolled onto your side and watched the rise and fall of Stiles’ chest as he snored. You smiled and reached over to play with his hair. His heartbeat slowed after a little while and his snoring became a bit softer.

Taking your hand back after a while and lying down again, you pulled up your shirt and ran your hand along where the bullet hole should have been. It was freaky; your skin was perfect. You’d been injured internally plenty of times and healed but this was the first time you’d had a proper external wound. It healed slowly at first, better than a human but nothing to write home about, and then Deaton gave you blood. It made you feel sick. It wasn't supposed to be like this.

“Hey,” Stiles said softly. When did he wake up? He yawned and moved closer, putting his hand on top of the one you had on your stomach. His thumb grazed where the wound should have been. “You know I didn’t mean what I said earlier, right? My mouth kinda moves before my brain does sometimes.”

You smiled. “Yeah, I know.” You squeezed his hand before turning back onto your side to face him. “I wouldn’t blame you if you did, though. I mean, it is pretty weird.”

“You could never be weird to me,” Stiles said. Then he squeezed his eyes shut and groaned. “That was, like, ridiculously lame. I’m sorry. I just meant … you know. I’m usually the one being maimed, not you.”

“Yeah and it hurts like a bitch,” you said with a sharp exhale and a roll of your eyes.

Stiles laughed and lifted his hand to your face. “Yeah, the worrying isn’t that great either. You wanna trade back?”

“Kind of wish we could give up both,” you said with a small smile.

Stiles shifted and pulled you into his arms. He kissed the top of your head and sighed. “At least, for now, we’re both safe. Neither maimed nor worried.”

“I like the sound of that.” You found his hand again. “Almost as much as your use of ‘nor.’”

“You liked that, huh?”

“Yeah, it really distracted from the blatant lie that neither of us is worried right now.”

Stiles laughed and then it was quiet for a moment. You could hear Noah’s heart beating in his sleep down the hall, but Stiles’ beat louder. His fingers drummed your arms in the silence. You didn’t want to ruin the moment, but you had to tell him what happened.

“Theo wants me in his pack,” you said. No use sugar-coating it. Stiles’ drumming stopped. “He called me the shadow wolf. Said that I was more like them than I was like you guys.”

“He’s wrong,” Stiles said instantly. You could almost hear him frowning. “You know that, right?”

“The thing is … I don’t think he is wrong,” you said quietly. “With all the chimeras - even before we knew they weren’t like us - I felt bound to them. Like whatever they’re made of … maybe I am too. I- I’m not going to join them. I hate Theo. And even if I didn’t, I could never leave you or Scott.”

Stiles was quiet, working hard to choose the right words. As much as you loved him for it, if he didn’t say something soon, you were going to throw up. When he did speak, he didn't start asking the questions you knew were bouncing around in his head. All he said was: “You promise you’re not gonna leave?”

“I promise. No matter what.”

With that out of the way, Stiles relaxed. Still, you waited for him to say something. To ask what you meant, maybe even what it felt like to 'be bound' to the chimeras. But he was quiet, so quiet that you thought he’d actually gone to sleep until he said, “I’m gonna kick his ass.”

“Can I shoot him first? I’m still pretty pissed off about that.”

“Of course. Then you can hold him down while I kick him in the-”

With that colorful image in mind, you went to sleep with a smile on your face. Unaware of Stiles lying awake and anxious next to you.

---

Usually, after half of your group got injured and while you were making plans, things were at least a bit quieter for a few days. Unfortunately, the Dread Doctors weren’t so kind as your other foes; you’d only been shot yesterday and now you were racing down the highway with Scott and Stiles, chasing after the Beast behind a group of police.

“Unit Five heading northwest on Crescent reporting an incredibly large … something,” Clark said over the radio.

Another deputy responded, “Unit Nine to Dispatch, I think I’ve got eyes on the same thing. Some kind of rabid animal.”

“Unit Five to Nine, trust me: That’s no animal,” Clark said.

You laughed and unbuckled, leaning forward to poke your head between Scott and Stiles in the front. “She’s not wrong.”

“Yeah, but-”

Scott was cut off by Strauss coming in over the radio. “Unit Six to Dispatch, we have a situation downtown. Multiple fatalities.”

The voice of the dispatcher sounded cold compared to the overwhelmed officers. “Copy, medics on the way. Do you have a perp insight, Unit Six?”

“Negative,” Strauss said. He sounded overwhelmed. You guessed as weird as Beacon Hills was, not many people knew how to react after a werewolf attack. “Looks like a 10-91E. Animal attack.”

“10-4, can you say what kind of animal?” the dispatcher asked.

Stiles pulled out his radio before Strauss could answer. He also pumped the accelerator and you held onto Scott to keep from sliding back into your seat. “All units stay back. Do not engage,” Stiles said. “I repeat, do not engage.”

“Stiles, get off the radio,” Noah snapped. You almost laughed as Stiles handed you the radio to put back. Still, Noah added, “All unit alert: Wait for back-up. Repeat: No one goes near this thing.”

“Unit Five reporting a sighting on Hill Road southbound.”

“Unit Nine. I’ve got it turning off Oakridge, southbound on Beachwood.”

“All units, this is Dispatch. We’ve got a 911 call with an additional sighting on Mitchell.”

“Wait a second? Beachwood to Mitchell?” Stiles asked.

“It’s headed back for the hospital,” Scott said.

“Mom’s working tonight,” you said. “I’ll call her. Stiles, you gotta tell your dad.”

Stiles grabbed the radio instantly. “It’s headed to the hospital. Dad-”

“Stiles, get off this channel,” Noah said.

Stiles started arguing with his dad and you bounced your leg as you waited for your mom to answer her phone. The first call rang out so you texted her and tried again.

Melissa sounded tired when she answered. “Hey, honey, we’re pretty swamped at the-”

“Mom, you’ve gotta evacuate the hospital,” you rushed out. She started arguing but you talked over her. “Whatever the Beast is, it’s heading towards the hospital. And it’s going to kill people.”

You fell back into your seat as Stiles changed course towards Beacon Memorial. He was going as fast as the Jeep could manage, but the drive felt agonizingly slow. It was made worse by the constant updates from the police radio. The latest being a man on fire running into Beacon Memorial.

When you eventually did get to the hospital, it felt abandoned and eerily similar to that night with the durach and a dying Cora Hale. You shoved those thoughts aside when a gun cocked behind you, overridden by your instinct to pull Stiles behind you.

“Jesus Christ.” You let out a breath when you realized the threat was only Noah. He held his index finger to his mouth and shushed you.

As much as you loved Noah, you could have strangled him right there. Once again, you shoved those thoughts aside when the lights flickered and snarling rose in the distance.

“Fourth floor,” Scott said.

You all nodded and headed up as quickly as you could. Noah took the lead, followed by Scott and then Stiles - you’d insisted on taking the rear in case anything snuck up on you guys.

The fourth floor was ruined. Almost none of the lights still worked (luckily, not a problem for you and Scott), the electricity crackled through torn-open wires, and parts of the ruins were on fire. You wandered around the dark halls until something flew down the hallway in front of you. Since you noticed it first, you pulled Stiles into you and Scott pulled Noah back just before the fireball roared past.

It hit some partitioning and the flames went out. That wasn’t a random fireball; that was Parrish. Cut, charred, and disoriented Parrish. Parrish with glowing eyes.

His eyes extinguished as Noah made his way over to him, but you couldn’t focus on their reunion. Something had thrown Parrish across the fourth floor. Something big.

Scott walked ahead of you, but soon you found a paw print in the dust. The two of you didn’t need to say anything to know that you were going to follow the trail. The paw prints started changing, turning into something smaller and more human. Eventually, you found a sneaker print.

It struck you as odd that it would be a shoe print and not a footprint. Parrish was made out of fire and completely naked when you found him, and the Beast was made out of shadows. Maybe it was just different. Parrish wasn’t a chimera. At least you didn’t think he was.

“Scott …” You weren’t sure what you were going to say.

“I know,” he said with a sigh.

---

Once again, you and your friends were gathered around the island in your kitchen talking through the logistics of a crazy plan. The only thing that made this time different from all the others was the fact that Lydia was missing.

“We get into Eichen, we get into the Closed Unit, we get Lydia, and we get out,” Stiles said, summarizing his (already very long, very detailed) explanation.

“And we have to do it all of this while getting past orderlies, guards, electric door locks, and a Mountain Ash barrier,” Scott said.

“You guys have a plan for all that?” Malia asked.

Stiles pulled out a keycard. “I stole this off an orderly when I visited Lydia.” He paused, looking over at the card. “But it’s useless ‘cause they reset the codes each night.”

“So why did you take it?” Kira asked.

“He’s building up to that,” you said quietly, taking your eyes of Stiles to look at Kira.

“The only way to get Lydia out of Eichen is to make that keycard work again,” Scott said.

“And how are you going to do that?” Liam asked. You held back a smile.

Stiles held out a hand. “We’re getting to that, okay? Just listen.” He spun the laptop around to show you guys a data table. “I pulled all the history off the keycard. Two weeks ago, there was a brownout and the security system rebooted. During a reboot, all of the keycards revert back to a default code. So, if we trigger a reboot …”

“The card goes back to the default code,” you said. “All the keycards work again.”

“But how are we going to cause a brownout?” Kira asked.

“That’s your part,” Scott said with a hopeful smile. “You’re going to draw power from the mainline, but only enough to cause the brownout.”

That’s where Stiles jumped in to ruin their moment. “But not a blackout. If you do that, you send Eichen into lockdown which would be bad. Very, very bad.”

You touched Stiles’ arm lightly to get his attention. He was freaking Kira out. Stiles looked at you with an expression that said he was sorry, and you gave him an encouraging smile. He got a little carried away sometimes but he always meant well.

Scott, forever oblivious, kept talking and tapped on the blueprints that covered the island. “There’s an electrical room behind the reception counter,” he said. “The main power line goes into two breakers that run power to all of Eichen.”

“Okay, slight problem,” Kira said, looking ready to have a panic attack. “I don’t know how to do that.”

“That’s okay, you have time to practice,” Scott said with another trademarked hopeful smile.

“Let’s say all this goes perfectly,” Malia started in a voice that said she expected none of this to go perfectly. “How does the brownout get us into the Closed Unit of Eichen?”

“The system takes five minutes to reboot.” Stiles looked over at Malia. “In those five minutes, all the alarms will be turned off. And the keycard should work-”

“And then Liam, you, me, and Y/N get Stiles to the gate of the Closed Unit,” Scott said.

“After that, Stiles is on his own,” you said. Stiles reached for your hand under the table. “He’s the only one of us who can get through the mountain ash barrier.”

“And when we’re gone, all anyone’s going to think is that there was a reboot of the security system caused by a brownout,” Scott finished.

“So, uh … any questions?” Stiles asked.

They all started talking at the same time. From Liam: How do we get into Eichen House in the first place. Malia wanted to know what the worst-case scenario was. Kira asked what happened if she couldn’t trigger the brownout.

“Okay, admittedly, a lot could go wrong,” Stiles said, holding up his free hand in surrender.

“Everything could go wrong,” Liam said.

Stiles' open hand turned into a fist as you tilted your head. “Biscuit,” you said softly. Liam shrugged and started defending himself when Scott started talking.

“Guys, if we don’t do this, we lose Lydia,” Scott said. “She’s going to die in there tonight. And she might take a lot of innocent people with her.”

“We can do this,” you said. Your friends didn’t look convinced. “Okay, we’ve done a lot worse. At least this time we have a plan.”

---

Eichen House still freaked you out, but you could only imagine what it felt like to Stiles. So many bad things had happened to him here, and you had the feeling that more bad things were still going to happen. Then again, maybe the paranoia was coming from the fact that you were inside a body bag and lying next to an actual dead body.

Parrish was surprisingly good under pressure; when the guard made him open the bags, he was completely calm. Your heart spiked at the sound of the first zip being undone, but then Parrish started opening yours and you got ready for a fight. The fight never came. The guard valued his dinner too much.

Once you were in the morgue, you had to wait a few minutes before any of you could do anything. Stiles' heart was beating out of his chest. Admittedly, so was yours. You tore the bag open without waiting for the others, but they didn’t need any more encouragement after they heard you breaking out.

“Oh my god,” Stiles said between gasps of air. “Never again.”

“How much time do we have?” you asked as you got to your feet. Liam was closest, so you helped him out of his bag and to his feet. He mumbled a thank you as you waited for an answer.

Scott checked his phone. “Fifteen minutes, starting now.”

“Then let’s get started!” Stiles started fumbling to get out of his bag and fell to the floor. “Ow! Jesus.”

You hurried over to help Stiles up. He muttered obscenities the whole time but he accepted your help nonetheless. Scott got out of his bag safely, and then you just had to wait for the orderlies to leave the hallway. As soon as they were gone, you were on the move.

You wanted Scott to take the lead but Stiles knew this place better than any of you did, and personal knowledge trumped an hour spent studying floor plans any day. The best you could do was follow behind him and keep a careful watch for anything that might be a threat.

The orderlies blocking your way to the closed unit were definitely a threat.

You pulled Stiles back and Scott grabbed Liam. The four of you pressed yourselves against the wall in an attempt to hide, and the memory of doing something similar with Isaac, Erica, and Stiles popped into your mind. That felt like such a long time ago.

“What are they doing here?” Scott whispered.

“I don’t know,” Stiles said, stealing a glance down the hall. “Their rounds should’ve ended five minutes ago.”

Liam was decidedly less subtle with his look at the orderlies. “I can take them,” he said.

Both Stiles and Scott glared at him for a moment. “No one’s taking anyone,” Scott said.

“How much time?” Stiles asked, cutting Scott's alpha moment short.

Scott checked his phone and sighed. “Three minutes.”

“I’ll just knock them out and hide the bodies,” Liam said. He was adorably oblivious.

Stiles looked so close to slapping him that you instinctively reached for his hand to calm him down. “Oh my god, please stop,” he said.

One of the patients banged on the glass and scared you all out of your mini-argument. “Did you talk to the doctor?” he asked.

“What?” Liam whispered.

“Did you talk to the doctor?” he repeated. You looked over at Stiles uncertainly. “I haven’t had my medication. I need ten milligrams at 8am, 15 milligrams at 1pm, and no more than 20 at dinner.”

“We’ll get the doctor,” Scott said.

“Doctor Fenris?” the patient asked. Another beat of silence and you hoped that your nod was enough to calm him. “Doctor Fenris.” Then he started crying. He hit the glass as he said, “They took Doctor Fenris.”

“Guys-” You flinched when he hit the glass again. “He’s going to blow our cover. I can take the blame and get the orderlies out of here.”

“No way, you’re not going anywhere,” Stiles said. “Scott, do something.”

“What am I supposed to do?” Scott whispered.

The patient stopped banging on the glass, but he was still distressed. “I haven’t had my medication. I need to see the doctor.” Stiles looked down the hallway. The orderlies were coming closer. “They took Doctor Fenris.”

“Somebody shut him up,” Stiles said.

“I need to see the doctor!”

“Shut him up.”

You pulled your hand away from Stiles before he could argue and stepped into the hallway. “I told you: I don’t know where the doctor is, alright?” you said to the patient. “I’m just looking for my brother- nurses, could you help me? This place is like a freaking maze.”

“How did you get here?” one of the orderlies asked, roughly grabbing hold of your arm.

“I was looking for my brother. They said he was moved to another unit and that they’d take me to see him but no one ever came.” You shook your head and gave them a very clueless smile. “I’m sorry. Is this area, like, restricted or something?”

The orderly that had your arm looked ready to bite your head off but the other one just shook his head and gave you a tired smile. Either he wasn't paid enough or people wandering around the halls was a common occurrence.

“Let’s take you back to the reception area, okay?” he said. “They can sign you in and track down your brother. You can come to see him during visiting hours tomorrow.”

You forced a laugh and started following them down the stairs not too far away from the gate that your friends would need to break through in a few seconds. “You’re the nicest person I’ve run into all night,” you told him, careful to smile at the grumpy one too.

You carried on with your charade all the way back to the reception area, and then you gave them an annoyingly over-the-top thank you. They smiled and told you to wait for the nurse behind the counter to come back. You did not. As soon as they were out of sight, you made a b-line for the electrical room.

Malia immediately grabbed you and threw you against the wall as soon as you opened the door. She looked confused to see you but still held onto you.

“Relax, it’s just me,” you said, holding your hands up defensively.

“What are you doing here?” she asked. "You're supposed to be with Scott and Stiles."

“The dummies almost got busted,” you said with a small shrug. “I fixed it and came to check on you guys. Hey, Kira. How’s it going?”

Kira looked away from her small opening in the door and gave you a small smile. “Could be better. I don’t know if these guards are supposed to be here. How are we going to get out?”

Malia let go of you and the two of you walked over to check out the guards. “We don’t want to set off any alarms until Lydia is out,” she said.

“You’re right. Maybe we could-”

You stopped talking when one of the guards came in over the radio. The perimeter guard hadn’t checked in. You looked at Malia when the two guards rushed out to see what caused the delay. She shrugged and closed the door.

"Not our problem," she said.

Kira leaned against the door to get a better listen, but you and Malia didn’t need to. You heard the nurse loud and clear when he told someone that visiting hours were over, and then you heard Tracy tell him that they weren’t there to visit.

“Shit,” you whispered.

They pulled the nurse across the counter and slammed him to the ground. Tracy wanted to finish him off, but Theo said they were on a schedule and it was better to leave him. You, Kira, and Malia held a collective breath until the chimeras left.

Malia was the first one out the door and she slapped the nurse to get him to wake up. It didn’t work but at least his heart was beating.

“It’s started,” Kira said, looking down at her electrified hands.

“Then we need to get you out of here,” you said. You reached out to grab her arm but stopped when you remembered how she fried Scott. “Let’s go.”

“But what about the others?” Kira asked.

“They should already be back at the morgue,” Malia said. “We need to go.”

Kira took a second to decide and then jumped over the nurse and the three of you made a run for the morgue before Kira messed up Eichen’s frequency again. The others weren’t there, so you hoped they’d gone to the van instead. The alarm started blaring before you could share your theory.

You grabbed the sides of your head and collapsed in on yourself. Malia grabbed your arm to pull you out and reached for the doorknob, but it was electrified and both of you got electrocuted as a result. To top it off, the alarm still made your ears bleed.

Malia took a deep breath once she got back to her feet. “Lockdown,” she said.

You were still cringing on the ground when Scott started roaring. When your body got to its feet, it felt like being possessed again; you weren’t the one who moved your body. But once the brief discomfort was over, your head was clear and the alarm didn’t hurt so much anymore.

“Something’s wrong,” you rushed out. “I need to go help them.”

“No,” Malia argued, turning back to the door as the lights went out. “We need to get out of here.”

You were still arguing when Kira started lighting up again. The buzzing of the electricity didn’t freak you out so much as how worried she looked. She was terrified of messing things up again.

“I don’t know how long I’m going to last,” Kira said.

“How did you stop it before?” Malia asked.

“Scott carried me outside, which almost killed him,” Kira said.

“I’ve already died. It’s not so bad,” you said. You shrugged. “I can take you out.”

“Maybe we could try grounding her to something,” Malia said. “Lydia was teaching me about circuits before-”

You tackled Malia as a bolt of electricity shot out from Kira and hit the door where Malia had been. You held onto her as Kira’s lightning struck every metal surface it could find.

“You guys have to get out of here!” she yelled.

“We’re not leaving you,” you told her.

Kira hit one of the body holds as she turned her back to you. You and Malia got to your feet as Kira cried, “I should’ve stayed in the desert with the Skinwalkers. I can’t control this. I’m never going to be able to.”

“Kira, it worked,” Malia said. “You saw it work. You controlled it enough to cause the brownout. You can stop it.”

“I can’t!” Kira turned to glare at you and her eyes glowed an angry golden color. “Go!”

Even if you wanted to, an escape wasn’t possible because Kira electrified the entirety of her side of the room. Malia pulled you closer to her again and you both waited for the electrical storm to pass, careful not to touch anything conductive.

The storm passed as quickly as it started.

“Kira?”

Slowly, you both got to your feet, but then you had to pull Malia back from grabbing Kira’s unconscious body. She argued with you but you shook your head.

“She’ll kill you,” you said.

“She’s right,” Josh said. You both pulled away from Kira to focus on him. “Electricity is still coming off your friend. I can feel it from here. But I can help her.”

“Why?” Malia asked.

“Because I need your help.” Josh stepped away from the door and revealed Corey bleeding out in the hallway. “With him.”

“Oh my god, Corey.” You started forward when Malia caught your arm. She didn’t trust them; you didn’t blame her. “Mal, we’ve gotta help him.”

Malia let go and you rushed over to Corey. You tried to lift him but he was in too much pain. Josh took Corey’s other side and looked over at you. “I knew you’d help,” he said.

You didn’t know what to say, so you just hurried to get Corey on one of the exam tables. He was in so much pain. Almost his entire body was charred. He must have gotten caught up with Parrish.

“Why isn’t he healing?” Josh asked.

“Maybe he can’t. Maybe it’s too much,” Malia said.

“He’s going to die, isn’t he?” Josh asked.

“His heartbeat is getting slower,” you said. “But I can try to take away his pain. It could help.”

“It might even get him to start healing,” Malia said generously. “But we’ll only do it if you help Kira.” More sparks flew and you all ducked. “You said you could help!”

“Yeah, but it’s not like taking voltage from a car battery,” Josh argued. “She’s got a lot more power than that.” Corey groaned on the table. “Are you two going to do something or not?”

“Mal-”

“After you help her. I don’t trust you,” Malia said.

“I don’t trust you either!”

“Josh, do you trust me?” you asked. You’d never been close before, but you were something else now. “You said you knew I’d help him. I will, I promise.”

More sparks.

“We go at the same time,” Malia said, snapping his attention back to her. “Deal?”

Josh nodded reluctantly and walked over to Kira. You and Malia held each of Corey’s arms as Josh knelt over Kira. “On three?” he asked. “One.”

“Two.”

“Three.”

The lights started flickering as Josh absorbed Kira’s electricity, but it was the least of your concerns after only a second of taking Corey’s pain. Until now, you’d never understood the phrase ‘blinding pain’ but with your vision blurring and your entire body burning, it had new meaning.

But Corey’s heart started beating again. Rapidly. He was breathing. Kira gasped for air on the floor but it was almost impossible to hear over Josh’s screams.

Between you and Malia, Corey’s pain faded after a minute. Josh managed to get Kira conscious and not electrified. You stayed with him but Malia went to check on Kira and Josh came back to Corey.

“Anybody know how we’re supposed to get out of here?” Corey asked, sounding scared and hurt.

“This place is still in lockdown,” Malia said.

“But it’s not just locked,” Kira said after shooting a look at the door.

“Yeah, I can feel it, too,” Josh said.

“Well, what are we supposed to do?” Corey asked. “Just wait here?”

“We had a backup plan,” you said. Malia didn’t look like she wanted you to tell them, but you did anyway. “Mason is supposed to reset the transformer.”

“How’s he gonna do that?” Josh asked, at the same time that Corey asked if you meant his Mason.

“He’s got the blueprints of the building,” Kira said. “And he has the full map of Eichen’s electrical system. All he has to do is get into the transformer shed behind the building.”

“Don’t worry. Mason knows exactly what he’s doing,” Malia said.

You had to smile to yourself. Thinking back to your first few weeks with Malia when you couldn’t stand her and she said that she would leave you in the desert, you almost couldn’t believe how much she’d grown.

Malia and Kira kept huddled by the body holds while Josh rushed to the door to wait. Everyone was healing now, but you still felt ready to throw up. Taking away Corey’s pain had taken it out of you and if you didn’t drink some blood soon then you weren’t going to be much of a help to anyone. Surprisingly, Corey stayed with you by the exam tables. You heard the shutters on the windows roll back and then Josh pushed the door open.

“He did it!” Josh said.

“We gotta get to the Jeep,” you said, hopping off the table and running out with Kira and Malia.

It didn’t take long to get to the parking lot, and even less time to get to the front and pick up the guys and Lydia. You tossed the keys to Scott as you got out and asked if Lydia was okay.

“No, and we need to go,” Scott said. “We need to get Lydia out of here.”

Before he could get very far, Parrish collapsed onto the Jeep’s hood with claw marks all over his back. “Sorry, but she’s coming with me,” Tracy said. She held onto Lydia, no doubt paralyzing her as she did.

“Okay, Tracy. Just wait,” Scott said. “You don’t know what’s about to happen.”

“I’m taking her. That’s what’s happening,” Tracy said. “And none of you are going to do a thing-”

Electricity crackled and Tracy collapsed. Natalie stood behind her with one of the guard’s nightsticks in her hands. You and Stiles reached out to catch Lydia, but you faltered and he caught her.

“Could somebody please get my daughter out of this hellhole?” Natalie asked.

You helped get Lydia into the car with Stiles in the back. She looked awful, and you could smell the dried blood and gore in her hair. It was nothing on her fear though, nothing on Stiles’ fear either.

Scott drove as fast as he could, but Lydia’s heart was beating too quickly. Without any warning, she let out a scream that burst your eardrum closest to her. Heightened senses meant you were weaker when it came to loud noises like that, and Lydia's scream wasn't like any other loud noise. Stiles started bleeding and the mirrors cracked. You yelled at Scott to drive faster.

Even though the drive to the animal clinic was stressful, helping Deaton treat Lydia was even worse. Your brain was addled by the scream, and she kept screaming until Deaton injected her with mistletoe, straight into the spot where she’d been trepanned. Her final scream shattered all the windows in the clinic but you reacted too slowly.

Scott protected Lydia but Stiles tackled you to the ground, bits of glass sinking into his back.

“Stiles,” you said softly, hands reaching up to his face. The side of his face was still bloody from Lydia’s screams. “What are you-”

“Someone has to take care of you,” he said quietly.

You were both snapped out of your moment by Scott trying and failing to wake Lydia up again. You held onto Stiles’ hand as the two of you joined the others by the table. You couldn’t even hear her heartbeat.

She let out a low moan as her heart started again. Lydia looked terrified when she opened her eyes again but she held onto Stiles’ other hand when he reached for her.

“Are you okay?” he asked. She held onto him and nodded quickly. “You’re okay.” He took a deep breath. “Do you want to try to sit up?”

Stiles helped Lydia sit up, wincing slightly from the glass, and she looked around slowly. Her eyes landed on Natalie in the doorway. “Mom?”

“Oh, honey.” Natalie rushed over to Lydia and pulled her into a hug. She looked relieved for the first time in weeks.

“They saved me,” Lydia said weakly. “Stiles saved me.”

Natalie looked up from Lydia to make eye contact with Stiles. “Thank you,” she said. After her blow up the day before, you knew it meant a lot to him for her to apologize.

Stiles smiled at her to let her know that everything was fine, but then he winced again and ruined his heroic image. He still looked pretty heroic to you, but Natalie was a mother and all she saw was a broken boy covered in glass.

“Let’s get you home, huh?” Natalie flattened Lydia’s hair and kissed her head. She looked ready to cry when she touched Lyd’s trepanation wound. “You can take a bath and we can watch The Notebook. Hmm?”

“I can come with, if you want,” Scott offered with a smile.

Lydia nodded, not bothering to hide the tears in her eyes. She thanked you on her way out and soon it was just you, Stiles, and an awful lot of broken glass.

“Sit with me,” you said gently, tugging on Stiles’ arm to bring him to the exam table. It was so reckless of him to shield you like that but you couldn’t be mad at him. Not when he'd gotten hurt protecting you. “Do you want me to take your pain while I take the glass out?”

“And here I was thinking you wanted to makeout with me to say thank you for saving you from all that glass,” Stiles said with a lazy smile as he watched you get Deaton’s tweezers. You gave him a look and he laughed. “No, I can handle it.”

“You sure?”

Stiles nodded and you bit your lip. You weren’t sure if you had it in you to take his pain away, but still. Taking out all this glass was going to take a while and it was going to hurt.

You started with the shards furthest away from his spine, doing your best to ignore his wincing. The closer you got to his spine, the worse his pain got. You put your hand on his shoulder and tried to take his pain away like you did with Corey, but you pulled your hand away when it started burning.

Thankfully, Stiles was too wrapped up to notice your blunder, but it was pretty hard not to when your hand started shaking. The glass clattered into the metal dish with the other shards and you took a deep breath.

“Hey, you okay?” Stiles asked, looking over his shoulder at you.

“Yeah, just-” You took a breath and squeezed your eyes shut. “Just a bit light-headed. It’s been a while since I’ve had anything to drink.”

“Oh,” Stiles said softly. He looked down for a second and then used his hands to turn on the table to face you, no doubt opening some fresh wounds in the process. “You know you could do it if you wanted to.”

You frowned. “Do what?”

“Drink my blood,” Stiles said. God, when did this become your life? “If you can’t wait until we get home … you could do it.”

“No. No, I couldn’t,” you said. You took a step back. “Stiles, I would kill you. And even if I could control it - which I can’t - I could never ask you to do that.”

“But you didn’t ask, I offered.” Stiles reached for your hand and you felt so guilty for putting him through this.

“I know, but I- I can’t risk hurting you,” you said.

Stiles was quiet for a second. He looked down and drummed on the table for a second. “Malia told me you don’t heal without it.”

Snitch.

“Yeah, but I’m not the one that’s hurt right now.” You sighed and took a step forward to press your forehead to his, your hand holding onto his neck. Your thumb ran across his neck. “Let’s just get you cleaned up, alright?”

Stiles was so still, but eventually, he took a breath and nodded. “Okay,” he said softly. He kissed your hand before you pulled away to finish cleaning him up. He took in a sharp breath when you pulled out the largest (and, thankfully, the last) piece of glass. You apologized repeatedly but it just made Stiles laugh and then wince. “Hey, at least it's over now,” Stiles said in an attempt to comfort you.

You laughed and put the tweezers down. “Close. We still have to clean the cuts if you don’t want an infection.”

“Maybe I want an infection. I could get superpowers,” Stiles said between yawns. You walked around the table and he pulled you into a hug. His face was in your hair when he mumbled, “Do you think it’ll scar?”

“Not if I have anything to do with it,” you said. You pulled back and ran a hand through his hair. “This part will be quick, okay? Can I take your shirt off?”

“You can take my shirt off any time, babe.” Stiles leaned back and gave you a lazy grin which made you laugh despite the horrible night you’d had.

“Slow down, Stilinski. Let’s finish this first.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Don’t call me ma’am.”

“Sir, yes, sir.”

You rolled your eyes and pushed the open button-up off his shoulders so he could take his arms out of the sleeves. You lifted the bottom of his gray t-shirt and threw it at him when he made another flirty joke.

Cleaning and bandaging the cuts went a lot faster, which was a relief because you were exhausted and Stiles must have been freezing. When the last of the bandages were on his back, you leaned in and wrapped your hands around him.

“Thank you for taking care of me,” you said softly. You pressed a kiss to his shoulder. “Let’s go home. Do you have a shirt in the Jeep that I can bring you?”

“What’s wrong with my other shirt?” Stiles asked.

“It’s torn and covered in blood,” you said as you pulled away.

Stiles shrugged and pushed himself off the table. “You just want to see me walk around shirtless for a while.”

“You know me well, Stilinski.” You took his hand in yours and lifted it to kiss him again. Stiles rolled his eyes but he pulled you closer anyway, only letting go so you could lock up the animal clinic and then to pull on a sweatshirt.

Exhausted and worn out from the night, you fell asleep almost immediately as Stiles drove home. You weren’t sure what it was about the Jeep that did that to you; maybe the familiarly worn seats or how Stiles pumped the heat all the way up, or maybe just the way Stiles would drum on the steering wheel and play his favorite song on repeat. He was one of the only people who you trusted, and the Jeep was one of the only places you still felt safe.

Part 42

Tagged: @ietss @used-avocado

#stiles stilinski #stiles stilinksi x reader #stiles slow burn #stiles stilinksi imagine #so close #teen wolf #teen wolf au #teen wolf rewrite #mccall!reader

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basementsushi · 4 years

Text

Nekyia

--^ from this prompt I wrote the short story below, entitled Nekyia. Enjoy!--

I did it! My EMT training is complete, I’m licensed and ready to go, and I officially start my new job on Monday, just over two weeks from now. I got this little notebook at the store today to write that down, to make it feel more real. I did it mom, I did it.

I feel like I should explain. I don’t know why, I can’t imagine anyone else will read this. Mom was an EMT too, a volunteer one in the rural town she grew up and lived in. That’s where she met dad too, after she saved his life after a gun accident. Dad always called her “Angel” after that, because at the hospital doctor’s were surprised he had survived, and he always credited mom’s care with his survival.

Mom passed away when I was really little. I don’t even remember her, aside from pictures and stories, I was only three at the time. From the time I was little I decided to become an EMT, just like her, to honor her memory I suppose, though over time I found myself just as passionate about it as she was (at least, according to my aunt).

And now I’ve finally done it! I just wish mom and dad were still here with me to celebrate. Dad passed just a couple of years after mom, and I lived with my aunt Camille after that until I was 18. She took me out to dinner yesterday to celebrate, and gave me a necklace my mom apparently always wore, that my dad had wanted me to have one day. I don’t even know how to describe it, it’s a little metal charm almost, in an odd shape I’ve never seen before, strung on a dark, thin cord. I feel closer to her with it though, and have started keeping it in my wallet wherever I go.

Wow, that’s more than I’ve written in a journal than… well, I think ever. And chances are I won’t write here again. I’m going to try, but my track record with these things is pretty bad. I wanted to make sure I did at least something to remember finally reaching my goal.

-----

Well, I’m surprised to be picking this thing up again. It’s been over a month since I wrote in it last, and I’ve been at my job about three weeks so far. Nothing too weird has happened, though it has been a bit of an adjustment, until today, and I just had to write about it.

We were responding to a call today, for an older man who had collapsed in the middle of a grocery store, of a suspected heart attack. By the time we got there he was unresponsive, wasn’t breathing, and we couldn’t find a pulse. I really didn’t think he was going to make it, it took us too long to get there I thought.

I started CPR anyway, as well as rescue breathing, while the ambulance was prepared, hoping he would start breathing. I could hardly believe it when he did! We seemed to have him almost stabilized before we even had him on the ambulance.

That wasn’t even the weirdest part for me. The weirdest part was the first thing he said when we were getting him onto the ambulance. I suspected he was hispanic before, but when I recognized he was speaking Spanish that confirmed it. I didn’t understand what he said to me at the time, but a coworker translated it for me later. He looked right at me and said “eres un ángel”, which means “you are an angel”.

It’s so weird. The same thing dad called mom after she miraculously saved him. It almost feels like a message from mom, like she’s letting me know I did a good job. I pulled her necklace out of my wallet to look at some today. I still have no idea if it means anything, but it makes me feel better to have around.

-----

I guess I’m going to write in this little notebook a lot more than I thought. In the two weeks since I last wrote there was another case where the patient, from what we could tell, should have died, but after care (I administered some of it), miraculously survived. Especially after others heard about what the elderly hispanic gentleman said the nickname “Angel” has spread for me.

I should feel glad, I’m helping people, just like mom. But instead I feel… uneasy. Especially this week, but starting around when I saved the hispanic man, I’ve been seeing this man around a lot. He’s the kind of person I don’t think I’d normally notice, a bit taller than average, brown eyes, dark hair. Nothing about him stands out. But the look in his eyes, the fact that I’ve seen him just looking at me, often when I’m arriving to help patients… I could swear he’s following me. And…

No, it’s too silly to write here. I think I just need more sleep, I’ve been so busy with my new job, studying on the side, and all the other things I’m doing. Maybe I need to drop a hobby or something so I can sleep more.

-----

I keep seeing it. Him. The man I wrote about. It’s only been a few days since I last wrote here, but I’ve seen him almost every day. Sometimes looking at me, sometimes just passing by. And I swear I’ve seen wings on him. I’d seen it before, but I thought it was just a lack of sleep. Stress. I don’t know what to think anymore.

Even Nina (my dog, I realize I haven’t written about her before) is acting like something is off. She’s normally very calm, but every time I get home from work she gets super agitated, and takes ages to calm down and come near me again. Maybe she doesn’t like the smell of the disinfectant from work? I don’t feel like that’s it though, she didn’t start doing this until recently.

Work is still going well at least. I really feel like I’m making a difference. We’ve had less fatalities than usual, which is always good news. I just hope the rest of this weirdness goes away soon.

-----

I’m having Mark (my coworker) drive me home most days now, instead of taking the bus. He found it weird that I finally took him up on his offer, and I probably wouldn’t have, if not for yesterday.

The man, the strange one? I saw him on the bus yesterday on the way home. With nothing else to do on the trip I finally looked at him a bit more, especially all the random symbols on his jacket. I hadn’t looked directly at it before, I hadn’t realized…

On his right sleeve, on the arm, near the shoulder, is the symbol. The same one on mom’s necklace. I took it out of my wallet for the first time in a couple of weeks to hold, and I swear it felt cold. It freaked me out, I don’t want to run into him ever again, especially not alone.

-----

It’s been a week since the bus incident. I’m shaking right now, after what happened today, but I have to write it down, to make it feel more, real? To record it? I don’t even know.

It’s my day off. I’d normally sleep in later, but Nina woke me up around seven barking like mad at the front door. I groggily got up, went to the door, and through the peephole saw the man, the one who had been following me.

I think I was tired, or in shock, or just done with it all, but I opened the door, and he quietly stepped inside. Just a step, not even enough that I could close the door behind him. When he started to speak, he just sounded… odd. Something about his voice, I can’t figure out how to describe it.

Everything he said, it made no sense. He talked about ceasing the ancient arts? He made it sound like I was messing something up, but I have no idea what he meant. He even mentioned mom, saying she had done this too, and I didn’t want to keep going down her path, that the “arts passed down in your family lead to delayed grief, they don’t eliminate it”.

Then he just left. I don’t know what to do. I eventually found Nina hiding in my room, and am just sitting here on the floor with her now, writing down what happened. Do I call the police? What would I even tell them?

-----

He’s giving me time to write, just before he takes me. I have to write quickly. He was able to show me memories - of my mother, of my family before her, our ancestors further back than I recognize. The necklace (rather, the talisman), it’s older than I thought, passed down for generations.

Angel. Ironic, isn’t it? My mom was no angel, neither was I. Just the latest in a long line of… I can’t even believe it. Necromancers. The miracles, the lives saved… they won’t even stay saved. We only delayed the inevitable, until this man could track them down again, to take them, just like he’s taking me now.

Most have times they have to go. The hispanic man. My dad. It’s no wonder he died so shortly after mom, she wasn’t around to bring him back anymore. And because mom and I upset the balance of things, and didn’t stop when warned (I don’t think either of us understood the warning), we’re being taken too. And the people I saved, the miracles… soon they’ll be taken too.

He’s starting to nod at me, I know we’re going soon. He’s said he’ll make it quick, just like mom. He doesn’t want me to suffer, his job is just to guide us to where we go. He promises Nina’s time isn’t yet, apparently my aunt will find her very soon.

I almost can’t believe it. This all sounds so silly. I wouldn’t have even believed him, but… the wings I thought I saw. I see them clearly now. And I feel sleepy, I can’t write much longer. He said his brother’s blessing will make it not hurt, all I have to do is drift off to sleep. I tried mom, I hope I made you proud. It’s hard to hold my pen up, I think I’m coming to see you soo-

#short story #necromancy

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bunnyhanasong · 5 years

Text

Foolish Girl

Main ship: widowtracer

Side ships: pharmercy

Genre: angst

Notes: bit of a canon deviation, clearly. Lena is a dumb lesbian and Widowmaker thinks so too

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Tracer, don’t you dare run off to find that sniper again. We nearly lost you the last time.”

Lena huffed at Pharah’s words as she slid on her bracers, “Oh please, you wouldn’t get rid of me that easy, love. Besides, she means no harm; to me anyway. If she wanted me dead she wouldn’t miss me every time.”

“Lena,” a stern voice spoke from behind Fareeha’s shoulder, “I want you to stay where I can see you. It doesn’t matter if she hadn’t fatally shot you yet, that shouldn’t be a risk you’re willing to take.”

“But-”

Angela raised an eyebrow at her protest, silently daring the younger woman to argue with her again. Lena sighed and crossed her arms, pouting a little at the combat medic.

“Fine. Whatever you say, mum.”

“It’s my job to keep you safe, child,” Angela ignored the mocking tone in her words, “I can’t very well do that if you’re out of range chasing after a woman you know might as well be dead.”

“Angela...” Hana spoke up from where she was fiddling with the controls on her new black and gold Meka, “Don’t go there.”

Hana knew how sensitive a topic Amélie’s kidnapping and brainwashing was for Lena, even though it’d been years by then. Even though Tracer herself had seen what she had become; even though she was well aware that Amélie was gone and Widowmaker had taken her place. Hana had seen the way Lena mourned the loss of her friend, the woman she had silent feelings for. Hana hadn’t been there when it happened, didn’t even know Amélie before Gérard’s murder, but she had held Lena while she sobbed after the first time she met Widowmaker. For her, that was enough to break her heart.

Lena had gone silent at Angela’s words, her face held an annoyed look that didn’t quite reach her sad eyes. She just dipped her head in digression, brushing past Fareeha to go stand with Hana instead. Her friend gave her a sympathetic smile and patted her hand, launching into some excited ramble about her Mech’s new features in an attempt to distract Lena.

“Must you be so harsh with her?” Brigitte questioned softly while leaning closer to Angela, “She’s reckless, yes, but she’s a strong girl. Mentioning past trauma so bluntly like that will only make her more likely to defy you.”

“When’d you get so soft, kid?” Solider:76 grumbled, “Let Angela do her job, pestering people is how she shows affection.”

Angela shrugged off her teammates’ input, already regretting the way she handled things with Lena. Though Lena called her mom as a joke, Mercy did feel like a mother figure to the younger woman. Really, she felt like that was just part of her job; the team mom. Back in the day, Lena would come to her about everything and never hide anything from Angela. However, as of late it felt like there was a rift between them and they would butt heads more often than not.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Hubibi,” Fareeha’s low voice was gentle in her ear as she spoke the pet name warmly, “You didn’t mean to upset her like that. You two can work things out later, yes?”

Angela nodded, “I’ll speak with her after the mission. I really didn’t mean to bring it up like that... I sometimes forget how much it still hurts her.”

“You meant nothing malicious, Angela,” Pharah hummed in agreement, “It will be alright.”

“Thank you, Liebling,” Angela’s accent returned full force as she spoke in her mother tongue, “I do hope you’re right.”

“Landing in Paris in sixty seconds,” the robotic voice of Athena blared through the aircrafts speakers, “Prepare to attack.”

At the announcement of an ETA, Jack Morrison jumped back into his commander role. He started instructing people where to go and who to target, explaining once again the intent of this mission. Talon had taken some French diplomats hostage in a high rise building, ensuring maximum security would deter Overwatch from entering. That didn’t stop them, of course, and they had every intention of sending Talon scurrying home with their tails between their legs.

“Pharah, D.va, keep your eyes on the skies. Mercy, stay back and only jump it when necessary, I don’t have to remind you that healing is more important than fighting,” Angela nodded at his words, “Tracer, you’re on perimeter. Eliminate any enemies that threaten your teammates directly and keep them away from Mercy.”

“You got it, love,” Lena’s reply was missing her usual jovial giggle and happy tone, sounding more like it was said in Athena’s monotone accent.

Jack continued to ramble off orders, turning back to where Winston was operating the aircraft. He had offered the pilot’s chair to Lena before they left the watchpoint, but she had just offered him a nervous smile and a shake of her head. Planes weren’t bad anymore but flying them herself still sent her into intense panic attacks that even Angela had a hard time reversing. Even though it was years in the past, the Slipstream incident affected Lena more than she’d like to let on.

As Winston landed the plane, everyone got into position. Hana had gotten into her Mech, adjusting controls and testing her defence matrix. Brigitte was at her side, somehow still cracking jokes with the younger girl despite the dire mission.

Fareeha and Angela were speaking lowly to each other, making Lena smile despite herself when Angela adjusted Pharah’s hair under her helmet so it stayed out of her eyes. The two had clearly grown closer since Fareeha joined Overwatch and it was no secret that they were together at that point. There was always a certain softness between them, despite Fareeha’s gruffness and Angela’s no-nonsense attitude.

“Your accelerator is working fine?” Winston’s question broke Tracer from her thoughts, “No issues?”

“Right as rain, love,” Tracer promised, “Been ticking away as it should.”

“Good,” Winston nodded as he pocketed his glasses and nudged Lena forward, “Stay safe out there, Lena.”

“You too,” Tracer nodded just as the doors to the aircraft opened with Athena’s countdown.

“Tracer, keep your damn comm in your ear this time!” Soldier’s yell was barely heard over the sound of Hana’s meka as it’s rear boosters engaged and took her out into the sky. Lena flashed forward, quickly gaining distance between her and her team as she went to monitor the perimeter.

Winston and Reinhardt took up the front, immediately storming the Talon base with everyone else close behind. Pharah and D.va had taken to the sky, though Hana quickly landed to assist the others. Tracer glanced behind her to keep an eye on Angela, who was hovering behind everyone with her Caduceus staff in hand.

“Mercy, I’m going round back, let me know if you need me to recall back to you.”

“Affirmative,” Angela’s soft voice spoke in her ear, “I’ll be fine, Tracer.”

With that, Lena was off, making it to the back of the building in record time. She searched back entrances for any minor Talon agents, ensuring that she was alone. She secured the doors with the motion alarms Winston had given her, which would directly notify them if someone tripped the sensor. She was just about to go back to check on Angela when Hana’s slightly out of breath warning came through the comm.

“Sniper! Don’t get caught!”

Lena perked up a bit at that, so she did show up. She placed the last motion sensor absentmindedly and then glanced around her to ensure no one was around. Clearly someone knew of her motives because her comm crackled with an incoming message again.

“Lena Oxton, don’t you da-”

Angela’s warning was cut off when Tracer yanked the earpiece out and let it drop into the strap of her accelerator. She checked the charge and saw the blinking 94%, immediately jumping forward in time to get to the roof quickly. She sent a silent apology to her teammates, especially Mercy, but told herself she was doing this to protect them.

“Cheers, love,” Lena giggled as she flashed forward to stand behind the willowy woman near the edge of the roof, “the cavalry’s here.”

She made no move to shoot and neither did the sniper, who instead turned to face her with a stoic expression, “Chérie.”

“Fancy seeing you here,” Tracer recalled backwards when Widowmaker took a step too close for her liking, “Almost thought Talon woulda given up on you. Fifty shots, one kill, eh?”

“Watch yourself, petite fille,” the way her voice litted when she spoke in her native tongue seemed so Amélie that Lena felt her heart clench painfully.

“Ah, just kidding around, love.” Lena giggles nervously as she rubbed at the back of her neck, “So what, I come all the way up here to see you, defying orders I might add; Mercy’s gonna have my arse, and you just wanna talk? No warning shot, no fist fight even? Have you lost your edge, dear Widowmaker?”

“Do you have a deathwish, mademoiselle Oxton?” The formal remark said in Amélie’s voice hurt more than she’d let on, “Is that what this is for you? Une rendez-vous avec la mort?”

“Aw, love, if I had known this was a date I would have dressed nicer,” Lena mused playfully, “Woulda brought you flowers or somethin’.”

Widowmaker sighed deeply, taking a step towards the small woman who was watching her with wide dark eyes behind her goggles. Her dancers legs gave her a lot of height on Tracer, making it so two large steps were all she needed to cross the distance between them.

Lena was a bit shocked when the distance between them shrunk so quickly that Widowmaker was almost immediately towering over her. She backed up a bit more only to be met with the wall of the storage container behind her, yelping a little at the contact.

“Oh? What’s this?” Widowmaker’s voice was mocking and a smirk played on her lips, “The mighty Tracer startled so easily? Not so confident when you can’t put distance between you and your enemies, huh, Chérie?”

“Oh, come off it,” Lena didn’t want to admit how unease those unreadable golden eyes made her, “You don’t scare me, love. No offense.”

Widowmaker hummed in thought before lifting her gun to tilt Lena’s chin up, forcing eye contact, “Is that so?”

“You haven’t killed me yet,” Lena murmured, “If you wanted me dead I would have been so ages ago. Either you’ve lost your touch, or I’ve grown on you.”

“Ah,” Widowmaker chuckled lowly, “Haven’t you ever seen a spider tease her prey before, chérie? Killing you immediately would take all the fun out of it, and it does get dreadfully boring up on this roof all alone.”

Tracer felt the muzzle of the gun nudge the dip in her shoulder in a teasing manner, trying to hide her flinch as she stayed silent. She wasn’t usually this jumpy and certainly would never back down from a fight. She just wouldn’t admit how entranced and distracted she became in Widowmaker’s presence.

“Besides,” the tall woman purred as she leaned closer to Lena, “You’re hardly a threat, darling. Just a hyperactive puppy who thinks she can save the world. It’s almost cute... mais pathétique.”

“You’re bluffing, love,” Lena finally spoke, trying to regain confidence, “Since when did you back down from a fight?”

Widowmaker just shrugged, one hand coming up to rest on the wall beside Lena’s head. Lena’s breathing hitched as she felt her warm breath on her skin, hands coming up ready to shove the other woman away.

“Like I said, Lena; it’s cute.”

Lena felt her heart clench painfully at those words, the way she said her name sounded so much like Amélie that it made her feel queasy. The ache in her chest was amplified by the weight of her accelerator on her body, making her want to cry because she was so close, yet deep down Lena knew; Amélie was gone. She still couldn’t stop herself from whispering in a pained voice.

“Amé...”

Widowmaker raised an eyebrow, golden eyes observing her with an almost pitying look, “Oh, tu pauvre fille. Amélie is gone, you know that.”

“I- please... don’t.”

The way Lena’s voice wavered made Widowmaker shake her head. She didn’t remember much of her life as Amélie Lacroix, but she did have some memory of a particular hyper overwatch agent. Memories that seemed bittersweet, though Widowmaker herself wasn’t too sure what emotion connected to them anymore. She could remember the fondness Lena used to look at Amélie with, and it was pretty obvious that she had once felt more than friendship for her mentor’s wife.

“It’s time to let go, Lena,” Widowmaker said firmly, but surprisingly not unkind, “You can’t keep doing this. I am not her, chérie, I will never be her again.”

Lena tried to hard to put on a brave face as she replied, “We could help you! Widowmaker, please, Mercy could bring Amé back...”

“It’s too late, foolish girl,” Widowmaker trailed a surprisingly gentle hand down Tracer’s cheek, “You have to let her go.”

Before Lena could respond, a raspy warning came from behind them, “Widowmaker... The mission does not include fraternizing with the enemy.”

Letting go of Tracer, the sniper turned to face Reaper, who somehow looked disappointed though his face was an unmoving white mask. Widowmaker chuckled lowly, her body language just as relaxed as before.

“Oh I’m just playing around, Reaper, mon ami,” despite her words, her tone was not friendly at all.

“And yet, you’ve not killed her? Have you lost your touch, Widowmaker? Are you becoming soft?” Reaper’s hands tightened around his guns, “Moira will not hesitate to increase your treatments, if necessary.”

“She is not my target,” Widowmaker recited slowly, “She did not make a move to shoot me or even stop me. If anything, she is but a distraction.”

“Widowmaker,” Reaper’s warning wasn’t growled out, “Don’t test me.”

“She is not my target,” She glanced back at Tracer as she repeated herself firmly. The girl was standing absolutely still, having raised her blasters with shaking hands. She was almost hiding behind Widowmaker, as though she trusted her enough to protect her from the shell of Gabriel Reyes.

Reaper huffed and raised one of his guns in the blink of an eye, too fast for either woman to react. Widowmaker flinched and jumped to the side, expecting Lena to recall out of the way like she so often did while they were fighting. However, a yelp of pain told her otherwise and she immediately spun on her heels to see Tracer crumpling to the ground.

“We’re leaving in 20 minutes, don’t miss the ship and stop making dumb mistakes. You are but a machine, Widowmaker, don’t make me shut you down.”

With that, Reaper disappeared from the roof, shifting to wraith form. Widowmaker watched him leave with baited breath and then turned to Lena, who was white as a sheet and breathing shallowly.

“Oh, you foolish girl,” Widowmaker crooned as she crouched beside the younger woman, “Why didn’t you recall out of the way?”

Tracer was clutching at her thigh, blood seeping through the obnoxious orange spandex she always wore. She huffed and rolled her eyes the best she could, “W-Was a little... distracted, love.”

Widowmaker sighed and brushed Lena’s spiky, unruly hair from her eyes, “God, you’re quite the magnet for trouble, aren’t you.”

Noticing the signs of shock setting in and realizing Lena was having trouble keeping her eyes open, Widowmaker knew she needed to make a decision. She could kill her, that was what her programming was tell her to do, but she didn’t think she could do it. Even if it was to put the girl out of her misery and rid herself of an annoying pest, there was a tiny voice screaming in her mind to save her.

Ignoring Lena’s protests, Widowmaker grabbed the communications device that was hanging from her accelerator. She brought it up to her ear and pressed a button, hearing a beep and then multiple overwatch agents’ voices calling for Lena.

“Angela Ziegler,” Widowmaker spoke coldly, “Your puppy got off her leash.”

The comm crackled and a confused voice spoke in accented English, “Amélie?”

“Widowmaker,” she corrected through gritted teeth, “She’s been shot, Ziegler. Shock setting in and losing consciousness, you’d best come work your magic before I have to put her down.”

“I-,” Mercy was stumbling over her words as she came to terms with what had been said, “You didn’t kill her?”

“I was not the one who shot her,” Widowmaker replied, “She is not my target.”

“Amélie, I-.”

“That is not my name, madam Ziegler,” the French woman warned lowly, “Come save your little pest before it is too late.”

With that she dropped the comm and turned to Lena again, who was shaking like a leaf as her body temperature dropped. Widowmaker frowned and brushed a gloved hand over her sweaty forehead, “Pauvure chiot.”

“W-why do you always... why do you c-call me that?”

Widowmaker’s golden eyes glinted with a surprisingly amount of fondness, “You are like a puppy, no? Annoying and loud, but I do suppose you’re cute to some.”

“W-well aren’t you... quite the charmer,” Lena gasped as she shifted and a spark of pain shot through her leg. She heard someone calling her name in the distance and watched with glassy eyes as Widowmaker glanced over her shoulder.

“Your friends will be here for you soon,” she spoke in a strangely gentle way, “Stay out of trouble, little pup.”

“Amé... please stay.”

Widowmaker smiled at her sadly, not bothering to correct the woman who was clearly in shock, “Adieu, Chérie.”

With that, she left Tracer slumped against the storage unit, knowing her family would find her in the next couple minutes. She threw her grapple to the rooftop across the way, spotting the talon ship hovering nearby.

With a glance over her shoulder she saw a familiar blonde figure crouching over Lena’s body. Widowmaker sighed and shifted her gun sling over her back.

“Stay alive, foolish girl.”

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godlyborn · 3 years

Text

i’m so used to sharing. / bailey pt. vi

date: december 22-23, 2020 trigger warning: injury, hospitals

part i // part ii // part iii // part iv // part v // part vii // part viii

Over the last week, Bailey had been getting to know Hannah more and more, the girl began to trust the woman that birthed her. They both had a lot in common. From their bursts of anger, to how they both felt so deeply that it was hard to let others see their heart. Bailey did all those things that a normal girl was supposed to do with her mother, like braid hair, and talk about boys, Bailey cherished these moments as if she would lose them.

Bailey had told her about who she was, about the dangers it brought, and Hannah, though not fully understanding it, still loved her anyway.

Hannah opened the door to the cafe where they first really talked, letting Bailey walk in first. The two ordered their usual to go. Bailey insisted today that Hannah take to the place that her and Zeus met. Bailey always wondered what it was like to have a story to tell about her parents, broken family or not.

The car ride there with coffees in their hands was not quiet at all. Hannah spent half the car ride insisting that Bailey should tell Griffin how she felt when she got back to camp, which resulted in Bailey blushing. A lot.

Hannah pulled up to a field. Bailey wondered why it was here that they met. Hannah took her to the middle of the field. Bailey tilted her head slightly in question. “You two met in a field?”

Hannah let out a small laugh. “I was on a run when I met him. It started raining and I ended up here. I insisted we go inside, but he stayed. I couldn’t help but stay with him. We were in the middle of the field, and there was lightning and thunder, but nothing touched us. It was like we were immune. Now that I know that he was actually the cause of it, it makes sense to me. I was soaked, my hair and clothes, I looked like a drowned cat, but he said I was one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen. Flirted with me. I think it might just have been to get into bed with me.”

Bailey let out a small laugh. “Sounds like him, if I’m being honest. I want to say there should be more of us, considering he seems like he just puts his dick everywhere, but then we have that whole more susceptible to monster attacks thing going on.”

“But yeah, this is where I met Zeus.”

Bailey smiled, “That sounds really funny, and really great at the same--” That’s when she saw it. There was a man that laid on the ground near the trees. Her smile quickly fell, standing in front of Hannah. It wasn’t long before the man morphed into a large creature. “Hannah, run!” Bailey grabbed her mother’s hand pulling her away.

Bailey’s feet hit the pavement, the pounding of her steps matched the pounding of her heart. Bailey turned to look better at the creature, her sights revealing a manticore. “Bailey, where are we going.”

“Anywhere but here, we have to get somewhere safe,” Bailey insisted, but was there anywhere safe?

Hannah couldn’t keep up with Bailey. Bailey thought about splitting up from Hannah, this monster was after her, not Hannah. Bailey’s reeling thoughts stop when she watched the Manticore pluck Hannah out of the way, sending her back. She watched as Hannah tumbled backward until Hannah was on the ground, unmoving. “No!” Bailey screamed. Bailey’s heart pounded, and she took off her bracelets, revealing the bow and arrow. She shot an arrow, missing the manticore the first time. Bailey ran again, trying to get another good shot in before it inevitably caught up to her.

Bailey notched another arrow, her hands shaking. That’s when she heard the voice at first. Focus, it said. Bailey took a breath, pulling the string back. She shot at the Manticore, the arrow piercing its torso. Not enough to kill, but good enough to injure it. She sent another one when it stumbled backward. In defense the Manticore swung it’s paw, hitting Bailey with it, sending her quite a bit of way, tumbling and rolling. The manticore sent a spike at Bailey, and Bailey who was already disoriented, didn’t have enough time to get out of the way. The spike hit her, barely but still enough to slice the side of her thigh open, releasing its poison. Bailey let out a scream, intense pain spreading through her body. Though she knew it wouldn’t be enough to kill her, it felt like her body was exploding, the pain was too overbearing and she finally blacked out.

Bailey felt peace for a moment. Everything was silent, everything was warm. Get up, she heard the voice again, as if it was willing her to wake up.

Get up! Now!

The blonde’s eyes shot open, the Manticore before her, ready to make a fatal blow. It was like something possessed Bailey, and much like she had done in the forest before, Bailey let out a scream. The wind around her picked the monster up, sending it back enough for Bailey to get up. Pain sputtered through her entire body, but it was like she ran on adrenaline.

Bailey looked around for the bow and arrow, but they were too far away. Your pocket, the voice insisted, reminding her of the mirror that turned into her ax. She opened it, her ax shooting out of it. Bailey waited for the right time. When the Manticore lifted its tail to shoot its spikes at her, Bailey rolled out of the way. Slamming the celestial bronze axe down to cut the tail off.

The wind picked up, this time she wasn’t even sure if she was the one doing it. It gave her an open window, this time. Bailey screamed, throwing her ax, hitting the Manticore. It stuck in its torso, and he stumbled a few steps before finally turning to dust.

Bailey fell to her knees, her breath heavy, it hurt to move, hurt to breath. She looked up again, her eyes trailing to find Hannah still on the ground. It was like her breath got caught in her throat. She picked up the bow, arrows, and ax, returning them to their hidden state, just in case more danger arose. Bailey collapsed next to Hannah. She brought her mother’s head onto her lap.

Bailey fished for her phone, only to find it completely demolished in her pocket. Bailey frantically looked around, trying to ignore the pain that coarse through her body every time she moved. Stay awake, she told herself, just stay awake. “Help!” She tried calling out, hoping someone was listening. Tears fell from her eyes. She looked down at her mom. “Wake up, please please, wake up,” she begged. “You can’t die, not here, not now.” She finally had someone to call her own, she couldn’t lose her. Without thinking, the words slipped from her mouth, and for the first time she said, “Mom, please.”

Bailey looked up when she heard a commotion of a group of people. She must look atrocious. “Help,” she said, her adrenaline wearing off. She suddenly felt dizzy, she caught herself on the ground, trying to steady herself. “Help, please,” she said quieter than before, as darkness overtook the edges of her vision. The last thing she saw were the people running toward her and her mother.

&&&.

When Bailey woke up again, she was connected to an IV. Her head pounded, her face hurt, every time she took a breath, she felt a stabbing pain on the right side of her torso where her ribs are. She moved her hand, as if to push herself up, only to find a brace on it, along with her body feeling like every inch of it hurt. She let out a soft groan.

“Woah, hey,” she heard a voice. She jumped slightly, wincing at the movement but turned to look at the source. Only to find Scott sitting there. “I can believe a mugging did all this.”

“What?” Bailey asked confused, only to have everything come flooding back, like a sea of regret to even danger her mother in the first place.

“At least, that’s what we all assumed, you both had no purses, and there was a cut on your leg.”

“Right,” Bailey lied. He wouldn’t understand the entirety of anything.

Scott sighed. “Bailey, it wasn’t a mugging, was it? Hannah told me otherwise.” Hannah saw it? That could only mean she could see through the mist.

“I--” Bailey tried to explain.

“Bailey, we decided that it’s best if you go home,” Scott started. That’s when Bailey could see clearly, her eyes following Scott down, to find her bags next to his chair. “For the safety of Sally, it’s best if you leave, and not to contact us again.”

“But I…” Bailey trailed off as tears welled up in her eyes. Don’t cry, she told herself. Do not give him the satisfaction of your tears.

“I’m sorry Bailey,” Scott said, before getting up, leaving the room. Bailey sat there, alone. For a few minutes, she sat there, trying to process what just happened. Bailey looked around, suddenly feeling so vulnerable. She pulled the needle from her arm, the wires away from her hands and body, the machines started going crazy. Every move sent pain through her body.

A nurse came barreling in. “Miss Fielding, you shouldn’t be moving.”

Bailey shook her head. “I want to go home, I’m leaving, get me out of here,” she rambled, not crying.

“That would be against our best advice,” the nurse insisted.

“Then give me something to sign to get me out of here,” Bailey snapped. The nurse stared at her, “Please,” she begged.

The nurse nodded, leaving to go get what she assumed was a doctor. Bailey practically stumbled to the restroom. At this point, she was crying. She should’ve never trusted Hannah, never opened her heart to her. She cursed herself for being so naive, yet again. Bailey stood at the sink, in front of the mirror. She leant against the sink, it basically held her up. She stared at her face, bruises along the left side of her face, that seemed to have started to form, swollen slightly. This was her fault. This was her fault. Bailey took a second to look at herself. She wanted to go home, no she needed to go home. Bailey took a breath. The voice that helped her yesterday, echoing in her head. Focus. Bailey looked at herself, focusing on calming down, focusing on shutting everything off. There the feeling was again, like she was watching herself from outside her body. If she didn’t feel like it was hurt, it wouldn’t hurt as much. Focus. So she did.

She took a step out of the restroom, each step sending pain through her entire body, her eyes meeting with the doctor’s. “Bailey, I’m told you want to leave. I highly suggest against that. You have bruised ribs, a broken wrist, a severe cut on your leg, not to mention a concussion. You should be resting. I highly advise you to stay under more observation.” If she could just get home, she could do all that at the infirmary and also with the help of ambrosia and nectar.

“I want to leave,” Bailey stated once more.

The doctor nodded. “I’ll get the paperwork, why don’t you get dressed. I can get a nurse to help you if you need.”

Bailey then remembered, she had no phone, no money, she had no ways to get home. “Okay, but can I,” she paused to take a painful breath in, “can I use the phone to call someone to come get me?”

The doctor nodded. “I’ll have a nurse get you something to plug it in.” With that, he left. Bailey painfully got dressed in the loosest clothes she could find in her suitcase. One of the nurses handed her the phone. Bailey thought about calling Logan or Elias, but they’d only worry. She couldn’t call Griffin because he honestly probably wouldn’t know what to do. Her mind wandered to Rory, but her sister would only worry, and Bailey couldn’t put her through having to travel outside of Camp again. Bailey’s mind then wandered to one of the last people she could think of.

She dialed their number. The phone rang only to be met by an interesting voicemail. Bailey cursed, and thought about Alec’s phone number. She typed it in, hoping it was right, and by the grace of some God, probably Tyche, they answered. Finally getting Abel on the phone, Bailey let out a breath of relief. “Abel, I need your help.”

#sp:bailey #self para #bailey

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i-am-fran · 5 years

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My thoughts after ep 9.09

My thoughts on season 9 of #Suits ahead of the series finale:

So today I saw 9.09 and I think now is the right time to write a little piece about my thoughts and wishes and expectations. Why now? During the past 2 or 3 episode I have realized that I have very mixed feelings about this season. Before I start I’d like to remind you that this is how I feel about this seasons. There may be things you you agree with, other’S you don’t. I’d like to hear about them, but please be polite - it’s just an opinion. Also: While many things might sound negative, I still took the time to think and write about them. That’ how invested I am in this show. I wouldn’t bother doing that for a show I don’t enjoy watching. The thing is: The more I like a character, the harder I judge how they are developed. No hard feelings.

First, I have to admit that I had very high expectations after 8.16. I did not particularly like season 8, not because Mike and Rachel left and not because of the introduction of Alex and Samantha (who I think were both very refreshing additions to the cast), but because I felt that Harvey and Donna in particular seemed to be stuck in some kind of limbo in regards to character development for the first 14 episodes. The Kessler romance that somewhat triggered the “Darvey” romance felt rushed in the end of season 8, even though I had wanted for this to happen for so long.

9.01 started so promising and I really enjoyed the introduction of Faye. I loved the fun moments with Louis being Louis, just the way they happened in the early seasons. All in all, Louis is the one character I am most pleased with in regards to character and storyline. Everything seems seamlessly consistent with him.

Harvey I also really can’t complain about. His character development has stretched over the entirety of nine seasons and it is natural that now things are slowly winding down.

The character development I am most unhappy about is Donna. It seems to me that all season her sole purpose was to serve Harvey coffee. There were some sweet moments with Louis and some confrontations with Faye and the other partners, but let’s face it: The only storyline that she really had next to being Harvey’s sidekick was her Dad and Faye being unhappy about her relationship with Harvey, which was one of the subplots of “Cairo”. It reminded me a little of the early seasons when Donna barely had any other purpose than being Harvey’s know-it-all secretary, but not in a good way. It felt like Alex, Katrina and even Esther had more significant plots this season, though they were similar in their length regarding screen time.

However this isn’t the first time I am unhappy with Donna’s character development. Despite Donna being my favorite Suits character -hands down- I’m still super irked about her unrealistic leap from secretary to COO. As a woman in a business where most my co-workers are men I hate to see when TV gets women’s hopes up in how this could happen. To me, it feels like Donna slept her way to her position without actually sleeping with her boss. The circumstances are -in my eyes- the same, which is why I hate it. This isn’t gender equality, because no secretary, be it male or female does get promoted to COO without taking a few more steps in between. This only happens in fairytales. Donna has no qualification to be COO at all and I would have felt much differently about the situation if the plot would have been Donna taking her seed money to go to business school. Or some twist in the story with Donna revealing her MBA certificate saying “Actually, those Pilates classes I allegedly take every Friday afternoon were college courses. Here’s my degree. Promote me.” And the worst of it all: Donna changed. The way she spoke to people changed, the way she dressed changed and in the end she was a Jessica/Donna hybrid I could hardy recognize as the quirky secretary she used to be. For me part of her charm was the amount of power she had by just “working from Harvey’s desk”. But I’m rambling- this ship sailed long ago.

Back to season 9. I had hope, now that she was in a relationship with Harvey, we would get a more domestic side of her, get a glimpse of her private life. What’s with that reveal of an older sister that was neither here or there or in any way relevant to the plot? I don’t know about you, but Donna always gave me this ‘only-child’ vibe. Which is probably why her sister was explained away as “much older”. However, why did they cast a woman who is only 11 years older than Sarah Rafferty as her mom? While I think season 9 Donna is probably several years younger than Sarah because the seasons only appear to be spanning around 6 months or so (considering how long Sheila was pregnant, the time it took Rachel to get her postgraduate degree and so on) and one could argue that Donna’s mom is therefore some years older than the actress who portrays her it would still be the case that Donna’s mom had her in her early twenties at the latest. When would she have had a much older sister? At 16? Unnecessary plot hole/irregularity. Kudos however for explaining away how Donna’s parents seemed to be married when Harvey let them stay at his condo once, then were seemingly separated during the “god-awful dinner party” (some people argue it must have been Donna’s “loser” boyfriend, but why would have Harvey been there in that case?). Clarification finally came: They were separated but got back together. Brownie points for plot consistency.

Some casual outfits made an appearance, which was an important first step, but they still felt a little forced. I mean, what’s the thing in American TV shows to have the woman wearing PJs with perfectly coiffed hair, fake lashes and full make-up? In the season 2 scenes where Harvey and Mike visited Donna after she was fired she was not only dressed casually, her face and hair were noticeably dressed down as well. I would have liked that a lot to make it more realistic. And the jammies disappeared after episode 1. There are several morning scenes with Harvey and Donna were both are already fully dressed for work (apart from Donna being barefoot at some times (jeez, if I wore those heels I’d be barefoot the second I’d enter the apartment). I think it made those scenes more sterile and less domestic despite the sweet dialogues. I think I would have liked it better, if there was a little more slouching, touching, maybe a TV running, or one of them sitting on the crumpled bed. Less superhero, more normal, that’s what I would have liked. And what’s with the no-touching anyways? I would have understood if it was only the office scenes, because I do believe neither of the character’s to be big on PDA, especially at work. But at home? Politely sitting next to each other, no leaning in, no touching, no hugging. Just talking. Like old times. I would have liked to see more of them being a couple. Sure, there were some pretty intense romantic scenes like in Mike’s apartment and with Lily and the painting, but the small moments that surrounded those big Darvey scenes were pretty underwhelming. Well, at least Harvey’s bathrobe made an appearance in 9.09 so there is still hopes for some normalcy in 9.10. It’s not an issue of screen time. Even as a Darvey shipper I was aware s9 would not turn into the “Darvey show”, it’s the content of some of the small scenes that disappointed me. Okay, no more Donna or Darvey bashing. Did I mention I’m actually a Darvey shipper?

One more thing: Why is everyone in this show dying of heart attacks. I understand why Lily had to die in terms of the storyline. But a heart attack? What are the odds of both slim and fit parents dying untimely of a heart attack? Could the writers not think of other sudden causes of deaths? She could have an aneurysm, get hit by a car, been diagnosed with a fatal cancer without Harvey knowing and so on and so on. Also: In the very same episode Sutter also died: Cause: Heart attack! If that’s where the writer’s creativity is heading it’s probably best we are nearing the end. If this unfortunate accumulation of heart attack was created on purpose, I do not get the reason why.

Another hope I had for s9: A Jessica cameo. My hope was for a small storyline that would be addressed in both Pearson and Suits in order to gain more attraction for the new show. Plus I love Jessica. With so many loose ends to tie up in 9.10 I doubt there will be time for a proper Jessica Pearson appearance other than being a guest to Louis wedding, if she appears at all. Can we please talk about the wedding? Why does Louis get a baby AND a wedding in one season? He was engaged twice before. Even Mike and Rachel technically had two wedding scenes (one in s5 and one in 7). At least it looks like we still get a Darvey proposal. While I agree with Sarah Rafferty that a big white wedding shouldn’t be the conclusion of her character, I had –albeit a small- hope that there would be unconventional quick nuptials somewhere around episode 6 or 7 instead of that almost proposal. Taking Harvey’s character development into context I would find that Harvey creating a family on his own more important than a Darvey wedding. We already know those two are endgame. And while I think another pregnancy would be cheesy and far too rushed in this short span of episodes I still hold out a little hope that there will be a moment shared between Harvey and Donna that alludes to the idea that they’ll go into the baby-making business soon. Maybe when Sheila goes into labour? Not sure that will als still happen in 9.10.

In order not to have to finish this little article on a negative note: There are things I really really liked. Samantha’s storylines, Mike’s cameo in 9.09 (though he was such a douche in 9.05), the phone calls with Lily, the mock trial and Sheila’s change of heart about her career. Been glad we did not spend more than one ep on the Katrina/Brian romance. Thank you.

#darvey #suits #suits usa #donna #harvey specter #season 9

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