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nightingaelic · 3 years

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Companions react to a Courier with the Eye for Eye perk just walking around with half their limbs broken because the pain is literally making them stronger.

TW: Blood, gore

The courier was nowhere to be found when their companion awoke beneath the soft firelight of the Dead Horses' torches and the bright eyes of the man who led them.

"I believe they've left us for the evening," the Burned Man said in his usual aloof tone, even as he reclined behind his workbench in Angel Cave. "I've never walked the path of a courier, but I imagine it transfers a certain restlessness to an individual. Staying in one place loses some of its charm. Your particular courier, however, lets that instinct drive them to the point of being foolhardy."

As if to prove Joshua Graham's speculation correct, the courier staggered into the cave, their clothes torn and bloodied. Despite sporting an obvious limp, an arm curled protectively against their chest and deep claw marks all over their face, they were shouldering a yao guai's severed head alongside their full traveling pack and wearing a wild smile.

Arcade Gannon: "God dammit." Arcade disentangled himself from his bed roll and rushed to the courier's side, ignoring Graham's obvious disapproval at his taking the Lord's name in vain. "I told you not to run off into the canyon without packing extra stimpaks. Here, let me-"

The courier stopped his fumbling hands with both of theirs. Arcade looked down in shock at the broken arm that was firmly grasping his fingers, then up into their frenzied eyes. "Six, you need-"

"I don't." The courier spat some blood out onto the dirt floor of the cave. "I don't. The Sorrows... White Bird..."

Arcade mentally cursed the tribe up the river, then just as quickly withdrew the malevolent thoughts. It wasn't their fault the courier went looking for injuries. "Datura root? Okay, sit down, over there. Take a load off."

The courier limped over to the chair Joshua Graham was offering. They sank into it with a sigh and let the yao guai head fall to the floor, where it began to bleed onto their boots. "Thanks," they said. "I should-"

Arcade stuck them in the arm with the stimpak he kept concealed for these occasions, and they screeched, loud enough to cause even the Malpais Legate to jump. "Fucking hell, Arcade! Not again!"

Craig Boone: Boone jumped to his feet. "I can't be your spotter if you keep leaving me behind, Six. Tell me you haven't been using that junk again."

In answer, the courier pulled an empty Sunset Sarsaparilla bottle rigged with a hose and tin foil from inside their pack and tossed it aside. "Last dose, I swear. Not that it helped much in close quarters."

They lifted the yao guai head high over their own, striking a victorious pose. "Shouldn't bother the Dead Horses or the Sorrows again, unless there really is a ghost out there."

Boone and Graham stared at the courier, particularly at their bent arm. "You require medical attention," Graham pointed out. "Shall I fetch the shaman?"

"No thank you." The courier made a face and heaved the animal's head across the room. It flew through the air in a nice arc, bounced twice, then rolled to a stop at the Burned Man's feet.

"Six..." Boone said testily.

The courier groaned, familiar with the serious tone. "Fine. But I've had worse scrapes, and you know it."

Lily Bowen: "Pumpkin!" Lily shrieked and rushed to the courier's side. Her hands flew up and around them, but every time she attempted to touch them she recoiled out of fear of causing pain. "Pumpkin, you need to see a doctor."

"We've been over this, Lily," the courier replied, attempting to skirt around the nightkin that blocked their way. "It hurts, but I work through it, and I always come out on top of whatever caused it."

"Sweetness, you're bleeding." Lily finally located a portion of the courier that wasn't in danger of extra bruising and took hold of them, sweeping them up into a gentle fireman's carry. "We'll go visit that nice Waking Cloud lady and get you fixed up."

"Lily, put me down!" The courier squirmed atop the super mutant. To the surprise of everyone involved, they managed to unbalance her enough to send both of them tumbling to the cave floor.

Joshua Graham looked down at the courier, who was wrestling for control of their leg in order to escape Lily's grasp. "God protect you," he said, but it wasn't clear who he was speaking to.

Raul Alfonso Tejada: "Mij@." Raul approached the courier carefully, trying to locate all of their new bumps and scrapes. He was more than familiar with their latest attempts to prove their own strength, but it pained him to see them like this. Still, he knew better than to try to force medicine into them, now. "Estoy aquí para ti. Can I help?"

They tensed for a moment, as he'd expected, but a few more soothing words sent their shoulders back down. "Sí. I'm... I'm tired."

Ignoring the Burned Man's protests, Raul claimed the room's chair and carried it over to them. They eased into it, wincing slightly but still clinging to their belongings. Raul convinced them to hand their weapons, pack and bear head over one by one, all the while assuring them that he meant no harm, no offense, no judgment.

"You can't keep doing this, Six," he said, when they finally let him inspect their broken arm. He could see the bone under the skin, out of place in an obvious way that would've had him laid up in bed for weeks.

"I can handle-"

"I know you can." Raul fixed them in his gaze. "I can't."

They smiled sadly. "Lo siento. I'll try to be more careful."

Rose of Sharon Cassidy: Cass rolled her eyes. "Figures. Waited until I was asleep, then you ran off to have all the fun on your lonesome. Let's get you cleaned up, Six."

She lunged for the courier, but despite their precarious state they managed to dodge her. "Uh-uh. I'm invincible. You're gonna ruin it."

"Invincible?" Cass dashed to block their escape. "Sure, you can probably still kick my ass, but you sure as hell can't outrun me."

"Might the pair of you take this little game outside," Graham grumbled from his seat.

"Shut it, Burnt Man," Cass shot back.

The courier couldn't help but giggle at that. "Burned. Burned Man."

"Oh, you're gonna give me grammar lessons?" Cass lunged again and managed to seize a handful of the courier's tattered coat. "Give them to me up close. I dare you."

In response, the courier grabbed Cass' arm with their broken one and easily flung her around them in a circle, until she went somersaulting away onto the ground. "There's lesson one."

Cass sat up and jammed her hat back on her head. "Fine. Damn."

Veronica Santangelo: "How are you walking?!?" Veronica stared, open-mouthed, at the bloody figure in the cave entrance.

The courier shrugged, then winced at their own movement. "Does it matter? I'm alive."

"Yeah, but life won't be much of a comfort if you don't get some of those fractures set right." Veronica rose from her bed roll and approached them carefully. Her eyes flickered from wound to wound, and she tutted as she drew back the loose pieces of fabric that the yao guai had ripped to shreds. "Get over here and make yourself useful, Graham. Six, you probably shouldn't be awake when I start putting you back together."

They withdrew their limp arm from her grasp firmly. "Leave it be. It gave me the energy I needed to finish the thing off."

"Adrenaline will do that," Veronica agreed. "But its shelf life is short. Pretty soon you're going to be wishing that bear took your head off. Graham, I meant what I said, go find me some boiled water and bandages or I'll personally deliver your location to Caesar myself."

"Caesar is well aware of my current whereabouts," Graham replied evenly. "You would do well to listen to the Scribe, courier."

"Both of you?" The courier deflated. "Fine. Just get me a drink before you start moving bones around."

ED-E: The eyebot beeped in an alarmed manner as the courier swayed on their feet. It swiveled its dome between the injured friend and the bandaged man, who caught the movement and shook his head. "While you were updating your programming, your master was testing the limits of their own abilities, robot. It is not my place to interfere."

ED-E made a flat blaaaaat sound at him that sounded scornful, and floated over to the courier's side. The courier laughed. "Don't worry about me, little guy. It takes more than one yao guai to ruin my day."

Rex: The scent of the yao guai's and the courier's blood filled Rex's nostrils, and he rose from his sleeping hollow with a whine, unsure. When the courier beckoned him, he trotted over and began licking their visible wounds, sparing a growl here and there for the yao guai head that hung on their back.

Graham regarded the cyberdog with something akin to affection. "He senses your pain, courier. You would do well to set him at ease."

"He's seen me closer to death than this," they replied, scratching the dog behind the ears with their good arm. "And if the White Legs hear about the courier who walks through broken bones, maybe they'll think twice about attacking the people I'm friends with."

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bluebuckstallion · 3 years

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the sun will rise again - mlp fic

part two this is part one! part two and so on will be updated/reblogged when they are out! contents: aj and big mac are like. 13 and 15. big mac realizes she is a trans woman, and is guided by applejack, but there is much more to it than just that lol. its also a little hard for her. sappy, feel-good, tough internal conflict but overall happy fic. paragraph one is previewed here, the rest is below the cut! (note: i am aware my blog makes posts a little hard to read bc of a glitch, i am trying to fix it at the moment, i apologize D: i rec reading it on tumblr mobile or highlighting the words as you read, im sorry!)

Big Mac shuffled his hooves awkwardly. Racing thoughts fought furiously, cluttering his hurting head, and he put a weary hoof against his temple in an attempt to clear the fog. No avail. It was as strong as ever, the rushing current of rip tide sweeping him in the more he struggled. He insisted he'd never felt this way before, trying violently to shake away the thought, it made him shudder. But deep down somewhere he knew, he couldn't hide this strong feeling he'd become so familiar with. It felt like home, but he was trapped inside with the windows boarded and the floorboards were so old they were making him fall through with every step, and there were thick dusty cobwebs everywhere he tried to rest his burdened hooves. He couldn't leave. Outside of his overflowing head, there was a faint knocking at his door, though he had tuned it out completely. His thoughts whirled, and everything was making *so* much noise, the ceiling fan, the electricity in the walls, the birds outside, even the trees being rustled by the evening wind. Everything was so loud, and so muffled and far away, so close and inside his ears, they twitched eagerly trying to bat the harsh noise away, all collected into one horrid ear-piercing amalgamation of staticy sound. His fur was disturbed by his blankets, and his teeth felt uncomfortable as they grit desperately in an attempt to relax, his eyes were dry despite how much and how hard he was blinking, it felt like even the smallest thing would throw him overboard in this thundering storm of unsettlement. -

The knocking got louder. "Big Mac!" The sound was lost in the chaos of it all, but it prevailed. "Big Mac!" There it was again. It didn't quite reach him yet, though. But my, was it there. Incessant. Pounding. Oh, the headache of it all. Just adding to the pile. It hesitated. "Big Mac." The gentle coo reached him, piercing through the overwhelmingly loud silence in the air, he felt this odd choking sensation in his throat when he registered the voice, so familiar and so loving. But would it continue to be after this? The thought scared him. Fear struck his spine in striking bolts, waves of dread sulked, creeping in and making their nest in his aching body. He was so tired of coming back to this again and again, but it plagued his mind like a cold. He realized his internal monologue had been ongoing - even though it hadn't really spoke - but alas he had been lost in his own downward spiral of paranoia again, and had forgotten to respond. "Yu- uh- eeyup?" he stuttered out like he was drowning, he felt and sounded like a silly foal learning to walk for the first time again. He pushed his hoof lightly against his throat, shocked at his own lack of voice. Usually he was calm and confident, knowing what he wanted to say, despite how little it ever was. However he feared this would give way to his sister finding out, that she would know something was awry with him. "Can I, uh, come in?" the voice questioned. He nodded, then processed he had forgotten to use his words, and managed a sheepish "Yup." "Uh, okay." She responded equally as softly, her voice leaving a tinge of confusion to be interpreted. Applejack trotted in, her hooves making the wood beneath her creak as the old house settled. She nudged the door shut behind her nonchalantly with her back hoof, not taking her gaze off of what was ahead of her. She made a gesture towards Big Mac's bed and tilted her head, knowing he was a horse of few words, moreso when he got this way. And goodness, how he could manage to get into his own head. Applejack understood the feeling, more than he was letting on. Applejack got up and sat down awkwardly, glancing at her hooves as they, too, dragged over one another slowly, she never did like eye contact. Big Mac was more fidgety - he was straight-up restless, as he clapped his hooves together ceaselessly, clicking them atop one another with a hard "Clink." The silence was substantial, but it wasn't like it bothered them, usually. It drove Big Mac up the wall, he was sweating buckets thinking about what Applejack could possibly say. *Did she find out? Does she know? Does she hate me? She hates you. She knows and she hates you. She'll never forgive you. She'll never see you the same-* his thoughts were cut off abruptly. "So, big brother," she chuckled stiffly, "what's on your mind?" Blunt and to the point. She looked upward briefly, catching a glimpse of his face, caught in an uncomfortable twist as his mouth hung downward and his eyes sunk, staring blankly ahead. Neither of them looked at the other, but this again, was not unusual. When she said 'brother,' the word stung like a mosquito bite. It was barely there, but just enough to irritate him. And it grew bigger the more he picked away at it and gave it the time of day. Maybe if he just ignored it it'd heal itself, he thought. Her words in general hung high above his head, and he had forgotten to respond with the way he was over-analyzing it a million different ways inside. What was on his mind, besides this scary, burning question gnawing him alive? He gave a lackluster response to divert any inkling of anxiety, "Oh, nothing," and with that he kicked his back hooves loosely up, and they swung back down heavily in the empty air. What else could he say? The silence sat for a couple of seconds. Too long for Applejack's liking, she was growing a bit impatient with his lack of answers. She looked up and moved her head upward in tune with her eyes, rolling her head from one shoulder to the other as her lips pouted and she let out a quick exhale. She looked down at her teetering hooves again. "Nothing..." she repeated, tapping her hooves together about three times, give or take, she wasn't paying attention. "Oookay.." she said in a quiet tone, and the cadence in her voice had shifted after this minute or two of waiting. She scratched the back of her ear. "Well, if you won't tell me, I'll figure it out myself." She looked up and beamed what was supposed to be a reassuring smile, which came out rather awkward. It fell just as awkwardly. She wasn't the best at conveying emotion, but neither was Big Mac. They had that in common. "Ok, I'll spit it out, rapid-fire," she said funnily, holding her hooves up and moving one in front of the other and back again in tune with the quirky enunciation of the last word. If nothing else, she was making an attempt to lift his low spirit. She inhaled, "Is it about me? About Ma or Pa? *Granny?* Baby Bloom?" and with that she exhaled overexaggeratedly. It took a second, but the half-smile she had faded from her face as he stood there saying nothing, simply folding one hoof over his other arm, rubbing it rigidly and looking away, and what she hoped was not true, had hit her. It was about himself. "Oh.. brother," she whispered to him, "You can tell me anything," she reached her hoof up toward him, pulling it back when it was halfway there as she winced at his lack of response, not even a lean-in to her gesture, but she continued anyway. She gingerly put her hoof on his shoulder. Becoming more confident with her comforting, she rubbed his back gently. "So it's about you?" He took a second, and nodded somberly. "Hey, that's alright. Tell me what's on your mind for real now, when you're ready. If, you're ready." AJ's voice, he found, was quite calming. Big Mac shot a glance at her timidly, then down at her hooves, and back up at her, but he couldn't look too long in order to stop the waterworks from coming. He gulped dryly and looked at the wall, and after the ceiling. He watched the fan dodder decrepitly, but so sure of itself, it's purpose, rotating on it's axis, again, and again, and again. He wished he could be so sure of himself, he wasn't sure if he ever could be, though. And here, he found himself envying the rotating of a ceiling fan. What an interesting moment, he thought sarcastically to himself. Was this really where he was at? He zoned out briefly, watching the blades go in circles, and then snapped himself back to reality with a hard blink, a downward motion of his head, and a squeezing of his hooves. "I..." he started softly and then trailed off. He sighed in dejection. "I- Well, I am me. But... I'm not. I look in the mirror, and it's not me looking back. I know that sounds... stupid, but it's not me. It's not like it isn't who I am, it's just not me. And I, don't know why. I mean I think I do, but I don't - sometimes-" He took a second to collect himself and inhaled, exhaling sharply after, he put his hoof firmly against his chest, as if almost trying to coax the words out. "I'm me, but I'm not. I'm not who I'm meant to be, I, I was born wrong. My body is wrong," he shook his head, like trying to shake the bad thoughts away. "It's not mine. I was born with something wrong about me, outside, inside I'm me, but outside I'm not. But - I'm not bad or anything, it's just that there was something different. And, you know that funny feeling of those butterflies in your tummy when someone you like says your name? I'll get that, but I won't recognize my name as mine, but I do get that feeling when...ponies accidentally call me what they call fillies, even though they don't mean to and fix 'emselves right after, and they act like it's so wrong, but I still get that funny feeling of, goodness. It catches me off guard in the best way... my heart skips a beat. And I know I'm s'posed to like girls, but there was something wrong about me lovin' 'em... it feels like. I feel real guilty-like when I start getting all lovey about one. It feels like I'm not allowed, like there's somethin'.." he teared up, "different. About me." He emphasized the last word quite significantly. He began to finish, not wordvomitting as much as he was before, instead saying it slowly, as if he was really trying hard to get his thoughts out. "I- I think, I think if I were born in the right body I'd be happier, but I don't want to change me, I just...want to change how people *see me."* Applejack raised her eyebrows and looked down, pushing her hooves together. She couldn't move, and she didn't. Big Mac's welling up had turned to a tear, gently rolling down his cheek. He held his breath, eyes darting back and forth from his sister's gaze - or lack thereof. Applejack held her breath as well. "Big mac, well - gosh." she let out staggeredly, anxiously chuckling, raising her hoof to her chest as she exhaled bluntly. Big Mac felt it coming, Roaring and Crashing. The water was surrounding him still, no matter how subtle it was before, it had been growing this whole time. Internal dread multiplying like a bilious bacteria, out to get him and cover him in it's killing spores. It must've been at least neck-high now. AJ chuckled, "Big Mac, I love you no matter what. You're my family." She looked him in the eyes, "It's gonna be ok." And there was the straw that broke the camel's back. It came through gently, like a soft breeze through his hair in summer, but it broke him so, so ruthlessly. He bit at his bottom lip and released, his mouth turning to a shaky U-shaped frown, and he bawled. Oh, how he bawled. He lunged for his sister's arms, which quickly opened for him to land in. Applejack huffed as the wind left her with his impact, but she regained control of herself and softly smiled, tenderly hugging him back. His head rested on hers, as hers on his. "It's alright big guy," she laughed. "In fact, I think I know exactly what's up." She pushed him off cautiously, and held her hoof against his shoulder. His tears subsided slightly, he wiped them with a trembling hoof. "Have you ever thought that maybe you feel like you're in the wrong body, because you're really a mare? I know nobody sees you that way right now, but I could start if that's who you really are." Big mac's pupils constricted, and he felt a leap in his chest. A mare? He tried so hard to push it out, but he couldn't. A mare. A mare! He let out a small smile, "A mare..." he then promptly shook his head. "But, I can't be. I wish it was that easy, that I could just be a mare, oh I wish so bad AJ," he put his hooves together and shook them, like he was pleading. He pushed her hoof off of him, sighing and speaking again, his voice cracking from the tears and raw emotion, "But I never could. I couldn't. I wish I could, but I'm not allowed to." he sighed defeatedly. Applejack chuckled, "Says who? All it takes is you saying you can. And I'll be honest, I feel like a lot of people don't give it much thought whether they want to be a mare or not - they just are." It all clicked. They, just are. He processed it for a second, and thought, and the thoughts slipped into words, "I'm a mare," he whispered. He smiled, the most genuine smile he'd ever shown. "I'm, a mare." He laughed, looking at Applejack. "A mare! I'm a mare!" His smile faded slightly, "But Applejack, am I still allowed to like other fillies? I figure now I'll have to like colts, that's what I've heard at least, and I really don't want to-" despite his concerns, he still looked quite euphoric. Applejack laughed again, "No, Big Mac, you can still like mares. It doesn't work that way I'm pretty sure." She rubbed the back of her head, "If it's any help, you can do whatever you want... What feels right." She closed her mouth and grinned, waving her hoof in the air dismissively of any negativity, her eyes in the other direction. Stopping, she looked at the ground and fiddled her hooves, "I, I actually know a lot about how you're feeling," she spoke nervously, cautiously, dancing around her words like she had something she didn't want to admit to herself as well. "I, know how you feel - about liking mares and, and the wrong body an' stuff. Feeling like your body isn't yours, it doesn't belong to you and never will, unless you make a big change, or somethin'. I get it. I feel wrong when people say I'm a girl, but I don't reckon I'd feel right with them callin' me a boy or something either - I don't think I really feel like either." She paused, cutting herself off, "I don't expect that to make sense to you, I know it's kind of weird and all." Big Mac thought for a bit, and then nodded, "No, I get it. I mean - I don't, but, I know you're you, no matter what, and I don't care who you are, you're still my sibling." Big Mac smiled nervously, trying to make sure he was doing the right thing. "And you're my sister, Big Mac," Applejack smiled back at him. "Now, how do you feel about me calling you by girl terms? Like, sayin' she, and stuff..." she struggled to think of an example. "Oh! Like, if I meet someone, I'll tell 'em "Oh Big Mac? She's my big sister!" Applejack let out a wide twinkling grin, feeling confident and proud with supporting her sister's feelings. "I, I like that." Big Mac said shyly, and she did. "Wait, how do I do the same for you?" she questioned. Applejack stalled, she really didn't think she'd get this far. "I think... I really like being called he, and brother and such. Although to be honest I'm not your sister and I'm not really your brother, and I still like other fillies - but I'm not one of them, or not in the same way, and - I don't know, it's a little confusing. I think the only way that I'm a filly is in the sense that I'm a mare who likes other mares. I don't really know what any of this is called," he voiced embarrassedly. "I wish I did." Big Mac smirked, "It's okay you don't, I don't know either. And we can learn together, little brother." She fluffed Applejack's hair playfully and her smirk became a toothy smile. Applejack laughed and joined her smiling. "Thanks," he said, quite gratefully. "To be honest, I've known this for a really long time, I just didn't know how to say it," he looked out the window longingly, "I wish I knew how to tell Ma and Pa, or Granny," he laughed a little, "and I don't even know how to tell a baby," he uttered, trying to lighten the mood a little after bringing it back down. Big mac grinned, "Why don't we go out to the orchard, little brother?"

#applejack mlp #big mac mlp #mlp fanfic #mlp fic #mlp writing #mlp au #mlp #applejack #big mac #trans applejack #trans big mac #my little pony #lesbian applejack #lesbian big mac #orchard blossom #trans au #the sun will rise again

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riversofmars · 3 years

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Finally, the Doctor and their TARDIS for day 26! Had to be done with that prompt!!

Prompt: Going down with the ship

Fandom: Doctor Who

Characters: Thirteenth Doctor & the TARDIS

Rating: G

Summary: In hope of finding out where the Timeless Child came from, the Doctor tries to push the TARDIS beyond their current dimension. The effects are catastrophic. To save her life, she would have to abandon her oldest friend...

Going Down With The Ship

The alarms blared and the Doctor spun around, disoriented. Every alert, alarm and warning system went haywire as the TARDIS plunged through the time vortex, ripping itself apart.

“No, no, no, don’t do this, Old Girl!“ The Doctor worked the controls. She engaged the stabilisers but the space and time ship just gave a violent jerk as they ripped away.

There was an explosion on the console that knocked the Doctor off her feet.

“I’m sorry, this is all my fault.“ She knew she shouldn’t have gone as far as she did, pushed beyond… beyond what exactly? Known time and space. Was it so wrong to want to know what else was out there? Where she came from? The Timeless Child. What did that even mean? There had to be a plane beyond this existence, she had come from somewhere! But the TARDIS couldn’t, or wouldn’t take her there, and now they were careering through the vortex, out of control.

“I’m so sorry, please, we can fix this!“ She exclaimed, pulling herself to her feet. The TARDIS spun, turning on its side and the Doctor hit the floor, knocking her head. She grabbed hold of the floor panels, pulling herself along, back up towards the console.

“Just give me something, anything, emergency systems, come on!“ She pleaded as she reached the controls, alarms flashing in a frantic whirlwind of colours.

“I’m sorry,“ a voice spoke and the Doctor looked around.

“It’s you!“ She exclaimed and despite the sense of impending doom, a grin spread across her face upon recognising the TARDIS’ human form.

“I don’t know how much longer I can keep us together,“ the TARDIS warned but the ship turned the right way up again, enough for the Doctor to sit up and breathe a sigh of relief.

“We’re speaking again! Hello, Sexy!“ The Doctor couldn’t contain her joy, despite the seriousness of the situation. Sparks flew around the control room.

“The Eye of Harmony is breaking down, energy is leaking, it’s… I’m escaping,“ the TARDIS answered in an attempt to explain her presence.

“But nothing we can’t fix, right?“ The Doctor asked, scrambling to her feet. Another jolt rocked the blue box and she knocked into the console.

“You need to leave. There is a life raft on deck twenty…“ the TARDIS explained and the Doctor shook her head vehemently.

“Oh, no no, not a chance!“

“There will be an explosion.“ The Doctor ignored her words as she worked the controls, assessing the damage her ship was implying.

“Yes, and that wouldn’t be good, you could rip all of space and time apart… again. So we need to stop it!“ She nodded, feverishly working on a solution. Last time the TARDIS had blown up, the universe had nearly ended. She couldn’t take that chance again.

“I can contain it, if I fold my dimensions in on myself, I have started already,“ the TARDIS explained and the Doctor’s head spun around in shock.

“What?! No, no no no, you can’t do that!“ She exclaimed. She had seen that sort of damage when she had set the other TARDIS to self-destruct after trapping the Daleks inside.

“You need to leave,“ the TARDIS reasoned but the Doctor wouldn’t hear of it.

“And leave you to destroy yourself? Absolutely not!“ She snapped and returned her attention to the controls.

“This was inevitable,“ the TARDIS’s consciousness took a step closer to her as her shell bent and groaned around them under the extreme pressure of extreme forces.

“You know how many times people have told me things are impossible? No, no, no, I can fix this!“ The Doctor yelled over the noise.

“There is nothing to be done, I am… dying,“ the TARDIS reached for her shoulder but her hand went right through her. She wasn’t really there, not physically anyway.

“No, you’re not. You’re not!“ The Doctor shook her head, refusing to believe her.

“You need to go,“ the TARDIS implored her, her voice almost pleading but the Doctor refused, even when she realised that there was no way of stabilising the Eye of Harmony. They had crossed the point of no return.

“I’m not leaving you,“ the Doctor insisted as she turned away from the controls.

“You have to if you want to live,“ the TARDIS reasoned but the Doctor just gave a small smile. Perhaps it was time.

“I am not leaving you. You are my oldest friend, you…“ She reached out but remembered that she couldn’t touch her corporal shape so she sat down and touched her hand to a nearby crystal pillar. “I will be stuck in one place without you.“

“This was just a detour, I stole you to see the universe and I have,“ the TARDIS’s humanoid shape sat as well, next to her, against the pillar the Doctor was pressing her hand to.

“I think you’ll find I stole you,“ the Doctor chuckled and the TARDIS smiled:

“Do you really want to spend these final moments arguing technicalities?“

“I am not going anywhere!“ The Doctor reassured her and leaned against the pillar that hummed with radiant energy, warm and comforting. “What do they say? A captain goes down with their ship.“

“You will die,“ the TARDIS whispered and the Doctor gave a resigned smile.

“We’ve all got to die someday, don’t we? Which will be interesting, seeing as I was beginning to worry I might be immortal…“ She sighed.

“What about your friends, your…?“

“We started this journey together, might as well end it together, right?“ She put her hand through that of the humanoid TARDIS, it went right through to the floor where she sensed their connection more keenly. Their connection transcended the physical. As the Doctor sensed more and more rooms and dimensions folding in, the TARDIS’s presence grew more concentrated, closer, around her.

“You will die,“ the TARDIS repeated and there was deep sorrow in her voice.

“And do so protecting the universe. What else is new?“ The Doctor chuckled. She could feel her beside her now as the TARDIS’s essence converged in the control room as very little else was left. She felt almost solid and real beside her now as the Doctor rested her head on her shoulder. “What do you think happens when all dimensions break down?“ She asked.

“I have no idea,“ the TARDIS admitted.

“It’ll be another adventure then, just you and me,“ the Doctor looked up to her and smiled.

“Into the unknown,“ the TARDIS smiled as well and pulled the Doctor into a hug.

“Once more.“ The Doctor nodded, burying her face in the crook of her neck. “Together.“

#Whumptober2021 #no.26 #going down with the ship #doctor who #fanfiction #thirteenth doctor #the tardis #whump #hurt/comfort #platonic soulmates

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royalbluehues · 4 years

Text

Healing

Title: Healing

Author: royalbluehues

Warnings: PTSD. Nothing graphic, though.

Pairings: William Schofield x Reader

Request: Thanks! May I request a story where Schofield is another man after the war and reader wants her hubby back? He has nightmares, he never wants to go out, he barely talks to the reader. She understands that he will never be the same man after what he went through, but she wants at least a bit of her husband back. She doesn't know what to do to help him, but she will fight for their marriage.

Author’s Note: The story treks off the path of the request just a tad. I always end up making my stories fluffy without intending to. (Image found on Pinterest)

You had known it the minute he stepped off the train’s platform.

His shoulders were slumped and his eyes had a far away look to them. When he had brought you close to embrace you tightly, he had nuzzled his face within the crook of your neck and stayed there.

His body was taught and stiff.

Deep down within you, a small feeling poked at you, Something’s wrong.

But you pushed that thought to the side, rather selfishly relishing the fact you finally, after nearly three years apart from him, you finally had your husband in your arms once more.

And God willing he will stay there, you prayed silently.

You raised one of your hands to tangle his locks around your fingers, squeezing your eyes tightly, “William,” you breathed out, savoring the way his name tasted on your tongue, then peppering whatever visible part of his face that was not tucked away into your neck.

Your heart was blooming with a mixture of gratitude, relief, happiness, and bereavement to the time that was pitilessly ripped from you and your daughters.

He was filthy, despite his obvious attempts at a decorum of cleanliness. But his hair was matted, his uniform tattered, ripped, and stained with dark splotches in several places.

You sided with your better judgment and not allow your mind to wander to what those splotches were.

He finally lifted his head from his embrace, moving to lean back and look at you. His lips pulled upward into a lopsided smile.

But you see it there: his large eyes betray his effort of solidity. Quickly as it comes, it goes. And before your mind could analyze it, he pulls you into a kiss.

His lips feel soft, despite the skin being cracked. The calloused fingers grasping either side of your face are cold to the touch, his grip tight yet tender. You melt effortlessly into him, feeling the tension you’ve held in your shoulders, amounting since the moment he received his notice of deployment, give ease.

When he releases you, you notice the tears that have swarmed in not only your eyes but in his as well.

“I’ve missed you.”

Once again, you’re flooded with a thousand emotions. Those three words have left you winded. They’re drowning you, pulling you so far beneath its current you’re left with the largest knot in your throat, threatening to release the moment you open your mouth to reply to him.

It’s his words that have compacted so many meanings unspoken.

Your tongue has turned leaden, your mouth is clenched shut, and the knot in your throat is only forming and growing every second that is passed.

All you can do is stare up at him pathetically, eyes wide and brimming with tears that wait to fall.

I love you. I’m so sorry. I want you. I feared for you. I feared for myself. I’ve missed you. I love you, I love you, I love you.

Your heart feels full and empty all at once, and you tremble as his hands softly stroke away the wisps of hair that have fallen from your coiffed hair.

When you open your mouth to breath, to finally repay the sentiment, your lungs betray you as they rack in a sob.

He pulls you back into an embrace, only this time it’s you that is being hid away from the onlooking world, gasping for breath as your tears wet the lapels of his uniform.

You feel him press his lips to the crown of your head.

“I know,” He tells you thickly.

---

It’s early morning as Will sits by the window of this home. He hadn’t been able to sleep, and rather than thrashing about in your shared bed, he figured it wise to detach himself lest he wake you for the third consecutive night that week.

The heat emitting from the teacup clasped in his hands scalded his skin, but he chose to ignore it. The burning grounded him. Reminded him of where he was and where he wasn’t.

He tiredly exhales a deep sigh, leaning his head against the crown molding of the window. He feels almost guilty for not staying in bed, remembering the constant visualizations of a warm bed- of your body warmly pressed into his side, the welcoming sound of a pair of bare feet that patter softly against the floor- all of which he painted to keep him sane in the trenches.

But now that he had it after wanting it for so long, he always returned back to France, even when he tried to suppress it.

It would be small things that would set off the memories: The sound of the leaves billowing from the wind, the clanging of a fork against a tin can, the smell of upturned soil, just to name a few.

It was silly, he thought more often than not, of how different he was now.

Though he was still William Schofeild, he really wasn’t. It was a notion he had to accept the first week he returned home to you and the girls.

But he tried, by God, did he try.

Whenever it would be set for judgement day to come, William Schofeild knew that he would be judged for what he did not do and what he did. But one thing that would serve him with certainty, was that he tried.

He tries to uphold the station that he situated before he left. The role of a good father and a good husband. Not showing the cracks that were undoubtedly unfixable. Attempting to get back into the swing of things.

Though he knew that his false bravado hardly went unnoticed by you. He would feel your suspecting gaze when he was teetering on reliving events as he stared off blankly into the space ahead of him, when he would leave his food untouched or his tea forgotten. He knew you had a hunch of what was happening when his daughters sat on his lap as they begged him to tell stories.

“Girls,” you would scold them, emerging from the kitchen as you wiped your hands on your apron, “you know better than to be asking your father such things he wishes not to discuss.”

He would give a tight smile in response, “Nothing to worry about, Darling,” he’d say as he pressed a kiss on either girl’s head, “Perhaps I’ll do you one better, girls: I’ll read you a story with princesses and about great castles. Far better than hearing about daddy’s stories. I’ve no fairies or knights in mine.”

They would beam up at him, slipping off his lap as they ran back to their nursery to play with their dolls.

He knew you knew when he would simply pick his book up once more, staring at the page he attempted to read for the nearly two hours- how you would hover by the entryway of the kitchen and observe him before disappearing to finish up the roast.

He knew you knew because as he sat there, sitting and observing the outside world through the window, the heat prickling his skin, he could feel your presence in the room.

He watched as a bird flew by, situating itself on the small tree only feet away from the gate.

You moved quietly, settling into the parlor chair by his.

“I’m sorry I woke you,” he tells you quietly as he turns to face you. You have a shawl over your shoulders, and sleep still evident in your eyes, and one hand atop your rounded belly.

You don’t meet his eyes, rather fixing your gaze on the same bird fluttering about.

“You didn’t wake me.” You reply just as quietly, pulling the shawl tighter around you with your left hand, “The baby was kicking again.”

Will gives you a small smile, eyes glancing down at your bump, “A rowdy one, he’ll be.”

He outstretches his arm to pass you his tea, and you accept, bringing it to your lips as you take a sip to fight away the chill lingering in the early morning.

You hand it back to him, and the two of you so, passing the tea cup back and forth for the next minutes in comfortable silence.

Finally, you speak.

“William, I’m worried for you.”

It hangs in the air, and causes Will to shift uncomfortably in his chair as his right pointer finger plays with the handle of the tea cup.

You fill the silence once more, turning to him now. “There’s something that’s wrong.”

His eyebrows furrow and his lips pull into a frown. Instead of replying he gulps down the remainder of the tea and sets it atop the window sill.

“I know you do not wish to speak on it. And I apologize for bringing it up so early in the morning, but I’d rather it not be in front of the girls,” you spoke slowly, your right hand still grazing your stomach as a nervous habit.

Will sighs deeply once more. This conversation was bound to be brought up eventually.

He hangs his head, crossing his arms, trying to think of the correct words to say.

“I can hardly imagine what you saw or what you went through, and I’m grateful for the ignorance that permits me to do so. But seeing you in these states,” you trail off, feeling the familiar knot take place within your throat, “it pains me because I do not know how to help you.”

You take in a shuddering breath, biting your tongue as you cast your gaze on the floor. “I wished so many times to take you away from there. To bring you back home where nothing could harm you. I would have given anything to ensure you were safe.”

William shakes his head, lifts it and turns to look at you. “You already help me. Just by being here, by my side.”

You wipe away at a tear that had escaped, knowing fully it was a pretty fib to make you feel better. “Don’t lie to me, William. I see it in your eyes.”

He gives you a small smile again that doesn’t reach his eyes, “Of course you do. I suppose that’s the price of marrying an observant woman.”

“And as an observant wife, it’s my duty to point upon when I think something’s wrong,” you murmur quickly, quietly. You're terrified to find him angered, so you shift your gaze to avoid his eyes. “I made a vow to you four years ago: to be by your side for better, for worse, for richer or for poorer,” you pause before finally mustering up the courage to face your husband, “and in sickness and in health.”

William’s gaze is on the teacup that he set aside, his large eyes saddened and reserved. He frowns, slowly rises from his chair, kneels before you and claps your hand in his. He moves to press his lips on the knuckle of your thumb, “I’m sorry I do not speak to you about it. About what happened.” He shakes his head, squeezing his eyes tightly, voice cracking.

“I haven’t been fair to you,” He admits to you, “and I’m deeply sorry for that.”

You shake your head, a bit exasperated at how you jumbled your own words, in turn making him feel he was at fault, “No, my Darling. No, please do not take it that way. What I meant is that though it’s not my place to pry personal information you do not wish to tell, it is my place to point something that I see taking a toll on you.” You lift his hand so you can kiss them, “I-I just want you to feel better.” You sigh, “I’m rambling again. I’m afraid I can’t speak properly this morning.”

“I know what you are attempting to get across.” he mumbles to you, bowing his head to rest it upon your bump. “But I should make more of an effort to…” He furrows his brows, carefully selecting the correct word, “be open. But it’s difficult. How can I ask you to help me when I do not even know how to help myself?”

His words break your heart.

You frown, letting go of his hand to stroke his head. “We will figure it out, and I will be there every step of the way with you, no matter what.”

“And if you grow tired of me?”

You stiffen. This time it’s his words that hang in the air. As he utters them, a cloud seems to block the early sunlight emitting through your window, casting a blueish-gray hue in your small home.

“William never utter such mindless things again,” You scold him sharply. “I will never tire of you.” You allow your form to relax once more as your face softens, lightening your tone, “Is not carrying your child enough evidence?”

You hear him exhale a breathy chuckle and then feel him place a kiss on your womb.

After a while, with you stroking his hair and him kneeling before you, you speak softly once more reassuring, “I love you. For the man that you were and for the man that you’ve become. I will be here for you. And though your healing may take time, it’s a step in the right direction. Never doubt that.”

The sun’s rays make an appearance once more, flooding the small room in a golden, promising light.

Masterlist

#william schofield x reader #william schofield imagine #1917 fanfic #george mackay x reader #royalbluehues

214 notes · View notes

hurricanery · 4 years

Text

If You Went Away - pt. 2

A/N: Here’s part two of If You Went Away. You can read part 1 here. This is still pretty much angst but….I promise there’s light at the end of this tunnel. ALSO I want to explain in case anyone else was wondering 1) Amelink are not yet married in this 2) They have their own house in this story/they do not live at Meredith’s house like they currently do in the show. Hope that clears things up! Thanks so much for reading and sending encouraging messages it really means a lot <3

_______

(end of summer // present day)

“Amelia?” Maggie calls out as she pulls the spare key out of her sister’s front door lock. “Are you home?”

Silence.

She walks through the empty house, not failing to take in its current state. The piles of laundry not put away, dishes overflowing the sink, binders full of surgical notes and papers scattered across the kitchen table that are covered in Amelia’s messy handwriting.

She takes a look around the kitchen and notices the food that’s been left out, indicating that someone has recently been here. The food is perishable. So, Maggie decides to put things back in the fridge before they go bad. She frowns to herself as she notices the relative emptiness of the fridge.

She then searches through the practically empty cabinets, too. Before feeling like she’s doing too much prying. Pulling out her cell phone instead, she dials Amelia’s number.

To Maggie’s surprise, she hears a phone go off from somewhere upstairs.

_______

“Amelia,” Maggie enters her bedroom, where she discovers one sound asleep Amelia. “I’ve been trying to reach you all day. It’s like 2pm. What’s going on?”

There’s a pillow over Amelia’s head, and her only response is a muffled groan.

“Amelia.” Maggie says again, a certain harshness to her voice. Stepping around to the side of the bed, she rips the pillow away and tosses it aside.

Amelia immediately attempts to replace the pillow with her arms, not so successfully covering her head. “Maggie,” her voice cracks. “How’d you even get in here?”

“Spare key.”

Silence falls between them and Maggie just stares around the room. The curtains are pulled shut and the air is stuffy. There are a concerning amount of unfinished mugs of coffee and tea placed on every surface.

And then there’s Amelia, and her basically lifeless looking body, not even covered by any sort of bedding. The comforter happens to be in a pile on the floor. But she lay there anyway, in an oversized sweatshirt, hair an absolute mess, arms covering her head.

“Amelia,” Maggie says, all tough-love. No bullshit. “Get up. Get in the shower. I’ll make you coffee.”

_______

A solid half hour later and Amelia reluctantly rounds the corner into her kitchen. The sight of Maggie busying herself by cleaning the kitchen almost makes Amelia smile. Almost.

And Maggie’s heart clenches at the ounce of an expression.

Amelia looks rough, even after a shower. And that’s putting it lightly. The same oversized sweatshirt from before still covers her thin frame and Maggie can’t help but to notice the endlessly exhausted look in her eyes.

“There’s coffee, hun,” Maggie clears her throat, nodding towards the coffee-maker.

Amelia nods, and moves toward her cabinets, in search of a mug. “Thanks,” she murmurs, pouring herself a cup, not even bothering to add any creamer.

Maggie makes her way over to the kitchen table and Amelia follows suit, reaching forward to clear some of her books and papers out of the way.

“Sorry about the mess,” she mutters, stacking all of her surgical notes onto one side of the table.

She slowly takes a seat across from Maggie, her eyes not leaving her own hands, and the way her fingers wrap around the warm mug tightly. Her eyes sting unwillingly.

Ignoring the way her throat burns, she opens her mouth, attempting to persuade her sister that everything in this household is a-okay. “So, how’ve you been, Maggie? Been a while.” She lifts her stare and offers what she believes to be a smile.

Maggie stares back at her in disbelief. “Amelia,” she sighs. And Amelia pretends to be confused by her tone. “What is going on here?”

Amelia frowns, laughing under her breath. Her gaze shifts to the pile of surgical prep sitting on the table. “The spinal surgery,” she mutters, like it should be the most obvious thing in the world. “Maggie I’m prepping for an impossible surgery, I don’t know what you expect-”

“That’s not what I’m talking about.” She interrupts. “And to tell you the truth, I’m a little pissed.” Amelia looks like she’s ready to respond, but instead shuts her mouth closed, her teeth clamping together. Maggie’s tough act softens just slightly, along with her voice. “I’m your sister, Amelia, let me be here for you.”

“I don’t need…” She blinks, trailing off.

“Shut up, Amelia.” It doesn’t sound harsh at all, in fact it makes Amelia’s eyes sting out of pure gratefulness.

Despite her attempts to repress any emotion, Amelia huffs a deep breath and blinks upward, but fails to keep the moisture out of her eyes. “Maggie the summer just…. flew by.” She explains, trying to make sense of her own feelings. “And I….still feel like….why do I still feel like this?”

Maggie’s heart breaks at the tone of her voice. Tiny and pleading and desperate.

“Amelia, I love you. And I want to be here for you. But you have to let me. You have to answer my texts, my calls.….”

Maggie trails off, waiting for the brunette to interject, or for her to at least make eye contact. When she doesn’t offer any evidence that she’s listening, Maggie continues.

“Amelia, you can’t ignore the fact that they come home this week.”

Amelia’s eyes snap to hers and she nods, because she knows Maggie’s right. She’s been so wrapped up in this upcoming spinal surgery that she’s been refusing to process the fact that Link and Scout will be returning back home, to this household, any day now.

“I know, I…” Amelia sucks in a breath, glancing at the ceiling as she gathers her thoughts. “I just, I….gave myself all of this time. This entire summer...to think. And, and to….figure out how I feel and…”

She trails off and Maggie nods at her, encouraging her to continue.

“I didn’t figure any of it out,” she laughs bitterly. But there’s no humor in her words. The tears springing to her eyes provide a stark contrast. “And now they’re coming home and I don’t even know what we are.”

“You’re still a family,” Maggie offers, in a guarded whisper.

“Maggie he left,” Amelia’s voice cracks on the statement.

“Amelia…” Maggie frowns slightly at this, but ensures that the reality of her next words don’t sound harsh. “Amelia, if I can remember….you told him to go.”

“But I didn’t think he would listen!” The brunette yells harshly back, and the slight outburst surprises both of them.

“Sorry,” Amelia continues, an octave lower. “Yes, I told him to go. And yes….he went. And then…” her voice cracks itself even more and it’s heartbreaking to hear. “Maggie I made it so much worse. I let this happen. I...I created this distance and he went along with it and, and now,” the tears are openly rolling down her cheeks now. “I don’t know how to fix this.”

“I know it’s hard. I know.” Maggie reaches across the table for Amelia’s hand. “But it’s going to be okay.”

“I haven’t really spoken with him in months.”

“You FaceTime with Scout almost every day,” Maggie frowns.

“I mean Link,” she shudders slightly at the realization that she’s distanced herself completely. She makes time for Scout with every free moment she has. But when it comes to Link, and every time he’s asked to talk, just the two of them, she’s made up some excuse about surgery and how she has to prepare for her upcoming spinal cord tumor case.

“It’s going to be okay,” Maggie interrupts her thoughts.

“How can you say that?” Amelia questions, under her breath.

“Because you are going to get through this, okay?” She stares at Amelia until she finally agrees.

“Okay.”

“Good,” Maggie gives her hand a squeeze. “How about some pancakes?”

And Amelia finally smiles.

“I’m going to make you pancakes even though it’s…” She trails off, glancing at her watch. “Closer to dinner time now. And then,” She locks eyes with her sister pointedly. “We are going to clean this house up. Mkay?”

“Okay,” Amelia whispers, a genuine smile still waving across her features.

_______

She’s been preparing for the sound of his car in the driveway all day but when the distinct sound fills her ears, she’s still not ready. She sucks in a breath as she hears the car doors slamming shut. And the sound of her son’s cheerful voice, taking in how much more full and lively it sounds in person, compared to through the phone. The distant sound of Scout’s laugh from the driveway makes her heart swell and she still doesn’t feel prepared.

She occupies her mind by tidying up the living room. She folds a blanket while she listens to their voices get closer, as they approach the front porch. There’s not much else to do that can distract her from this moment. Or to slow it down. Because Maggie had already ensured that this house was spotless. And now Amelia has nothing to do with her hands except wring them together anxiously until the front door is swinging open.

And when it does her breath catches in her throat.

Because her baby is home and now he’s running towards her full force, without any inclination of her nervousness.

“Mommy!” Scout cries out as he leaps towards her, and at the same time Amelia is bending down and scooping him up into her arms. She squeezes him tight, her palm resting at the back of his head as she brings it to her chest, her head lowering to the top of his to inhale his presence completely.

“I missed you so much, baby,” she breathes, swaying back and forth and running her fingers through his dirty blonde hair.

Link stands in the doorway to the living room, a suitcase in each hand as he smiles at the sight in front of him. It’s an uncertain smile. One that doesn’t feel like it knows it’s place.

Amelia sets Scout down and Scout is immediately babbling to her in full force about the trip. He explains excitedly about the playoff games and how ‘Dad fixed all their bones’ and how they ‘won all the games because of their new bones.’

Amelia smiles tightly, too overwhelmed to even keep up with her son’s stories. Too overwhelmed because she can’t believe he’s even here, in front of her. She crouches down to be equal to Scout’s height, squeezing his shoulders and just taking in his face as he stands in front of her.

“Oh, wait!” Scout yells enthusiastically. “We brought you something!”

Scout runs towards his Dad and Amelia finally takes a moment to glance in Link’s direction. The uncertainty on his face mirrors her own. But then Link looks away from her, as their son approaches him. He’s reaches into their luggage, handing something to Scout. Scout takes it and runs back to Amelia, where she’s still kneeling at Scout’s height in the middle of the room.

He excitedly hands her something and Amelia looks down at it. It’s a baseball. She chuckles and turns it over in her hands.

“That’s my ball, Mom,” Scout explains. “I got to throw the first pitch at the last game! I did! And that’s the ball that I threw!”

Amelia laughs wholeheartedly at her son as he bounces up and down with excitement.

“And look!” Scout points towards the baseball. “I signed it for you too!”

Amelia turns the ball over to see that Scout did, in fact, write his own name across it in permanent marker. The grin that crosses her features feels foregin, like she hasn’t smiled so genuinely like this in months. She doesn’t realize the tears that are springing to her eyes until Scout points them out.

“Mommy, are you crying?”

She wipes under her eyes quickly and laughs. “No, sweetie. I’m not crying.”

“Did I make you sad?” Scout looks genuinely concerned.

“No, no,” Amelia pulls Scout into her arms again, sighing deeply. “I’m just so happy to see you.”

Scout starts to squirm in her tight embrace and Amelia finally pulls away, taking another deep breath.

“Aren’t you going to hug Daddy, too?”

Amelia’s heart sinks at the question. She glances at Link, who still stands near the front hallway, where he’s been organizing their luggage. He awkwardly runs a hand through his hair.

Amelia stands on shaky feet, biting her lip. And then she feels a small hand wrap around her wrist, and she’s being pulled lightly across the room.

She doesn’t fight it. She let’s Scout pull her toward the front door. And then she’s standing right in front of Link. And the eye contact is making her heart race.

Scout stands between them, head shifting back and forth as he looks at each of them in question.

“You guys are acting funny.”

Amelia chuckles. And the look Link gives her represents both of their surprise at their son’s own wit.

Link shrugs. And then he’s giving Amelia another deliberate expression, as if he’s warning her that he’s about to make this decision for the both of them.

He reaches forward and pulls her into a hug, and Amelia gasps into his chest. His arms wrap around her shoulders and hers automatically go to his sides.

Her pulse quickens as she inhales his scent. She hasn’t had any contact like this in months and it feels so out of her realm.

“You good?” Amelia barely hears him mumble into her hairline. It’s quiet enough that Scout doesn’t hear it.

Amelia nods into his chest and steps out of his embrace, dropping her hands away from his sides and watching his face fall.

She rips her gaze away from him and turns her attention to their son standing between them, smiling tightly. “Why don’t you put your stuff away, Scout?”

“Yeah, bud,” Link chimes in. “We have a lot of stuff to unload. Let’s leave your Mom alone for a minute.”

Scout nods, following after his Dad as he moves towards their pile of luggage. Link hands Scout a duffle bag before he fills his own arms with what he can carry.

Amelia watches on as the two climb the stairs, Scout chatting again about practicing his baseball pitch. She stifles a laugh at her son’s ability to fill each moment with words. He had to have gotten that trait from her.

She stands alone in the front hallway and glances upwards as she pays attention to their movement upstairs. She can hear Scout’s quick movements in his own bedroom. And she can hear footsteps enter the other bedroom, their bedroom, too. Luggage gets set down heavily above and Amelia swears she can hear Link’s sigh even from a floor apart. And in a way, she mirrors the tired sound, exhaling slowly.

_______

Amelia blinks heavily as she sits at the kitchen table, she tears her eyes away from the notes in front of her to glance at the clock. 11pm.

The coffee in her hands should help her stay awake for at least 3 more hours. She’s been staring at the same scans on her laptop for what feels like forever. The updated spinal cord scans don’t exactly provide her with any inclination of how to move forward in her tumor removal approach and she groans impatiently.

“Scout’s finally asleep,” Link’s voice completely startles her as he rounds the corner into the kitchen and she almost drops her coffee. “Oh, sorry,” he mumbles.

Amelia watches him as he moves about the kitchen, preparing himself a tea.

“It’s hard to get him to stop talking sometimes,” Link adds. “He basically talks himself to sleep.”

“I know how that goes,” Amelia mumbles, thinking about the amount of times Link has teased her for falling asleep literally mid-sentence.

Link takes in Amelia’s current position, hunched over at the table surrounded by scans and notes and halfway consumed caffeine.

“Gonna be a long night for you?” He questions.

“Uh, yeah.” Amelia glances away from her work momentarily. “I just got these updated scans and I….I have to re-think everything basically,” she bites her lip out of habit. “So yeah, basically a long night for me.”

Link nods slowly. He knew she had a lot on her plate right now, but he didn’t exactly know the extent of it.

“You should get some sleep,” Amelia adds. “You’ve been travelling all day.”

“Yeah, I was going to,” He glances toward the stairs, thinking about bed. Their bed. The bed he hasn’t been in for over a year now. “I was going to head up there.”

Amelia just nods. Not sure what else to say.

“You going to be okay down here? Need anything?” Link glances at the disorganized mess that is the kitchen table.

“Yeah, yeah,” Amelia quickly responds. “I’m good, I just….really need to focus.”

“Right,” Link mutters, moving towards the doorway with his tea in his hands. “Okay.” He takes one final look at Amelia before he exits the kitchen and she meets his eyes respectfully.

“Okay,” she offers back. She turns back to the notes in front of her and holds her gaze there until she hears the sounds of Link’s footsteps ascending the stairs.

_______

The first thing Link thinks when he wakes up the next morning is that he’s way too comfortable. He’s not used to this bed anymore and the mattress feels way too soft. He’s way too comfortable and the bed feels way too big. And that’s because it’s mostly empty. The space beside him is cold and bare and he clutches the emptiness before rolling over completely.

He frowns as he rests his feet on the floor, standing up and throwing a sweatshirt on as the morning chill hits his body.

He’s still blinking the sleep from his eyes as he descends the stairs, turning the corner into the living room.

When his eyes finally focus, they land on Amelia. Where she’s passed out, sound asleep on the couch. She’s still wearing the clothes she’d worn yesterday, like all she had done was move from the kitchen table to the couch at some point last night without getting ready for bed.

Link grimaces at the idea that she hadn’t come upstairs to her own bedroom to get ready for sleep. The frown deepens as he tries to push away the thought that it was because of him. His fault that she was down here on the couch and he was up there in a too big and too comfortable bed. He walks forward, and a shiver takes over his body. The early September air already unbearable.

When he reaches the couch he leans forward and grabs a blanket from the corner. He drapes it over Amelia as she sleeps and she doesn’t even stir at the slight disruption.

Link only watches her sleep for another moment before he backs away, uncertain where to go next.

_______

#amelink #amelink fanfic #amelinkfic #amelia shepherd #atticus lincoln #maggie pierce #amelia x link #amelinkfanfiction #my writing #if the sun comes up #greys anatomy fanfic #grey's anatomy fanfic #grey's anatomy fic

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927roses-and-stuff · 4 years

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Miracles in Gotham: Chapter Six: The Calm Before

Thank you to @ozmav for the Maribat AU and @mystery-5-5 for helping me out loads with the story!

I was supposed to update every day starting December 11, but I was busy with the holidays so I couldn’t and then I had a really shit sleep schedule. Basically, I’m super sorry and this is me attempting to make it up to you guys.

Also, some people keep bringing up that Marinette could just use Kaalki to go from Gotham to Paris, so I’m going to take this chapter as a chance to explain why that isn’t.

Also, this chapter will be super long because I’m trying to get the gang in Gotham by Chapter 10 at the latest.

If you want to see more, follow: #miraclesingotham or ask to be added to the tag list.

Tag list: : @northernbluetongue @zerotosiki @spicybelladonna @my-name-is-michell @legendaryneckjudgestudent @lokiifriggasonn

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Dear Diary,

Sass’ story was...informative in some ways. In some ways, I see myself in Alfred Pennyworth. I can’t imagine not having the Ladybug Miraculous or Tikki in my life but unlike Alfred there are days where I want to quit and leave it all for someone else, someone older, wiser, better, to fix.

But, there’s just me. Just Marinette.

I’m thinking of going to Gotham to see if Alfred Pennyworth has acquired anything worthwhile after his time with the Snake Miraculous. At least Papa and Maman will be happy I’m going.

I’ll have to speak with Chat first. After all, this decision affects him too, and he’ll need to know why I’m not arriving on patrols or akuma attacks. It’s times like these where I wish I could just pop open the box and call on Kaalki, but it’s not possible for now. Either I get the tablet from Hawkmoth or I learn how to read the Journal myself to open the stupid box. Hawkmoth really is the root of my problems, huh?

I should get going now. It’s about time for my patrol.

Wish me luck!

Bisoux,

Marinette

Later that night, Ladybug found herself again on top of the Eiffel Tower, this time without the threat of falling over the edge. She watched the darkening skyline for the sight of her partner, half hoping he’d show up sooner, half hoping he wouldn’t show up at all. She had called him earlier for an impromptu meeting, and he had mentioned that he also had something to tell her.

Whatever it was, she had a feeling that she wouldn't exactly be happy with it.

In her lap sat the rather large spotted egg that was supposed to be the Miraculous Box. In the cloth shoulder bag beside her contained the rest of the active Miraculous. The other kwami were currently flying around enjoying the fresh Parisian air. She wasn’t too sure why she had brought them in the first place. It had been a hassle to travel with them (since the egg didn’t fit in her yoyo and the bag took a while to adjust to), but maybe it was time to take Chat’s words into consideration and start trusting him with the Guardian side of the Miraculous a bit more.

Especially with what she was planning to do.

“Do you think you and Chat will be able to open it, Master?” Sass asked, floating in front of her face.

“I’m not sure. Maybe we could with Cataclysm, but that’s not a risk I’m willing to take.”

“Rightly so!” Longg huffed. “We do not know the consequences for the other kwamis if you plan to turn the Box into ashes. Think of all the other kwamis that are trapped in there! It would be reckless to do so even if Tikki’s power could reverse the effects of Plagg’s.”

Pollen sighed and floated on top of the box, lying down and patting it with her small arms. “My poor comrades. I know how hard it is to be stuck on the other side, but have patience, my friends.”

Ladybug frowned. “Is it really so bad?”

Wayzz joined Pollen on the box. “We’re isolated from the world in that space, without a notion of time passing as humans would. It gets lonely, even if we all have each other,” he explained.

“That’s horrible,” Ladybug whispered. She watched as Sass, Longg, and Trixx joined the other two on the Box. She never really thought about how stressful this must’ve been for the kwamis whose only companions were each other. They were cut off without means of communicating from one side of the other. Her chest tightened at the sight of them and she found herself retreating to the now all too familiar spiral of deprecating notions.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a deep howl ringing through the night sky. She looked up to find Chat Noir catapulting himself into the sky with his baton, doing a few flips before coming back down and doing it all over again, each time more ridiculous and flamboyant than the last. By the time he reached the Eiffel Tower, he was panting, although he grinned widely at Ladybug’s applause.

“Even better than last time, Chat,” she remarked, adjusting the bag to allow Chat a place to sit. “Have you been practicing lately?”

Chat retracted his baton and sat down with a graceful flourish. “Why of course, my Lady. All the better to please you.”

Ladybug rolled her eyes fondly and elbowed him. “Chat.”

“And by please you, I mean as friends of course!” Chat exclaimed, holding his hand up. “Chaton’s honour.”

Ladybug giggled. “Well, if that’s the case, consider me pleased.” She sighed and shifted to face him. “Time for business.”

“And what’s this you got here, bug?” He asked, craning his head to observe the spotted egg and the kwami all over. “Did my Ladybird lay an egg while I was gone?”

Ladybug huffed. “This egg is the Miracle Box I told you about.”

Chat lifted his head to meet her eyes. “No. Really?”

“Yes, really. Why?”

Chat reached out to pet the kwami with his fingers. “Well, it’s definitely marketable, if you’re into that sort of thing.”

Ladybug scoffed. “If it was so marketable, it’d open without any trouble.” She sighed. “This isn’t really why I called you here but do you have any ideas what we could do to open it?”

Chat contemplated the Box, his finger and thumb playing with his chin like he had an invisible goatee. “I could try to use Cataclysm and you can use Miraculous Ladybug to bring it back?”

“The kwami were just talking about that. We can’t risk hurting the kwami.” Ladybug furrowed her eyebrows. “Wait, maybe Lucky Charm…?”

“You think it’ll work?”

“Either way it’ll be lucky,” she said before handing the box and bag to Chat and standing up.

“Lucky Charm!”

A red and black spotted bone popped out of thin air and into Ladybug’s hands. At first glance it seemed like an actual bone, but it was soft and plush to the touch.

Ladybug wrinkled her nose. “A chew toy?”

Chat struggled to refrain from laughing. “Got a little doggie you’re hiding from me, my Lady?” He mimed fainting, his hand clutching at his heart dramatically. “Oh, the betrayal, Ladybug! How could you replace me with a dog?”

Chat’s dramatics continued while Ladybug analyzed the chew toy. It was slightly larger than her palm, and always reverted back to its original state despite Ladybug squishing, twisting, and almost ripping it apart. After a while, she called for the kwami and Chat, ignoring the latter’s spiel.

“Barkk’s the dog miraculous...would she be able to sense the chew toy and phase out of there?” Ladybug looked up to see that the kwami and Chat were looking at her stunned.. “Oh, what?” I’m trying,” she huffed.

Trixx laughed and floated over to the lucky charm to inspect it themselves. “Remember to look underneath the underneath, O dear Guardian. The one thing Tikki and I have in common is that with us, everything is not what it seems. Maybe you’ll require a dog in the future, or maybe dogs will be irrelevant in the scenario.”

Ladybug huffed. “Thanks for the insight, Trixx. Helpful as always.” Trixx merely giggled and gave her a wink. Trixx was often a delight to have around, mostly because they helped Marinette with her plans and schemes, but they were also often vague to the point of nonsense.

“Let’s see if being Mister Bug has taught me anything about Lucky Charms, my Lady,” Chat said, trading the chew toy for the Miracle Box. He held it up and played with it. “Supple, really soft but really sturdy. Maybe it could be a door stopper? Or we could tie it onto the Miracle Box and drop it from the Eiffel Tower and the force, upon hitting the chew toy will not only cushion the fall, but pop the box open.”

“Uh, physics might not be my greatest subject, chaton, but I don’t think that’s how it works. Like, at all,” Ladybug said, following behind Chat as he trailed along the beam.

“Right you are, but a lot of your normal plans usually defy the laws of physics so who knows?” Chat turned around to grin at her.

Ladybug pursed her lips. “I mean, I guess we could try, but not from the Eiffel Tower.” Ladybug adjusted the box in her hands and shoved to bag over Chat’s shoulders. “Meet me at the Louvre and don’t drop the bag. The kwami’s miraculous are in there.”

“Aye, aye, my Lady.”

With that, both heroes headed to the Louvre to test Chat’s theory. Needless to say, it didn’t work. It had ended with the Miracle Box falling on top of M. Kubdel’s head as he was heading out of the museum (thankfully, it had fallen where the chew toy had been). This incident led to M. Kubdel yelling at Ladybug and Chat Noir who couldn’t convince him that they were in fact, the actual heroes doing Official Superhero Business. That then turned into a chase of cat and mouse between Ladybug and Chat, and M. Kubdel because he had been convinced that the Miracle Box would make a great exhibit in the museum and would’ve gotten away with it if Chat hadn’t used his baton to shove the Miracle Box out of his arms, and Ladybug using the yoyo string to trip M. Kubdel. Ladybug had to swoop in quickly and save him from falling on his face while Chat chased after the Box to prevent potential damage. By the end of it all, an irate Ladybug and a sheepish Chat Noir scurried back to the Eiffel Tower before any curious civilians could follow them and see their antics. Or before M. Kubdel could gather up the guts to run off with the Miracle Box again. The kwamis flew behind the two heroes, their tiny laughter echoing behind them.

Ladybug let out a heavy sigh. “Well, that was a bust.”

“It was...interesting,” Chat said, although he winced at Ladybug’s tired eyes bore through him. “Okay, well it could’ve been worse.”

“M. Kubdel basically chased us off of the museum grounds, Chat,”she deadpanned. “And then he tried to steal the Box.”

Chat winced again. “Okay, yeah it definitely could’ve gone so much better.” Chat chanced smiling at Ladybug. “You’ve got to admit, it was a little bit fun. “

Ladybug breathed in, before breaking out into a small smile. “Okay, it was a little bit fun.” A moment of silence passed before the two teens fell into rambunctious laughter, leaning into each other to keep their balance. It took a few moments for them to calm down and regain their bearings.

“We’re so gonna have to apologize to M. Kubdel when we next see him,” Ladybug managed to say in between chuckles.

Chat scoffed playfully. “Of course, my Lady. We are outstanding, proper citizens, after all,” he said in a voice that was more posh than his regular voice.

“Okay, okay. Back to business, chaton,” Ladybug said, squaring her shoulders and tightening her grip on the Miracle Box. Chat adjusted the shoulder bag on his shoulder and turned to face her.

“What’s up, bug?”

She breathed in deeply. Before she could say anything about what she wanted to tell Chat, she remembered that he also had something he wanted to tell her. “You first, chaton. What’s up?”

It was almost comical the way Chat straightened his posture with wide eyes and avoided Ladybug’s gaze. Ladybug pitched the bridge of her nose. What the hell did her partner do now?

“Chat…,”

Chat held out the chew toy in front of him to provide some cover and space between himself and the spotted heroine. “So, do you remember that thing we talked about the other night? With the Justice League?”

Ladybug slowly nodded, already starting to connect the dots.

“So, I may have-”

“So, you may have?”

“Yes, I may have, let me finish, Ladybug!” Chat exclaimed before shifting his stance. “Anyways, I may have emailed them that same night…,” he trailed off.

Ladybug froze. “You mean that same night I told you why it was a bad idea to do so? And you agreed to drop it?”

Chat interrupted her before she could continue. “Hold on, I didn’t necessarily agree to drop it. Look, just listen to what I have to say first, oui?”

Ladybug sighed. “Fine.”

“RIght. Anyways, I did contact them, but not to help us here, but for advice. Since you know, we haven’t really made any progress with finding out who Hawkmoth actually is. Maybe they have some insight.”

Ladybug huffed. There was a part of her that wanted to scream at Chat Noir, remind him about the risks and why they hadn’t done so before, and how they didn’t help before, but she simply relaxed her shoulders. “Sit down, chaton. I’m not gonna do anything to you.”

Chat’s eyes shifted from the empty spot beside her to her. “You sure?”

She nodded. “I’m not going to liee, I’m really pissed that you went behind my back like that, but it’s done. Besides, you’re definitely right that we need help and you’re not the only one who went around looking for help.” She looked around and called out, “Sass!”

“I’m sorry by the way. If it helps, I only got the automatic reply so far,” Chat said, patting Ladybug’s shoulder.

“Thanks, chaton.” When Sass flew to both of them, she continued. “I asked Marianne if she knew anything about the Miraculous, and she mentioned a guy named Alfred Pennyworth who was the Snake Miraculous user before Viperion.”

“Hey, Sass,” Chat greeted, giving the kwami a tiny high five. “Then what’s so important about this Alfred Pennyworth?”

“He was close with Master Fu during World War Two and held onto the Snake Miraculous the longest. Sass mentioned that Alfred had plans on researching the Miraculous after his time in service. I’m planning on seeking him out for information, but, here’s the part you’re not going to like.”

Chat tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

Ladybug gulped. “I’m planning to seek him out, but he lives abroad somewhere in the Americas.”

Ladybug let the information sink in as Chat’s eyes widened and his jaw dropped. Marinette had contemplated telling Chat where exactly in America she would be, but decided not to risk him making the connection between her trip and the akuma class’ excursion to Gotham.

“But the akumas-” Before Chat could continue, Ladybug interrupted him.

“I will be going abroad, but Ladybug isn’t.” She played with her fingers before continuing. “I will be taking the Miracle Box and Sass with me, but I’m leaving Tikki behind with one of the other users.”

“Isn’t that a risk to their identity, though?” Chat asked, scratching his head. “I mean, it looks like you’ve thought it all out but don’t you think you need more time before-”

“I have a week before I go,” Ladybug interjected. “I talked to Tikki and she can make it so the new Ladybug owner looks completely unrecognizable from their previous hero identity. I’ll have to train them in the next week to the best of my ability.”

“Why can’t you just take the Horse Miraculous with you?” Chat asked.

Ladybug simply held up the locked Miracle Box and shaked it a bit. Chat’s lips formed an ‘O’ in understanding. Ladybug nodded sympathetically. “Yeah, I know. It sucks major ass.”

Chat gulped. “I,” he sighed. “Is there any way that any of the other heros can fill in my spot too?”

Ladybug blinked in surprise. “You’re going out of the city too?”

“Yeah. My class has a class trip in Gotham and my attendance is mandatory,” he explained. Ladybug tried to forget the unnecessary parts of what he said. Despite the fact that Ladybug often scolded him for it, Chat Noir was still more lax about revealing personal details. It took her a second to fully process what he said.

“Gotham?” She squeaked. “Your class is taking a trip to Gotham? As in the Gotham trip that Mme. Bustier’s class is taking?” Ladybug’s eyes were the size of saucers and she had shifted so closely to him, they were practically nose-to-nose. Chat seemed to realize his mistake because his eyes widened and his breath hitched as he backed away from Ladybug, his tail swinging wildly behind him.

“I, I mean Georgia! Like the state, Georgia!”

Ladybug backed down, her eyebrows furrowed. She knew he was lying, but it was probably better to dismiss it. There was no way Chat Noir had been in her class this entire time. And even if he was, Chat’s identity was so not her priority right now. She cleared her throat.

“Right! Heard they had great beaches this time of year,” Ladybug blurted out, not really sure of what she was saying, but it seemed to calm Chat down, so she didn’t really care.

“Yep. Great academic stuff too like...aquariums…,” Chat trailed off, pursing his lips and looking like he swallowed a lemon.

“Right! Well, we can probably get the others a user to cover for you, if you already have someone in mind,” Ladybug said very quickly, still trying to get her mind off of the fact that Chat was going to be in Gotham the same time she was what the fuc-

“Uh, yeah.” Chat looked away bashfully, his cheeks reddening. “I was thinking of asking Kagami Tsurugi. She was Ryuko before so she’ll be used to the Miraculous.”

Ladybug nodded. “Sass, can you call the other kwami over here, please?”

“Yesss, my Guardian.” With that, Sass flew off and returned with the other kwamis.

“Change of plans, guys,” she said, addressing them each with a subtle nod. “Chat’s going abroad as well so we need to use one of your Miraculous as well. Is there any kwami willing?”

Wayzz floated forward. “Who will be the recipient?”

“Kagami Tsurugi,” Chat said. Without saying a word, Longg shook her head and bowed out. She felt a bit sad that Ryuko couldn’t become active on the field without risking her identity. In her stead, Pollen floated forward determinedly.

“My Guardian, I believe my Venom will be most useful for this mission,” she chirped. Ladybug turned toward Chat.

He nodded. “I think that’d be ideal. Kagami’s very...straightforward.”

She nudged him. “You know her well, then huh, chaton?” she teased, raising her eyebrow at him.

His cheeks darkened and shoved her back playfully. “As if you don’t have your own boy toy running around, my Lady.”

Ladybug snorted. “I don’t have a boy toy, chaton. I’m too busy for all of that anyways,” she huffed.

“Not even for the guy you have feelings for?” he winked.

She shook her head. “No,” she whispered. “I think I’m ready to get over him, honestly. Not jealous, are you, chaton?”

Chat smiled lazily. “I think I got the message by now, my Lady. I’m not going to wait for you if you don’t want me there.”

“Thank you,” she smiled. She knew Chat had feelings for her, but since she could never really reciprocate, she was happy he was moving on. “Anyways, you’ll be giving Kagami the Bee Miraculous tomorrow and we’ll help her get used to her new powers over the next week.”

Chat nodded. “By the way, Ladybug. Who did you choose to be the new bug?”

She smiled softly. “Luka Couffaine.”

His eyes widened. “Are you sure?”

She nodded. “He’s been through numerous resets and has helped me out in the ones I could remember, so he would be the most familiar with my tactics and how the Lucky Charms work.”

“Makes sense,” Chat mused. He turned toward her with a face-splitting grin and held his fist out.

“Pound it?”

Ladybug smiled and copied his motions.

“Pound it.”

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the-perfunctorily · 4 years

Text

Who Killed Jon?

A meta post intended to (not very) seriously look at all the possible suspects in the Mutiny at Castle Black, and narrow it down to a few characters with motive, and means to be involved.

Wick Whittlestick slashed at his throat,[...]"For the Watch." Wick slashed at him again. [...] Then Bowen Marsh stood there before him, tears running down his cheeks. "For the Watch." He punched Jon in the belly. When he pulled his hand away, the dagger stayed where he had buried it. (ADWD, Jon XII)

We know for a fact that Bowen Marsh and Wick Whittlestick were part of the mutiny. But at least four people stab Jon, likely more. So, who were they?

This is intended mostly just as reference for myself as to who was where and when, and a fun game of clue, and mostly just speculation and headcanon to procrastinate on projects, and not really meant to be taken seriously (yes, I wrote 5000 words on a post that is not meant to be taken seriously. Such is life) I’m sure nothing I’ve put down is very revolutionary. We just like to have fun here.

This post also came into being because I think it’s very easy to imagine that it’s just Everyone that turns against Jon, which leads to a really bleak outlook for the Wall plot in TWOW. I’ve seen people worrying that Satin will be harmed by the other brothers, or that Val and Little Monster may be hurt, either by them or by Melisandre. These are all possibilities, but I don’t believe that it’s necessarily true that Jon has no allies left. So I wanted to eliminate as many people as I could. When I get right down to it, I can only come up with 9 people who have either circumstantial evidence to suggest their involvement, or motive I can scrape together. So I believe there could be a solid pro-Jon contingent still at the Wall post-assassination, and his friends and vulnerable people he was protecting might not be doomed.

The suspect list is near the end in bolded large font so if you want to skip the long and mostly unnecessary eliminations, just scroll to there to see who I actually think might have been involved.

For formatting and clarity reasons all lists will be bolded, and I’ll bold every name at the point that I either count them in or out of the suspect list.

First off, I’m going to assume that Bowen Marsh was the main force of will behind the mutiny, and base my assessment of who was involved on who would ally themselves with him and what I believe to be his motives. This might not be true. He might just have been a participant, but I think he has the means, and the motive to have orchestrated it, and don’t see any other candidates for mastermind, unless GRRM pulls a complete Asimov ‘Mule’ gambit, which I will get to in my final suspect list. I think Bowen Marsh did not want to kill Jon, but believed he had to, for the good of the watch. I believe his anti-wildling feelings and traditionalist values were a big part of why he did it, and I think he did it to preserve the way he believed the watch is supposed to and has always operated. So people who hate wildlings, people who hate Jon’s radical policies and would want a return to how it was during Mormont’s command and before, people who are close associates of Marsh’s, and people who have personal reasons to hate Jon are my main suspects.

Now. To get started, I have to ask. Who would want to kill Jon? Fortunately, several people have openly threatened, or implied that they want to kill him in the past! Unfortunately, they all have strong alibis.

Ser Alliser Thorne:

You'd best pray that it's a wildling blade that kills me, though. The ones the Others kill don't stay dead … and they remember. I'm coming back, Lord Snow (ADWD, Jon VI)

Alibi: is currently out ranging with Dywen, MIA beyond the Wall

Mance Rayder:

I could visit you as easily, my lord. Those guards at your door are a bad jape. A man who has climbed the Wall half a hundred times can climb in a window easy enough (ADWD, Melisandre)

Alibi: is currently trapped in Winterfell on a mission to rescue ‘Arya’, allegedly imprisoned in a cage

Stannis:

He only threatened to behead me twice. (ADWD, Jon I)

Alibi: Is snowbound in a crofter’s village about three days from Winterfell, and probably didn’t even really mean it.

Cotter Pyke:

“Lord Snow," said Cotter Pyke, "if you muck this up, I'm going to rip your liver out and eat it raw with onions." (ASOS, Jon XII)

Alibi: Is currently having a very bad time on a boat near hardhome, on Jon’s orders, also probably didn’t really mean it.

That leaves everyone at Castle Black at the time of the mutiny. This includes Selyse, her household and knights, Melisandre, Tormund and his ~50 wildlings, and all the sworn brothers and recruits of the Watch.

I’m going to discount anyone in Selyse’s camp, despite them being at Castle Black at the time of the attack, and even present at the event, because Jon is Stannis’ principal ally at the Wall, and much as Selyse might dislike him personally, I don’t think she would involve any of her knights or retainers in a plot to have him killed. Melisandre might have the ability to take control of Selyse’s knights because they are all fervent believers, but she likes Jon, and thinks he is an important ally, so I don’t think she would do anything to harm him either.

Similarly, I’m going to discount Tormund and any of the wildlings he brought from Oakenshield. The mutiny was motivated partly by anti-wildling sentiment, and disapproval of Jon’s welcoming of wildlings south of the Wall, so I don’t think that Bowen Marsh would ally himself with them. Furthermore, the mutiny takes place right after Jon has given a speech endearing himself to the wildlings, I don’t think they would suddenly turn against him after cheering and swearing to come with him to Winterfell. This includes Borroq, who, though he speaks derisively to Jon, and Ghost reacts aggressively towards him and his boar, I think means no ill will towards them. I actually think he will be instrumental in facilitating Jon’s resurrection. For what it’s worth, I think most of his smugness and rudeness toward Jon is because Jon is not acknowledging his own warging abilities, not because of personal animosity. And Ghost’s aggression is more due to his past experience with other skinchangers (namely Orell the eagle trying to break his neck and then later trying to rip Jon’s eye out) being averse, than any sense of ill-intent. A lot of stock is put in the direwolves’ intuition about who means their Starkling harm, but in reality I think it is more based on the kid’s personal feelings that they aren’t acknowledging. Grey Wind wants to hurt Tyrion in AGOT despite him being innocent of the attempt on Bran’s life, but shows no ill will towards Lothar Frey, one of the main architects of the Red Wedding. Jon is suspicious of Borroq, so Ghost is, that doesn’t necessarily mean that he is an enemy.

I’m also going to exclude guys who are not explicitly stated to have died or been sent elsewhere, but for some reason do not appear in the ADWD appendix or the wiki as being at Castle Black during ADWD. These are:

Bass: The Castle Black master of hounds, I’m assuming he went on the ranging and didn’t survive, since nobody seems to be keeping any hounds at Castle Black anymore.

Red Jack Crabb and Rusty Flowers: Were supposed to escort Janos Slynt to Greyguard. Presumably they were sent there after his execution.

Rudge: helps Donal Noye fix Longclaw in AGoT, but is not mentioned again, nor does he appear in any other appendix. Maybe he died on the ranging, or was sent to another tower. Maybe he died of personal problems.

Ser Wynton Stout: Ostensibly commanded Castle Black while Bowen marsh was away with the Garrison chasing raiders and then fighting on the bridge of skulls. He appears in the AFFC appendix but not in the ADWD one, I’m assuming he died of old age somewhere between books.

Also not included in the appendix are the two unnamed recruits that were part of Conwy’s first group of prisoners, a barber “a greybeard leaning on a staff” and a brigand “some grinning loon who must have fancied himself a warrior” (ACOK, Jon I). These guys might have died during the attack on Castle Black, might have sworn their vows at some point during ADWD, or might still be recruits with Hop-Robin and Jace. But they aren’t named so I’m not going to worry about them.

This leaves the men of the Watch who are stated, or implied to be at Castle Black at the time of the mutiny for our suspect list. Here they are in alphabetical order, according to both the wiki and the ADWD appendix.

Albett, Alf of Runnymudd, Arron, Bearded Ben, Black Bernarr, Septon Cellador, Clydas, Cugen (or Cuger), Dannel, Sweet Donnel Hill, Duncan “Big” Liddle, Elron, Emrick, Fulk the Flea, Garrett Greenspear, Geoff the Squirrel, Goady, Halder, Hareth “Horse”, Three-Finger Hobb, Hop-Robin, Jace, Jax, Jeren, Kegs, Leathers, Left Hand Lew, Luke of Longtown, Matthar, Mully, Othell Yarwyck, Owen the Oaf, Rory, Satin, Spare Boot, Tim Stone, Tim Tangletongue, Ty, Tom Barleycorn, and Ulmer of the Kingswood.

Obviously there are probably more men than this, I don’t think it’s ever actually said how many brothers are still at the castle at the end of ADWD, but it’s probably more than just 40. (though maybe not by much? it feels quite empty there and everyone expresses feeling outnumbered by wildings and Kings/Queens men) However, this is a post about who, of the people we know, killed Jon. There isn’t much of a point if it’s unnamed stewards #23 and #17.

Next, I’ll remove people I believe like Jon and wouldn’t hurt him, and have no reason to suspect. However, I wouldn’t put it past GRRM to make one or more of these guys a mutineer for the emotional toll it would take.

Albett, Matthar, and Jeren: All of them were recruits with Jon that he never clashed with directly, they were even friends. Matt had Septon Cellador light a candle for Ned when news came to Castle Black of his execution and he was one of the boys that went with Pyp and Grenn to bring Jon back when he rode off. (side note, I find it very funny that these guys are all just At The Castle while Jon is doing his ‘woe is me the lonely friendless commander’ bit. Dude, half of your graduating class is standing right there)

Arron and Emrick, Horse, Jace, and Hop-Robin: Recruits that came to the Wall either right before or while the great ranging was gone. They fought alongside Jon to defend the Wall, and trained under him briefly. Horse lived in mole’s town and only survived the attack because Jon warned the people there, and he decided to take the black after the battle. I would imagine that he thinks very highly of Jon. When they are made brothers, the twins accompany Horse (and Leathers and Jax, all followers of the old gods) to the wierwood grove to say their vows despite following the Seven. They are all close enough in age to Jon’s friends and would have had lots of time to get to know them during the ranging. None of them ever knew the Old Bear, so wouldn’t have any nostalgia about his tenure as LC. They seem like the best candidates for Jon loyalists to me.

Duncan “Big” Liddle: As the eldest son of Torren Liddle, he is Morgan “Middle” Liddle’s big brother. Morgan Liddle is among the northmen that join with Stannis’ army. He is the loudest shouter of the “Ned’s Girl” refrain, suggesting that his main reason for joining is because of him and his house’s strong feelings of loyalty to house Stark and Ned’s legacy. Also, Bran runs into a Liddle subject (or so he thinks) on the way to the Wall who expresses strong pro-Stark sentiments. I’m going to say that Big Liddle shares his family’s warm feelings toward the Starks, and would be loyal to Jon, him being ‘Ned’s Boy’.

Three-finger Hobb: Was always nice to Jon, even if he was exasperated about the wildlings and having to do a whole wedding feast. He seems an easygoing sort and not someone that could be manipulated into doing a mutiny. Also he was nice to Sam and gave him a salted ham for a nameday present, so I will not hear anything bad about the man. That said, he’s a long-time associate of Bowen Marsh, and being the chief cook, they would work very closely together, so it wouldn’t actually surprise me if he was involved.

Jax and Leathers: As former wildlings, I don’t think they would work with Bowen Marsh. It was Jon who facilitated their coming south and they took the black of their own free will. Also leathers was actively intervening in Wun Wun’s meltdown during the mutiny, so he had his hands full, and besides, he seemed like a good pal to Jon.

Owen the Oaf: He’s a nice boy and was happy to follow Jon’s orders, also Jon let him have Janos Slynt’s Boots.

Satin: If GRRM makes Satin complicit in the mutiny I’ll cry, so I simply won’t entertain the possibility.

I’ll also mention that in Jon VI, he sends out nine men on a ranging. I’ve taken out all the ones that are named: Dywen, Ser Alliser Thorne, Kedge Whiteye, and the three men who’s eyeless heads turn up just outside the gate, victims of the Weeper: Hairy Hal, Black Jack Bulwer, And Garth Greyfeather. This leaves three men that go unnamed. One in Dywen and Ser Alliser’s party, and two in Kedge’s. They are presumably experienced rangers. They might just be unnamed, unlisted watchmen, but they also might be some of the above brothers. Bearded Ben, Black Bernarr, Sweet Donnel Hill, Elron, Geoff, Goady, and Tim Stone are not mentioned after Jon sends out the ranging, so it might be any of them. I’m going to discount them all, because I don’t see any real motives there anyway, except Sweet Donnel and Goady, for reasons I’ll get to later.

Jon also sends an unknown number of guides with Stannis in Jon IV, and later with Tycho Nestoris in Jon IX. None of them are named, they might have been stewards or rangers, who knows, I’m not going to speculate.

Now, there are several Rangers here who could go one way or the other, so I’m not going to spend time on the ones that are at Castle Black during the mutiny but don’t have much of a motive. They might have, they might not have been part of the mutiny. But Since Bowen Marsh was in charge, I think that it was mostly made up of stewards. So I’m going to take Garrett Greenspear, Luke of Longtown, Rory, Tom Barleycorn, and Ulmer off the suspect list. (Also I like Ulmer, and think he’s cool, so there. Also what’s up with Tom Barleycorn. Have you guys ever heard the song John Barleycorn must die? Where a symbolic figure of the harvest named John Barleycorn is sacrificed to be resurrected in spring and keep people alive with sustenance and alcohol? Kind of sus when this guy named TOM Barleycorn is at the castle where a main character named Jon dies and is presumably going to be resurrected, and likely have a hand in ending the winter.)

Similarly, for the builders, Othell Yarwyck, as the first Builder, and frequent Naysayer of Jon’s, is a prime suspect. However, even if Othell was involved, which is a distinct possibility, I don’t think he would have ordered his men to also involve themselves. So I’m going to take Kegs and Spare Boot off the list, since I don’t see a motive for either of them, and they both seemed very enthusiastic about fighting alongside Jon during Mance’s assault.

And as for stewards. As the men directly under Bowen Marsh’s command, they are the most likely to be involved, So I’m just going to say that I have no real reason to think Ty, Cugen, Tim Tangletongue (who does not appear in the text but is in the appendix), or Dannel would turn on Jon, but they very well might have, and I wouldn’t be very surprised if they did. For the record, Dannel gave Alys Karstark a sausage from the kitchen when he and Ty found her, and that alone endears him to me enough to take him off the list, and Cugen is only ever mentioned here:

Sam will remain in training, with the likes of Rast and Cuger and these new boys who are coming up the Kingsroad. Gods only know what they'll be like (AGOT Jon V)

as a recruit that might hurt Sam if he did not graduate with Jon and the others, so perhaps he would be anti-Jon, as someone associated with Rast

All of this said, Chett’s prologue is pretty much a direct message from GRRM that even guys who Jon barely notices might hate him and wish him ill. Since we only see the Wall through Jon’s PoV, we are going to have the same blind spots he does. So any of these half mentioned, mostly forgotten guys might harbor some intense resentment, and have all the reason in the world to kill Jon. But for the purposes of this post, I am focusing on characters that I think make sense as being anti-Jon, and there’s no way to speculate on people with no evidence to suggest them.

So, finally, having eliminated everyone without motive or evidence, this leaves only the characters I actually have reason to suspect were involved. The suspect list is as follows:

Alf of Runnymudd, Septon Cellador, Clydas, Sweet Donnel Hill, Fulk the Flea, Goady, Left Hand Lew, Mully, and Othell Yarwyck.

I’ll go from least to most likely mutineers, listing reasons I suspect them, and reasons I think they might not have been involved.

9&8 : Mully and Fulk the Flea.

Evidence: Ghost acts aggressively towards them while they are guarding the armory the day of the Mutiny.

Fulk the Flea [said], "but your wolf's in no mood for company today.”

Mully agreed. "He tried to take a bite o' me, he did.” (ADWD, Jon XIII)

Alibi: Neither has any history of being anti-Jon that I can find, and personally, I like Mully because he is named after Mulligan the orange cat, here pictured with Parris

which I think is just too cute, so if either of them were involved I would prefer it were Fulk. I know that’s not a real reason but its my list and I make the rules. Anyway as I said before, Ghost being aggressive doesn’t necessarily mean guilt. At this point, Ghost is paranoid because Jon is paranoid, feeling people around him plotting against him. Fulk and Mully might just have been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

7: Goady

Evidence: He was part of Jarman Buckwell’s scouting party on the Giant’s Stair, which spotted Jon among the wildlings. I imagine it would be very hard to shake the image of Jon as a wildling, even after he is elected Lord Commander. Especially if he then turns around and lets those same wildlings through the Wall.

Alibi: He does not appear in the text of ADWD, only the appendix, and his only mention in the books at all is in the Storm of Swords Chett prologue, in Kedge Whiteye’s dialogue

“Harma the Dogshead has the van, the poxy bitch. Goady crept up on her camp and saw her” (ASOS, Prologue)

so who knows what he’s actually up to. He may very well be with Kedge Whiteye out ranging right now, since he’s an experienced scout, and they seem to be good buds. I just wanted to include him because he’s the only surviving member of Buckwell’s party that isn’t explicitly stated to be elsewhere.

6: Septon Cellador

Evidence: Vocally disapproving of most of Jon’s decisions, extremely homophobic towards Satin, Religiously intolerant towards followers of the old gods, and racist toward the wildlings, he is definitely a leader in the anti-Jon contingent. In fact, I don’t doubt at all that the had a hand in planning the mutiny.

Alibi: I don’t think he has the guts to actually stab anyone, and considering the mutiny took place at night, he was probably too drunk to stand, let alone participate.

5: Clydas

Evidence: Here is the Mule theory. (I don’t actually believe this, but it would be a wild curveball for GRRM to throw, and I wouldn’t put it past him) Clydas was the last person to handle the Pink Letter, being the one to give it to Jon. Clydas can read, and manages all the correspondences coming to, or going from Castle Black. This gives him ample opportunity to interfere with incoming mail. We know the letter may have been faked or at least tampered with, since the wax seal is only a smear by the time it comes into Jon’s possession. It’s entirely possible that Clydas was working with, or masterminding the mutineers to forge all or some part of the Pink Letter in order to incite Jon to forswear himself.

Here’s the thing. Clydas has been assisting Maester Aemon since before Jon Arrived at the Wall, he likely was aware of Jon’s hand in getting Sam into Chett’s position, he was privy to Jon’s chafing about being assigned to the stewards, and probably knew about Jon’s desertion attempt. Clydas helped Sam count the votes for Lord Commander, and who knows how much he figured out about the election rigging. He has never stated much of an opinion on any of it, and often plays the dim, forgettable assistant. However, what if he was smarter than he was letting on? What if his impression of Jon was that of a manipulative ambitious young man willing to cheat the system to get what he wants. What if he, knowing Jon, having observed him from the age of fourteen, and read every letter written by, to, or about him, and was likely also privy to many conversations between high officers (including his uncle) about him, knew exactly what Jon cared about, and what buttons to press that would make Jon instantly too angry to think straight, and decided to put that into action, and team up with (or even manipulate) Bowen Marsh, who had his own reasons to want Jon gone, and the command of enough men to get the job done.

Alibi: I don’t want him to be involved!! :(( He’s never been anything but kind to Jon, asking if he’s alright, seeing if he’s ok after the news about ‘Arya’, calling him Jon instead of my lord, almost fondly. I would be really sad if he was. Also, while he may have been involved in the planning and orchestration part, I don’t think he participated in the physical assassination attempt. He is frail and old with poor vision, and two hours and change before the mutiny, Jon has Mully and Satin escort him back up to his chamber in the maester’s keep because it is so icy. I don’t know if he could make it back down to the yard in the dark to do a stabbing in that time.

4: Sweet Donnel Hill

Evidence: He was part of the Chett’s planned mutiny at the Fist of the First Men, survived the Fight at the Fist, and made it to Craster’s keep. However at Craster’s he stayed loyal to the Watch, and was among those survivors to make it back to the Wall with Grenn and Dolorous Edd. This seems to me like a man that is fully willing to get rid of a Lord Commander if he disagrees with his leadership, but who remains loyal to the principles of the Watch. This is exactly what the spirit of the mutiny was, in my opinion, and puts him high on my list. Not to mention the fact that he is a steward, and thus under Marsh’s command.

Alibi: He is not mentioned after Jon III when he is one of the archers that shoots Rattleshirt disguised as Mance as he is burned alive, he may have been sent elsewhere by the time of the mutiny, or is simply not an active enough Jon disapprover to be noticed by him, which suggests his uninvolvement.

3: Othell Yarwyck

Evidence: As I stated before, Othell is a close associate of Bowen Marsh’s and among the chorus of naysayers that become constant fixtures in Jon’s ADWD chapters. He’s a traditionalist, and a better follower than a leader.

Othell Yarwyck was not a man of strong convictions (ASOS, Jon XIII)

I definitely think Bowen could sway him, they are on first name terms, have worked together for a while, and probably talk about what Jon is doing that they don’t like when he isn’t there. He is also present in the Shield Hall by Bowen when Jon reads the letter, and leaves with him when he storms out.

Alibi: The first inkling we get that Bowen is harboring malice towards Jon is that he refuses wine or food in Jon VIII. At that time, Othell happily takes a seat and a sausage. As the sort not to think too deeply on things,

Othell Yarwyck was as stolid and unimaginative as he was taciturn (ADWD. Jon V)

he might not second guess Jon’s orders beyond what Bowen tells him to, so he might not harbor the same anti-Jon sentiments. He’s not one to rock the boat, killing the lord commander is a big boat rocking. I believe he knew about the plot, and that Bowen would want him in on it, but IDK if he would be directly involved.

2: Left Hand Lew

I must admit I have no motive for him. But he’s standing right with Bowen and Wick Whittlestick in the shield hall,

Bowen had Wick Whittlestick, Left Hand Lew, and Alf of Runnymudd beside him] (ADWD Jon XIII)

and we have no other evidence for Wick until he physically tries to cut Jon’s throat (well besides that he is the keeper of the keys to the food stores, which would obviously be a position that worked VERY closely under Bowen Marsh), so I have to put him top of the list. He’s standing with the primary perpetrators just moments before the crime is committed. He was probably the third or fourth knife. I don’t have an alibi for him either.

1: Alf of Runnymudd

The same things can be said about Alf that have been said about Lew. He was standing with Bowen and Wick in the shield hall, he left with them when they stormed out. However. Unlike Lew or Wick, Alf has a definite motive.

In Melisandre’s chapter, we get some characterization for Alf. He is a builder, he took R’hllor for his god (of his own free will) and, most importantly, when it is revealed who was killed by the Weeper, he screams and breaks down crying to hear that Garth Greyfeather was one of them. He’s so distraught he has to be drugged and put to bed.

“Who is it?" asked Owen the Oaf. "Not Dywen, is it?"

"Nor Garth," said the queen's man she knew as Alf of Runnymudd, one of the first to exchange his seven false gods for the truth of R'hllor. "Garth's too clever for them wildlings."

"How many?" Mully asked.

"Three," Jon told them. "Black Jack, Hairy Hal, and Garth."

Alf of Runnymudd let out a howl loud enough to wake sleepers in the Shadow Tower.

"Put him to bed and get some mulled wine into him," Jon told Three-Finger Hobb. (ADWD, Melisandre)

@nobodysuspectsthebutterfly has written before about the possibility that Alf and Garth were in a gay relationship. I fully subscribe to this idea, and if you know me at all, you know I am a huge proponent of the Wall Husbands concept, and think there is probably a decent population of gay men on the Wall (my main choices for this being Benjen, Dolorous Edd, Big Liddle, and Waymar Royce [you may notice the pattern of them being sons of lords who joined of their own free will. It just makes sense to me that a lord’s son who for SOME reason didn’t want to have to get married to a woman would consider the option of joining an order of men that live together and never marry])

So my theory regarding Alf, is that he blames Jon for the death of Garth Greyfeather, his lover. Because Jon sent the ranging out knowing full well that few rangers are making it back alive, and here’s the clincher. Despite his many crimes, Jon is still willing to pardon the Weeper

“Surely the lord commander cannot mean to allow that ... that demon [The Weeper] through as well?” [said Bowen Marsh]

“Not gladly.” Jon had not forgotten the heads the Weeping Man had left him, with bloody holes where their eyes had been. Black Jack Bulwer, Hairy Hal, Garth Greyfeather. I cannot avenge them, but I will not forget their names. “But yes, my lord, him as well. We cannot pick and choose amongst the free folk, saying this one may pass, this one may not. Peace means peace for all. [...] When a man takes the black, his crimes are forgiven,” Jon reminded them. “If we want the free folk to fight beside us, we must pardon their past crimes as we would for our own.” (ADWD, Jon XI)

If news of that got to Alf, I easily imagine he would be fully on board with killing him, and might have gone and tried it himself even without Bowen Marsh’s prompting. All of this makes him my suspect #1 for third or fourth knife. I think his story is a tragedy and really really hope he gets some moments in TWOW and is not just killed off right away.

#whew anyway #I think of nothing but Nightswach day and night i hope this is clear #if i missed anybody please let me know #asoiaf #valyrianscrolls #asoiaf meta #jon snow #night's watch

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chocoluckchipz · 4 years

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The Other You - 12

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An evening of trying to figure out how needles and threads, seams and stitches, the whole sewing thing worked was exactly what Adrien needed—a distraction in the face of the horrible job he’d done of helping Marinette. It helped him to forget his current reality, if only for a few hours. The praise he’d gotten from Marinette for his attempts, however undeserved he thought it to be, felt like a blanket of love and happiness, swaddling him away from all his troubles.

Marinette was the highlight of the evening. She was everything he could ever wish for at that moment and more. Her attempts to comfort him without any context, her heartfelt laughter at his jokes, her kindness… it all nagged at the bud of their hibernating friendship, making Adrien want to help her even more, to get her out of the pit she’d been thrust into and apologize along the way for everything he’d done.

He didn’t really want to leave, but he had to. One fleeting remark Marinette had made, however, had stuck in his head all the way home and refused to leave even as he was climbing into the window of his apartment.

Sometimes I wish I could be Hawkmoth. I’d akumatize myself an army of seamstresses and would be done with this line in no time.

Chat Noir had changed the subject as fast as he could despite realizing full well that it was a joke, something Marinette would most likely forget the next moment. Yet for him, that prospect was a real possibility, and his mind grabbed onto the idea, not only refusing to let go but deliberating on the details all the way home. He found Nooroo as soon as he’d gotten to his bedroom.

“Can you make an akuma that can sew?”

The kwami, awoken from his sleep, blinked in confusion. “Sew?”

“Yes. I need an akuma that can make clothes, to be exact. And be really good at it. Can you make something like that?” Adrien asked.

Nooroo nodded. “Yes. My wielder can make any akuma with any abilities they wish.”

Adrien sat down on his bed, his mind running in overdrive. It was a crazy idea. He knew that, but he also realized by now that finding a qualified, skilled professional for Marinette on such short notice and in their particular situation with Gabriel steadily going under required no less than a miracle. And, if he couldn’t find her an assistant quick, would it be so bad if he made her one? He’d continue looking for a real person of course, but until the right one came along, would it be so horrible if he akumatized someone to help Marinette?

Eager to follow your father’s footsteps?

The thought alone made him cringe and, pushing it aside, Adrien stood up to get ready for bed. He was not his father, and he would never akumatize people against their will to meet his own agenda.

But if it’s for a good cause?

Adrien stalled, then shook his head and proceeded with getting ready for bed. However he looked at it, the things his father had done were wrong. Even thinking about it these last few days after finding out the whole situation, Adrien couldn’t find in himself to excuse the man. Yes, Gabriel’s goal was somewhat good: saving his wife. Healing his loved one. What was so bad about that? Nothing. His seemingly noble goal, however, didn’t justify his actions. The temptation of an easy fix had blinded Gabriel, slowly ripping him away from reality, stripping him of compassion and reason and little by little, turning him into a monster. Should Adrien repeat his father’s mistake and succumb to the same temptation of an easy fix, disregarding how that may affect others?

Never.

He finished brushing his teeth and put his toothbrush away, catching his own reflection in a mirror.

What about you?

Adrien tilted his head to the side, his eyebrows knitted into a frown. What about him, indeed. Self-akumatazation was possible. He didn’t have to manipulate someone else. He could give those skills to himself and help Marinette on his own. Akumatazation would change his appearance so she wouldn’t know it was him.

Appearance?

Adrien puffed. Who was he kidding? The moment anyone saw him, they’d know he was an akuma since all akumas looked… No. Not all of them. There were somewhat normal-ish looking akumas like Copy Cat or that time Lila was Chameleon. She took on completely normal appearances even if stolen. Luka’s mom didn’t look too crazy as well.

“Nooroo?” he called, going back to his bedroom. “Do akumas always have to look so ridiculous? Can’t they look like a normal person?”

“It depends,” the kwami responded. “Usually there is always something unnatural about akumas because human biology and magic mixed together can’t produce what you consider ‘normal’. However, if someone is a shape-shifter then they can take on as normal of an appearance as they’d like.”

Adrien smirked. Shape-shifting akuma it was then. “Okay. Now, tell me more about how this whole self-akumatization thing works.”

“What are you getting at, Adrien?” Plagg grumbled from his bed. “Go to sleep. You get crazy ideas when you’re tired.”

Adrien ignored him. “Nooroo?”

“Yes, Master,” Nooroo replied, flying closer. “It basically works the same way as akumatizing someone: you pinpoint an object, send an akuma, and give yourself powers. Only with self-akumatazation, there is no one but you in control.”

“And what about de-akumatazation?”

“You can retract the butterfly at will.”

“So, kind of like taking down the transformation?”

“Yes, in a way. Only it is done in stages. First, you recall akuma by will alone, no catchphrase needed. Then, you release the butterfly transformation. However, you should be aware—”

“Adrien, what’s this all about?” Plagg flew closer.

“I think I found the perfect way to help Marinette.”

“And what do Nooroo and self-akumatazation have to do with it?”

“I’ll akumatize myself into a clothes-making extraordinaire and will help her to finish her line.”

Plagg stared at him in shock for a full half-minute before yelping. “You can’t do that!”

“Why not?”

“You’ve got responsibilities, for one! You’re a physics teacher and you’re trying to run that fashion-disaster company. Who’s going to do that if you’re parading around as an akuma?”

Adrien hesitated. Plagg had a point. He completely forgot about his school job. But there was only a week or so left until school was out for summer. They didn’t even do much in class these days, so he could easily find a replacement for himself. Or he could claim his saved-up sick days and let the school find someone to substitute for him. He’d have to call a few people tomorrow and see what his options were. As for Gabriel, he’d still like to be involved. Helping Marinette and the rest of Gabriel’s employees couldn’t be done if he were to skip his work at the main office.

“I can find a substitute for my class,” Adrien voiced his thoughts. “That’ll free me up to split my day between the main office and Marinette’s studio.”

“You can’t be serious.” Plagg stared at him in shock. “Adrien, self-akumatization isn’t as straight-forward and easy as it sounds. Why do you think butterfly miraculous wielders always go through the trouble of finding someone else to akumatize instead of giving the powers to themselves? There is a reason, and it’s a good one. Nooroo, tell him.”

“The main reason we avoid self-akumatization is a complete lack of rationality and self-control,” Nooroo explained. “As an akuma, you’ll become obsessed with a broader idea of your goal. For example, akuma searching for justice for a specific person usually starts to judge everyone around them, even completely innocent people. From what I can feel in your heart, Master Adrien, you most likely will be obsessed not just with sewing, but helping Marinette in general.”

“I fail to see the problem.” Adrien frowned. “Helping Marinette is exactly what I’m aiming for.”

Nooroo nervously replied. “You might go a little overboard with that.”

“That’s fine,” Adrien shrugged. “What could be bad in being overly helpful?”

“You don’t get it, do you?” Plagg grumbled from his spot. “Akumas have no restraint or social conduct notions despite their good or bad intentions. In other words, you’ll see no boundaries in what you can and cannot do. That’s why there are always two people involved: an akumatized one and the one who akumatizes. One needs the other to keep them in line because they’re incapable of being rational as akumas. You’ll be alone in this so no one would be able to stop you if you go overboard.”

Adrien sighed. “Humour me but I just don’t understand why me being helpful, even if overly, is such an issue.”

“Geez, kid,” Plagg groaned. “You’re too extra as your regular self. I’m afraid to even imagine what you’ll do as an akuma. You’ll cause millions of problems.”

Adrien quirked an eyebrow. “Like?”

“I don’t know, but you’ll surely cause plenty,” Plagg grumbled. “Nooroo, tell him.”

“Well, for one,” Nooroo responded. “You may disregard everything else in your life and keep helping Marinette 24/7. You might not want to leave her side. You might try helping her in everything she does, not just her work. And I mean everything. Everywhere she goes.”

“See, kid?” Plagg scoffed. “Without anyone to control or cleanse you, it may easily turn into a disaster. So, stop being delusional and go to bed.”

Adrien paused. As unlikely as it seemed to him, maybe the kwamis had a point. He didn’t think of that but looking back at all the akumas they’d fought, the “no restraint” and “obsessive goal-reaching” points made sense. Mix in the complication of him being both the akumatized and akumatizing parties… Adrien had to admit the kwamis had a right to be concerned. He wouldn't want to follow Marinette everywhere and help her with everything. She’d get a restraining order against him that same day, and what would that accomplish? He’d rather not imagine it, meaning Adrien needed someone to control him if he were to go through with this. But how could he find someone for that role without giving away the butterfly miraculous? Because giving Nooroo to anyone except Ladybug was out of the question. Giving him to her before Adrien had a chance to execute his plan was also something he couldn't do. Ladybug would never allow him to use a miraculous for personal interests.

“Give up on this insanity while you can,” Plagg grumbled, settling back into his bed. “Go to bed instead. Sleep the crazies off.”

“So, I just have to find a way to control myself?” Adrien murmured.

“No, you don’t!” Plagg sprung up from his spot. “Nothing needs to be found except that cursed assistant. You have plenty of applications. Why can’t you just choose one and be done with it?”

“Because none of those who are still willing to come onboard have the qualifications Marinette needs right now.”

“Then transfer her an assistant from a different department.”

“You think I haven’t thought of that?” Adrien plopped on his bed. “But Gabriel lost a lot of people in a short period of time. The ones that are left are all tied up and replacement isn’t coming in for a while. If I transfer one—sure, it’ll help Marinette, but I’ll be putting another department in jeopardy, and I can’t afford that because for Gabriel to survive this Fashion Week, we need at least one competent line. So, as bad as it sounds…” Adrien sighed. “The truth is, my father planned Marinette’s line as experimental, and it was supposed to debut only if she’d manage to finish it on time. At least that’s what his notes say.”

“So basically”—Plagg crossed his arms over his chest—“her line matters only to her and it has no effect on the company’s overall image?”

“Exactly.” Adrien nodded. “And no matter how much I want her to succeed, I can’t jeopardize the whole company for an experimental line. So, if I want to help her, I’ll have to do that myself.”

Plagg frowned. “Sometimes I’m astonished at how you can still care this much.”

Deep sigh escaping his lips, Adrien let memories flood his mind. “Until I screwed up our friendship, Marinette had always been nothing but kind to me, and despite everything, there is still so much good in her. She’s much stronger than I ever thought her to be, so yes, despite everything, I still care and I want to help. I owe her for my past mistakes, and it’s because of my father that she’s in the situation she’s in right now. I can’t just walk away and leave her to fail. Especially not when I can help. Don’t you think there’s a reason we found Nooroo when we did? It can’t be just a coincidence.”

Plagg pressed his lips together and stared at Adrien for a short while. “It’ll backfire. Mark my words, kid. It won’t end well. And that’s coming from the god of destruction himself.”

“I’m willing to risk it,” Adrien replied, getting under the comforter. “Tomorrow, though. I need some rest and time to come up with a way to stop myself in case it’s needed. And it’s the middle of the night, so goodnight guys. We’ll continue tomorrow.”

Plagg grumbled and flew back to his basket; Nooroo headed to his own sleeping spot.

Adrien closed his eyes and passed out, his night flying by so fast it felt like his alarm went off just a couple of minutes later. Getting out of bed, he yawned his good mornings to the kwamis and got to his morning routine. Afterwards, Adrien called the school he was working at to inform them he wouldn’t be able to finish the last week of teaching. The principal promised him it wasn’t a big deal and that with him running back and forth between Gabriel and his classroom, they anticipated this course of action and already had a replacement in mind. Adrien was free to take all the time off he needed. That matter settled, Adrien called for Nooroo.

“Change your mind, kid?” Plagg zoomed out of his basket.

“No,” Adrien said, staring at a picture frame on his night table that had caught his attention while he was on the phone. “And I think I have an idea for how you can stop me if there ever was a need.”

“Me?” Plagg yelped.

“Don’t tell me you wouldn’t enjoy having control over me?” Adrien smirked at the kwami.

Plagg pouted and turned away. “Not in the slightest.” A moment later, he looked back at Adrien. “But do tell me what you have in mind.”

Gesturing for him and the newly-appeared Nooroo to follow, Adrien headed for his home office and found an old picture of Marinette on his computer. Printing a few copies on a single sheet of paper, he cut them apart.

“Since I’m helping Marinette,” he explained to the kwamis. “I think it’s only reasonable that I use her picture as my akumatizing object. And it will be very easy for Plagg to tear if I refuse to release the butterfly. What do you think?”

“That will work,” Nooroo nodded.

“Bad idea,” Plagg grumbled. “But at least it’s something.”

Adrien looked through his schedule. “I’m free to help Marinette until around five. Then, I need to go to the main office and work there, so if I won’t cooperate, you have my permission to do anything needed to lure me somewhere private and rip the picture.”

Plagg’s tiny smirk disappeared just as fast as it’d surfaced. “Fine, but you owe me big for this.”

“I’m glad you’re finally on board,” Adrien said, standing up. “Well, if there’s nothing else to discuss, I guess we’ll start?”

“Excuse me, Master?” Nooroo asked, flying closer. “Have you chosen who you’re shifting to once akumatized?”

“Yes. My cousin Felix.”

Plagg groaned. “Couldn’t you find someone other than that pain in the ass with that attitude of his?”

“He isn’t that bad,” Adrien chuckled. “Felix is just a bit peculiar, but he means well.”

“Sure he does,” Plagg grumbled. “Don’t blame me when your Princess runs away from the Felix-you in terror.”

“Don’t worry,” Adrien smirked. “Marinette isn’t one to be pushed around. If anything, I should be concerned for myself and my rear.”

“Why Felix then?”

“I need a proven professional.” Adrien shrugged. “And for all his faults, Felix is great with making clothing. I know he has the skills for me to borrow. And”—Adrien raised his finger before Plagg could comment—“I need someone who doesn’t live in Paris. We can’t risk Marinette running into the person whose image I’m taking on and discovering anything we don’t want her to discover.”

Plagg puffed. “What if your dear Felix suddenly decides to visit? He does visit you pretty often.”

“I’ll know,” Adrien said. “Felix always tells me when he’s coming for a visit, so in case he does decide to show up, we’ll make sure he and Marinette don’t see each other.”

Plagg didn’t look convinced. “Sure, like anyone would ever believe that their boss’ nephew who lives in London would suddenly appear to play an assistant to a struggling designer. Marinette won’t suspect a thing.”

“I’m actually counting on that,” Adrien shrugged with a chuckle. “Now, are there any more questions or we are ready for a test run?”

“You aren’t listening to me anyway,” Plagg mumbled.

“I’m ready,” Nooroo bowed his head.

“Ready for what?” Duusu flew out of Adrien’s closet where he’d built a nest out of Adrien’s clothes for himself to sleep in. “Are we doing something exciting?”

It took a few minutes for the kwamis to get Duusu, who’d slept all through the night’s conversation, up to date. Adrien took that time to get food for the kwamis and papers that he needed for work in his bag. Once all explanations were done, the peacock kwami excitedly flipped in the air, ‘ready for an adventure’, as he’d described it. Prompted, Adrien stood up in the middle of the room and, once everyone got ready, called out, “Nooroo, Wings Rise.”

A pleasant tremor of electricity flowed over his body, transforming Adrien into a superhero he’d never imagined himself to become. A completely new suit wrapped around his body: deep purple dress pants, a matching vest, and a dress shirt of a similar hue but a lighter, almost white colour, a butterfly miraculous pinned at its mandarin-style collar. The matching purple mask covered his face as a cane appeared in front of Adrien, enticing him to reach forward and take it. He obliged, feeling a rush of power coursing through his veins as soon as his fingers wrapped around the cane. Not like Plagg’s, something different. More tender, fragile even. Inspiring.

He looked himself over. “Classy. I like it. If not for the mask and my lack of sewing abilities, I’d go to work like this.”

“Since when do you care about your looks?” Plagg remarked. “I thought you hated fashion?”

“Nothing’s wrong with appreciating a good outfit when I see one,” Adrien shrugged, trying to remember Nooroo’s instructions. With no pre-existing butterflies, Adrien had to conjure one himself. He closed his eyes and concentrated, lifting his hand to the miraculous on his chest. It slightly glowed and out of nowhere, a white butterfly appeared in Adrien’s palm. Adrien covered it with his other hand and focused on his desire to help Marinette. The butterfly glowed brighter as light energy enveloped it.

“Don’t fly too far away, my little akuma,” Adrien said, releasing the butterfly as he picked up Marinette’s picture. “I need your powers for my mission.”

The butterfly fluttered its wings and landed on the picture in Adrien’s hands. Light smog engulfed him, leaving a faceless shape of a human in his place. Adrien sucked in the air as an overwhelming desire suffocated him.

Help Marinette.

His breathing laboured, heart sprinting, Adrien smirked to himself, walking to his table. He picked up the photo of Felix he’d prepared ahead of time, immediately assuming the form of the man in it. Sleek hairstyle brushed to the side, a light grey dress shirt, black vest, black tie, a pair of matching dress pants and a serious expression on his face. There was no way Marinette would recognize Adrien despite the family resemblance being rather incredible.

Marinette.

The thought coursed through his mind, overtaking his every sense and pushing everything else aside.

Help Marinette.

He had to go and help her now.

He had to hurry.

She needed him.

Forgetting breakfast and his jacket, Adrien sprinted out of the door and headed towards Gabriel’s office as fast as he could. In record time, he’d reached the building, obsessed with one idea only.

Help Marinette.

Help Marinette whatever it took.

“Can I help you?” the object of his obsession stared at him as he froze at the door to her office.

There she was. He had to help her. She would accept his help. He’d do whatever it took and he’d do it with style just because Marinette was amazing and deserved the best helper around.

‘Felix’ straightened up. “Quite the opposite, Mademoiselle. It is I who would be helping you.” He stepped into the room and bowed low. “Your knight in shining armour has arrived.”

Marinette puffed, pressing her lips into a thin line, as she lowered her eyes back to the garments she was working on. “I don’t have time for your jokes, Adrien. Some of us need to work.”

‘Felix’ stilled. He knew that he and his cousin looked incredibly alike, but Marinette had met Felix. She should’ve seen the difference. First, their characters were polar opposites. Second, being raised and still living in London, Felix had always preferred a much classier way of dressing and styling his hair than the more liberal approach Adrien favoured. That set them apart quite distinctly. Or at least he thought so.

“My apologies…” ‘Felix’ started, his eyes catching his own reflection in a mirror behind Marinette. He froze, feeling like banging his head on a table because it wasn’t ‘Felix’ who looked at him back from the mirror. It was a man with a crooked tie, a few undone buttons at the top of his shirt, and dishevelled hair that resembled Chat Noir more than his cousin. He should have fixed those after running most of the way here if he wanted Marinette to take him for his cousin.

“Yes?” Marinette frowned.

‘Felix’ cleared his throat. “Accept my apologies for my appearance. It seems I was in so much of a rush to be by your side that I neglected the basics of grooming.” Walking up to the mirror, he fixed his clothes in place and used the comb in his pocket to brush his hair to the side, making him look more like Felix and less like Adrien with every stroke.

“Quit it, Adrien,” Marinette scoffed, not giving him another glance. “I’m busy.”

“I’m afraid you’re mistaken, Mademoiselle.” he turned her way “I do understand your confusion, though. My cousin and I look much too alike for my taste, but I’m no Adrien. My name is Felix. Felix Graham de Vanily.”

The confusion on Marinette’s face was fascinating to watch. “As in Gabriel Agreste’s nephew?”

“In the flesh.” ‘Felix’ nodded. “You’ve heard of me?”

She set down the garment in her hands. “We met back in the day, once or twice. And M Agreste mentioned you a few times. Mostly regretting that his son didn’t have a shred of your talent.”

‘Felix’ quirked an eyebrow, wanting to get angry, but the thought of helping Marinette pushed everything aside. She needed to accept his help. For that, he needed her to like him. He had to do whatever it took. Play along if he must. Don’t waste his energy on pointless anger at a person that was no more.

“Ah, my unfortunate, talentless cousin,” ‘Felix’ shrugged dramatically. “Such a blemish on our family name. Such a failure.”

Marinette frowned. “I’m not Adrien’s biggest fan, but aren’t you being a little harsh here? He is your family.”

Coming closer, ‘Felix’ leaned on Marinette’s desk. “I guess he does deserve a bit of my recognition if only for calling me to work with a beauty such as yourself, Mademoiselle.”

“Adrien called you? To work with me?”

He nodded. “Begged me on his knees. Said it was some kind of an emergency, and without me, my uncle’s whole legacy would vanish up in smoke. I couldn’t refuse him when he put it like that.”

“I wouldn’t say the whole company’s fate is at stake,” Marinette mumbled. “It’s more like just my career.”

“The same thing,” ‘Felix’ shrugged. “You are my uncle’s most promising protégé. We can’t afford for your career to die before it flowers, now can we? So, let’s skip the chit-chat and get to work. What do you want me to do?”

Marinette hesitated. “With all due respect, from what I’ve heard from M Agreste, I should be your assistant, not the other way around. Are you sure you want to help me instead of working on your own projects?”

‘Felix’ straightened up and walked to stand right in front of Marinette. Taking her hand, he pulled her up to stand before him. “How can I simply stay on the sidelines when such an incredible woman and a rare beauty like yourself needs a knight to save her?” A satisfied smirk on his lips, he brought her hand to his lips and placed a kiss on her knuckles. “There is nothing I desire more in this world right now than to help you, Mademoiselle, in whatever form or shape you need it.”

Marinette squeaked, her cheeks turning pink as she slowly pulled her hand away. “Let’s keep it professional, M Agr—”

“Felix,” he corrected. “Please, call me Felix. And absolutely. I’m pure professionalism, but pardon my English manners if they are too unfamiliar and make you uncomfortable. Cherishing a gorgeous woman is customary where I’m from.”

“Ah… alright…” Marinette looked around the studio. “Well, I do need help, so if you’re sure, I’d really appreciate it.”

“I’m positively certain.”

“What do you want to do then?”

‘Felix’ looked around, all the things in the room unexpectedly making sense, all the processes he saw in progress looking familiar, ideas already forming in his head as he glanced over the unfinished outfits hanging on mannequins. “I can do anything, so put me where you need me the most.”

She hummed, rummaging through her papers. “Then, let’s do this: I’ll give you one of the projects I haven’t started on yet, so you can make it from scratch. This way we won’t hinder each other.”

“Sounds good to me.” ‘Felix’ bowed his head, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. He did it! He got her to accept him. Why were her cheeks covered with a pretty pink, though? ‘Felix’ had done nothing that warranted Marinette blushing over him. True, he paid her a few well-deserved compliments but that was common courtesy, wasn’t it? Or was she that unaccustomed to receiving a little attention?

A glint of mischief sparked in ‘Felix’s’ eyes. He had just found another aspect Marinette needed his help with—a boost of confidence. From now on, he’d make sure to shower her with compliments and attention whenever he could. Helping Marinette couldn’t be restricted to sewing only. He could do so much more. He would do so much more. He should start straight away. So, he leaned closer and purred into her ear.

“Your wish is my command, Mademoiselle. Just say the word and it shall be done.”

Next >

#miraculous ladybug #marichat #aged up adrienette #hawkmoth adrien #adrienette #the other you #marinette dupain cheng #ml fanfiction #ml fanfic #ml fanart #butterfly adrien #adrien agreste

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thecassadilla · 4 years

Text

Fix You Up

Pairing: Kristanna

Word Count: 3,375/AO3

Summary: Winding up in the emergency room isn't fun, but it's certainly a bit easier to endure when there's a beautiful doctor taking care of you.

Author’s Note: This is called “I’ve been re-watching way too much Grey’s Anatomy and I decided to write a completely self-indulgent/kind of ethically wrong but it doesn’t really matter because it’s fiction” fic based off of it. I’m not a doctor/nurse/medical professional of any type so I apologize if I got something wrong. Enjoy!!!

The last thing that Kristoff Bjorgman needed was to wind up in the emergency room. He hadn’t intended for the knife to slip and slice his finger open. But going to the hospital, getting through triage, and waiting in a white, sterile room to see a doctor made him re-evaluate his initial thoughts.

The last thing he actually needed was a pretty, perky, red-headed doctor taking care of him. And yet, it was happening whether he liked it or not.

“Hi, Mr. B - ooh,” she laughed as she walked into his room, attempting to read his last name off of his chart. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to laugh, it’s just that they teach you how to pronounce words like ‘choledocholithiasis’ in medical school but they don’t teach us how to pronounce our patients’ last names.”

“Oh, it’s -”

“No, I think I got it. Bjorgman?” she raised an eyebrow.

“Yup, that’s it,” he nodded, pursing his lips. She seemed way too young to be a doctor; her hair was tied up in a high ponytail that bounced when she moved, and combined with the scrubs and white coat she was wearing, she looked like she was supposed to be trick-or-treating instead of practicing medicine.

“Alright, Mr. Bjorgman, I’m Dr. Anna Andersen. What brings you in today?” She walked over to the sink and began to vigorously wash her hands.

“Apparently, I need stitches.”

She turned off the water and dried her hands with a paper towel before walking over to his side. She glanced down at his outstretched hand, inspecting the laceration for a few seconds. “I would say that I agree with your diagnosis. You definitely need a few stitches.”

“Fantastic,” he groaned.

“I’m sorry, I know this probably isn’t fun,” she frowned, grabbing a pair of gloves from the dispenser and snapping them on. “But we’ll try to get you out of here as quickly as possible.”

“I appreciate that.”

She sat down on the chair and rolled over to the side of his bed, inspecting his wound more closely. “How did this happen?”

He hesitated, and contemplated lying to her; maybe because he was certain that she’d laugh at him or think he was stupid for cutting himself open while chopping vegetables. He decided to tell the truth anyway. “I was cooking and the knife slipped.”

“Okay, do you mind if I -?” She motioned to his finger, a sense of relief washing over him; there was not a laugh or even a lip twitch in sight.

“Go ahead.”

She gently placed her fingers on the area surrounding the cut. “Does this hurt at all?”

“Just a little,” he grimaced.

“I’m sorry,” she said, scrunching up her nose. “But you can feel my fingers, yes?”

“I can.”

“Good.” She rotated his hand, surveying the damage from all angles. “Are you able to bend your finger?”

He demonstrated for her, despite the fact that it hurt every time he moved it.

“And how long ago did this happen?”

He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to think how long it had taken him to stop the bleeding and get in the car and fill out all the paperwork. “Like, two hours ago.”

“Okay, and are you allergic to any medications or anesthetics?”

“No,” he sighed.

“Sorry for all the questions, it’s procedure. Are you currently taking any medications?”

He shook his head.

“Alright, last one. Do you remember how long ago you had your last tetanus shot?”

“I don’t.”

She gently placed his hand back on the tray, then stood up, pulled the gloves off, and threw them in the trash. “Well, the good news is that the edges aren’t jagged and this should heal very nicely with a few stitches. The bad news is that you won’t be able to bend your finger for a few days.”

“Great.”

“Now, I’ll be right back, I’m just going to get the stuff I need to fix your finger and a tetanus booster and then we’ll get you out of here.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” he said in a low voice.

She smiled before ducking out of the room. Though he had yet to see her put her actual skills to the test, he was impressed by her bedside manner; she was actually quite adorable. Perhaps he had judged her too quickly.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” she said when she returned a few minutes later, setting down the materials she’d need on the tray next to his hand. “Ready to go?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

She walked over to the sink and washed her hands again before putting on another pair of clean gloves. She sat back down in the chair next to his bed and scooted in as close as she could.

“Now, before I start stitching you up, I’m going to give you a local anesthetic so you won’t feel any pain,” she explained, as she pulled a syringe from a plastic package. “Speaking from experience, this will sting a bit.”

“Experience?” he questioned, furrowing his eyebrows together. “Like from your personal experience or what other people have told you?”

She filled it up with liquid from a tiny clear vial. “Both.”

“Do you warn all of your patients that it will hurt?”

“Only the ones I like,” she winked. “I’ll have to poke you a few times, okay?”

“Okay,” he nodded, and she began to anesthetize the area. She poked him once, and then again, and again. He gritted his teeth.

“Almost done, you’re doing great,” she said, noticing his discomfort. She poked him one last time. “Okay, the worst is over.”

She stood up and deposited the needle in the sharp materials box next to the bed before taking her seat once again. “In just a few minutes, you’ll be numb and I can start.”

“You weren’t kidding when you said that would sting,” he remarked.

“I also wasn’t kidding when I said I only warn the patients that I like,” she grinned. She had such a beautiful smile. “A lot of people come in here and try to undermine my medical experience. I don’t warn people who think they know it all.”

He immediately felt guilty for thinking she looked more prepared for Halloween than for being a doctor. “No offense, but you do look very young.”

“Because I am young. I’m twenty-six,” she confessed with a shrug.

“They let you be a doctor that young? Not just you, but people in general.”

“Oh, yeah,” she laughed. “Medical school is only four years, and you’re officially a doctor when you graduate. Then you do a residency, which is what I’m doing right now, and that can be up to seven years. I’m still in my first year.”

“I didn’t know that,” he said. “That’s a lot of learning.”

“They don’t really advertise how many years of training you have to go through,” she said, tapping on his finger. “Can you feel that?”

“No.”

“Wonderful, now it’s time to party,” she announced. “First, I’m going to clean your wound with some saline solution.”

Though his finger was numbed, he could feel the sensation of the liquid trickling down his palm.

“And now, I’m going to put some antibacterial liquid on your skin,” she explained, doing so as she spoke. “And I have to drape it with a sheet before I suture it…”

She unpacked the blue paper from it’s plastic package, and unfolded it. Conveniently, there was a hole right in the center.

“Here,” she said, holding it up. “Slip your finger right through here, and...perfect!!”

“Do you always narrate what you’re doing for your patients?” he asked in a sincere tone. It was a genuine question.

“Yeah, it usually makes them feel better, but we can talk about something else if you want. Or, if you’d prefer me to be quiet, I can do that, too.”

In any other situation, he would have preferred the quiet, but she had a very appealing voice. “No, you can keep talking.”

“Good, I like talking,” she remarked with a smirk. She was now holding what looked like a pair of scissors in one hand and a pair of tweezers in the other. “You ready?”

“Yup.”

She leaned over his hand, which obstructed his view. “So you may feel the needle going in and out, but it shouldn’t hurt. There, did you feel that?”

“No, not at all.”

“Good,” she said. “So, what do you do for work?”

“I’m an engineer,” he answered, shortly. He didn’t want to bore her with the details.

“Is that a job where you use your hands a lot?”

“Yeah, it is.”

She stopped what she was doing and turned to look at him, her bright, blue eyes nearly boring a hole into his own. “You’re either going to have to take a few days off from work or do something that doesn’t involve your hands, okay? Doctors’ orders. You shouldn’t bend your finger or do any heavy lifting until the stitches come out because you don’t want to accidentally rip it open.”

He closed his eyes and exhaled deeply. “Fine.”

She turned away again and resumed what she was doing. “Did you drive yourself here or did someone give you a ride?”

“I drove myself.”

“Now, I don’t advocate for reckless driving and I would strongly recommend that you call someone to pick you up. You won’t be able to bend your finger around the wheel.”

“I don’t really have anyone that I can call, but I’ll be fine.”

“I’m going to pretend that I didn’t hear that.”

Though he couldn’t see what she was doing, he could see the concentration on her face. She was so close that he could practically count the freckles that were scattered across her nose and cheeks. “So, uh, why did you become a doctor?”

She chuckled. “That’s a bit of a loaded question, but it’s practically a family business. My parents were doctors, my sister’s a doctor. I’m just following in their footsteps.”

“That’s cool that you can say that you all have the same career.”

“I suppose,” she said, her voice twinged with uncertainty. He wasn’t sure how to interpret her tone, but before he could even think about asking what she meant, she placed her tools down on the tray. “And just like that, you’re all stitched up.”

“That was fast,” he remarked as she removed the drape from around his finger. He was able to see it for the first time and counted six tiny knots.

“It isn’t really a time-consuming process,” she shrugged.

“Well, you did a really good job.”

“Thank you,” she blushed. “Now, I’m going to put some antibiotic ointment on it and then wrap it in gauze. You’ll have to keep it clean and dry for the first twenty-four hours. I’ll print you out some more detailed care instructions, but I’m going to recommend that you come back here in ten days to have them removed.”

“Gotcha.”

“Also, don’t rub any alcohol or hydrogen peroxide on it. And if you see any signs of infection - swelling, pus, increase in pain - you can come back or you can make an appointment with your primary care physician.”

“Understood.”

“I just have to give you the tetanus booster and then I’ll get your discharge papers. Sound good?”

He nodded. “Thank you.”

She prepared the vaccine, then stood up and ripped open an alcohol pad. She lifted up the sleeve of his shirt and cleaned off a small area. “This shouldn’t hurt at all,” she said, before injecting the liquid into his body. Seconds later, she was pulling it out, covering the tiny wound with a bandage, and dropping the needle into the sharps container.

“That was a walk in the park compared to the other one,” he chuckled.

“Easy peasy,” she smiled, gathering up all of the items that needed to be discarded. She walked over the garbage, and tossed it away before removing her gloves. “You stay put, okay?”

“Okay,” he answered, inspecting his finger as soon as she left the room. There wasn’t much to see, since the wound was covered by gauze.

“Alright, so this is a bag of stuff to take care of your finger - a few single-use packets of ointment, some gauze, and some tape. You’ll have to stop by a drug store to get enough ointment to last you for the entire ten days, though.” She handed him the small plastic bag.

He nodded. “Alright.”

She shuffled through the papers before handing him on. “Those are the wound care instructions. Please try to follow them as best as you can. When it’s time for the stitches to come out, you can come back here or go to your regular healthcare provider, it’s up to you. And last but not least, these are your discharge papers. We just need you to sign this page and then you’re a free man.”

She placed the papers and a pen on the tray and pushed it closer to him. He signed them without hesitating and she took them back once he was finished.

“Do you have any questions?”

“No, I think you covered everything.”

She smiled. “Alright, then you’re free to go. Take care of yourself, Mr. Bjorgman.”

“Kristoff,” he corrected, holding out his hand for her.

She accepted, and shook it, keeping her eyes locked on his and allowing her fingers to linger for just a second when she pulled her hand back. “Be well, okay?”

Though he was free from the confines of the hospital, he felt almost as if he’d left a piece of himself there. He couldn’t stop thinking about her, for some reason. Not on the drive home, not when he was cleaning up the massacre in his kitchen, and not when he finally crawled into his bed that night but found himself unable to sleep. She was a beautiful, compassionate doctor and he was the idiot who showed up in her emergency room with a gaping hole in his finger. Remnants of their conversation played over and over again in his head, and though he didn’t know her at all, he found himself creating scenarios in his head where they would have the opportunity to meet again. He kept having to remind himself that she was only being so nice because she was a doctor.

As luck would have it, he would find himself back in the emergency room just two days later, for a rather unfortunate reason. Doubled over in pain, he spotted her in the hallway talking to a colleague as he was wheeled toward his room by an orderly. He couldn’t help but notice her eyes following where he was going until he couldn’t see her anymore, and he fervently hoped that she’d be the one to treat him, again.

She walked into his room shortly after, looking quite concerned. “Hey, what are you doing back here? Infection?”

“No,” he breathed. “I’m having really bad abdominal pains.”

“What’s going on?”

“I’ve been nauseous and I haven’t been able to keep anything down, and I have a fever. And the pain is really bad. Do you think it could be appendicitis?”

“It could be, but they’ll have to run some tests on you to confirm,” she said, shoving her hands into the pocket of her coat.

“Are you the only doctor that works here?”

“It feels like that sometimes,” she remarked. “But I’m not your doctor today.”

His face fell. “You’re not?”

She shook her head. “I just saw you from the hallway and I wanted to see what was going on, make sure that you were okay.”

“I wish I could say that I was making this up just so I could see you again.”

“You know, you’re really handsome and I like looking at you, but I’d prefer if we didn’t keep meeting like this.”

Feeling bold, he decided to press on. “What if we met somewhere else? Like a grocery store or a bar?”

She cocked her head, a smirk plastered across her face. “It would be a miracle because I don’t have a social life and I survive on takeout. I can't say I wouldn't like that, though.”

He laughed, but it only caused his pain to intensify and thus, remind him of the seriousness of the situation. He exhaled a few times through his mouth before speaking again. “What will happen if it is appendicitis?”

She sighed. “You’ll have to have surgery.”

“Oh,” he frowned. “When it rains, it pours, huh?”

She gently squeezed his arm. “We’ll take really good care of you.”

His memory got a little foggy after that; he remembered his actual doctor coming in, the nurse putting in an I.V., someone coming in and drawing his blood, and an ultrasound machine being wheeled into his room. He concluded that they must’ve given him some painkillers after that, because the next thing he remembered was waking up after surgery, the doctor telling him that it went well, and then promptly falling back to sleep.

He didn’t know how much time had passed when he finally woke up.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” a soft voice asked. Suddenly, Dr. Andersen was by his side; she looked quite concerned and she was wearing normal clothes, not her scrubs or white coat.

He cleared his throat. “I’m okay.”

“Your surgery went really well,” she assured him. “You came in at just the perfect time.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to make sure that you were okay before I left for the night,” she explained, gently resting her hand on his arm. “Is there anything that I could get for you? Anyone I can call?”

“No,” he shook his head. “Thank you, though.”

“You’re welcome.” She gave him a small smile. “Get some rest, alright?”

“Wait,” he called, just as she was about to walk through the door. She obliged, and turned around. “They say lightning never strikes the same place twice. I’ve never been to the emergency room in my entire life, and now I’ve been here twice in three days. That has to be some kind of coincidence, right?”

“Today was my last day on rotation for emergency medicine. I’m moving on to pediatrics.”

His eyebrows furrowed together. “Because of me?”

“No, not at all,” she assured him. “That’s just how being a first year resident works.”

“I don’t...” he trailed off.

“The reason I brought it up is because you were talking about coincidences,” she said, in a low voice.

Suddenly, it clicked. “That’s a pretty big one, huh?”

She nodded slowly. “I would say so.”

“So what does this mean?”

She walked back over to his bed, sat down on the edge of it, and dropped her bag on the floor. “I’d be lying if I said that I wasn’t worried about you all day.”

No use in being anything but honest now. “I’d be lying if I said that I haven’t been thinking about you since the other day.”

“I may have been thinking about you, too,” she smirked.

He raised an eyebrow. “Does that mean I can ask you on a date?”

“You may,” she blushed. “But only after you recover from your surgery. Don’t forget that you’re supposed to spend the next couple of weeks recovering.”

“So I won’t be able to take you out for, like, three weeks?”

“Don’t forget that I work eighty hours a week, too,” she laughed. “But I’ll give you my phone number and you can text me as much as you want. I may not be able to answer right away, but I enjoy reading my messages on my breaks.”

“Deal,” he agreed and he recited his number to her, so she could text him and he could save it.

“You really should get some rest now, though,” she insisted, standing up and straightening his blankets.

“You should really take your own advice.”

“I know, I know,” she rolled her eyes. She picked up her bag and slung the strap over her shoulder. “Have a good night, Kristoff.”

“You too...Anna,” he called. She beamed at him and as soon as she was out of sight, he found himself unable to control his own smile.

#kristanna #kristanna fanfic #anna #kristoff bjorgman #frozen #frozen fic #yay the first thing i've published in 3 months #lowkey kind of hate it but i hate everything i write #my writing

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lennydaisy · 4 years

Text

EPIPHANY SERIES // OUTER BANKS // CHAPTER TWO.

(n.) a moment when you suddenly feel that you understand. or suddenly become conscious of something that is very important to you.

“Care to seize the day, my friend?”

Outer Banks Season 1- FEM OC! and ?

Here is the link to Chapter One if you have read it already <3 Check it out!!

'I'm going to kill that rooster.'

Slapping a hand over my eyes, my vision red with the suns early morning rays, my ears ringing at the excisive cockerel, refusing to accept the fact that I'm already awake. The gentle patter of feet creaking against the uneven floorboards causes me to roll on my side, grabbing what I'm assuming is my pillow.

Why is my pillow so... boney? And retracting against my grip.

Oh well.

"May," I hear someone croak, not having the energy to reply I just hum, pulling my pillow closer to me, "May, stop that tickles," they let out in a breathy voice.

Scrunching my eyebrows together, 'why's my pillow talking?' I open one eye in confusion at the voice and that's when I realised I wasn't in my room, in my bed. No. I was on the couch and the pillow that I thought I was holding so dearly happened to be JJ's foot.

I let out a shriek at the sight of JJ's toes being in such close quarters with my face, causing the boy to jump slightly, kicking me in the nose, knocking me off the couch, smashing face-first against the floor, "Ouch."

"I don't want to know how you manage that," the toneless voice of John B echos through the room. Stepping over the heap that is my body, he slaps JJ's leg, "Yo, JJ, you been outside?"

"I have polio, bro. I can't walk," he grunted, voice muffled against his pillow.

Hearing John B's steps fade away, as a whip of wind squeezes through the gapping door, shaking a shiver down my spine.

I refuse to get up. I refuse. I live here now. On the floor. The hard and cold floorboards. This is my home now. Do you need me? You know where I'll be. On the ground. Where I belong-

"Ouch," I wince, the air being knocked out my lungs as a pair of feet stump down on my back, quickly retracting at the sound of my pain. "What are you doing on the floor?" I hear JJ ask, but I refuse to look at him or give him a proper answer, just huffing and grunting.

"Come one May, get up," I hear JJ say, tapping my head lightly before another wave of goosebumps run up my arms as the door bounced close again. Leaving me in a heap of self-pity, on the ground, with a 'broken' nose.

Cursing under my breath, I push myself to my feet, instantly feeling a rush of heat in my nose. Huffing, I stuff tissue up my bleeding nostril, staring at my dishevelled appearance in disgust. I attempt to flatting the creases in my shirt and brush my fingers through the bird's nest on my head before heading outside.

'Dang, Aggie did us a number,' I thought looking around our mess of a garden. The big oak tree now laid haphazardly across the grass being ripped out by the roots. Our trash cans are nowhere to be seen and I'm pretty sure that's our neighbour's dog house smashed to piece beside John B's van.

"What about the DCS? Wasn't that today?" I hear JJ ask my brother who is currently rummaging through the fallen branches that the storm blow onto the boat. Walking closer to the boys, John B replies, "Nah, they're not gettin' on a ferry" shaking his head.

"Thank god," I say, cringing at how nasally my voice sounds, tiptoeing around the puddles burrowing in the grass. "What happened to your face?" John B sniggers, making me point accusingly at our blonde friend, "Ask him."

"Hey, don't blame me," holding his hands up in defence, laughing slightly at my current state, but I don't find it very funny, especially this early in the morning, "Oh, so what, you didn’t kick me in the face?"

"It was an accident."

"An accident won't fix my broken nose."

"Okay, you're nose isn't broken."

"How do you know? Want me to kick you in the face and-"

"Guys!" John B yells, interrupting us from going any further, "We don't have time for this, God is telling us to fish."

Shaking my head at his attempt to reason, "I'm not fishing with a broken nose," I say, my toes curling in the damp grass. JJ lets out a sound of exhaustion, "Oh my God, May. Your nose is fine."

"See he still hasn't said sorry," Pointing at the boy who dares to belittle my swollen nose.

Having enough of us, "JJ, say sorry," John B sighs, jumping down from the boat. JJ whips around staring at his friend, mouth gaping like a fish as a smug smile creeps it's on my face, happy that John B is actually on my side, "Macy, you say sorry too."

Wait. What!

My previous stance of bouncing on the balls of my feet waiting expectingly for an apologize quickly changed to me mimicking JJ, "What, why?" I gape, not understanding why I should be sorry.

"JJ, apologize for kicking Macy, " John B starts as JJ tries to interrupt him, "But-" quickly catching his tongue at the dangerous look John B sends his way, "And Macy, apologize for being a diva," this time I interrupt, "But-".

"Now please!" he demands, walking past us, making his way up to the Château, "I'd like to go fish today," slamming the door behind him for emphasis. And with that, it was just me and JJ.

I looked out at the marsh, refusing to look at the boy who was leaning against the boat with his arms crossed over his chest. It was quite a nice day. Perfect fishing weather. Shaking my head at my antics, I gave in, "I'm sorry," we both said.

Looking at each other in surprise, lightly laughing as I stick my hand out for him to take, "Shake on it?" I ask JJ who looks at my hand with amusing eyes, "Sure," clasping his hand around mine giving it a firm but soft shake.

Nodding, pleased with our transaction, I go to move back, pulling my hand indicating him to let go. He doesn't. Blinking at him, I try to pull my hand away again but he's not letting up, just staring at me before pulling me towards him, rubbing his knuckles against my head.

"Ow, JJ" I shriek trying to escape his arm that is wrapped tightly around my shoulder, "You know I hate knuckies," I plead as he just laughs eventually releasing me. Smirking at my tangled hair, he attempts to smooth out the knots with his fingers, "Come on May, let's go fishing."

The Outer Banks is no stranger when it comes to storms, having a hand full of them each year. It's always the same; sunken boats, eroding docks, fallen trees, and no power for weeks. Aggie made it her duty to make the beginning for summer a doozy, having no remorse on her destruction.

"We'll be cleaning this all summer," I point out sitting at the bow of the boat, feet dangling just above the murky marsh. "That's my worse nightmare," John B complains, sailing us past the docks that are filled with locals cleaning up the mess.

'Is that? It can't be. She everywhere!'

"Morning, Miss Amy, Mrs Adams," John B greets, slowing down as we pass the two ladies who are sweeping up the dock, "You guys get through it?" he asks politely.

I look in the opposite direction of the pair, refusing to acknowledge her presence as I lay on my back, hoping that the boat will just suck me in and away from this interaction.

"Still here," I hear Miss Amy, Mrs Adams daughter, say. I know, if it was hard enough to believe that Mrs Adams was married, her having children sounds ludicrous.

"Oh John B, how's your neck of the woods? Everything good?" I wanted to gag at her act. She always tries to turn on her sweet, old lady charm when it comes to John B, always kissing up to him, but he’s so blinded by her words that he refuses to acknowledge the fact that she's evil.

"And JJ, my sweet boy, how are you?"

'God, if you're out there, I know you can hear me. Please, I'm not asking for much, just get me out of here. Please! Have some mercy on my soul.'

"I'm good Mrs Adams. You're looking dazzling as always," JJ comments as I whisper, "Give me a break," under my breath.

I didn't even have to look to know her reaction. She probably fanning herself with her hand, begging the boy to stop, but secretly hoping that he'll jump off the boat and into her arms, "Please JJ, you're too much," and that just confirmed it.

"Mason and I have our work put out for us, but we'll get by," John B answers and Mrs Adams pretends to have just noticed me despite our, not at all warranted, proximity, "Oh Mason, I didn't even see you there, dear."

This is what Mrs Adams does. She acts all innocent around other people but when it's just me and her, she turns into the spawn of satan. And that why nobody believes when I say she hates my guts because she turns on the charm like it's her second job.

Having to face the music, I sit up, against my better judgement, and smile brightly at the lady, "Hi, Mrs Adams, still in one piece I see."

Unfortunately.

"Yes," she smiles back, but I see that look in her eyes, the look of hatred, "It would take more than a hurricane to knock me off my feet," she laughs at her joke and I mimic her.

Feeling the tension in the air, John B clears his throat, "Well, it was lovely talking to you ladies, but we have to go now," he announces, the boat picking up speed in hopes of breaking the glaring eyes that Mrs Adams and I are exchanging.

Shaking her head slightly, she smiles at my brother, "Have a lovely day John B. You too JJ, see you later," she waves and instantly resumes back to sweeping the dock with her daughter who sends a look my way, silently apologising for her mothers behaviour.

"God May, why are you so rude to Mrs Adams?"

"She nothing but a sweet old lady."

Spinning around to face the boys, my voice not wavering, "She's the devil incarnate," I deadpan, "It's not a coincidence that her name is Agatha, and storm Agatha just ruined our summer. She had something to do with it, I know it."

"Devil incarnate or not, her daughters hot," JJ gushes at the thought of Miss Amy. Seeing my face wrinkled in disgust he continues, "What? Did you not see the way she looked at me?"

"I see how delusion you are," I admit, innocently ginning at the boy who flips me off, "I'm not the one fraternising with the enemy," I defend, finding it frankly unnerving that he is so opinionated about Miss Amy.

"Your enemy is just shy of retirement."

"Not shy enough."

"Well, look who we have here," John B states as we pass 'Heywards Seafood' spotting Pope hosing down the deck with the saddest face I've ever seen, "We have a safety meeting. Attendance mandatory," mimicking static as he speaking into his shoulder.

"I can't," Pope says looking at his Dad who's making his way over, a scowl painted on his face at the sight of his son's friends, "Pops got me on lockdown."

"Come on man. Your dads a pussy. Over," JJ smirks seeing the man in question standing behind Pope, "Oh, I heard that, you little bastard," he insults, staring the boy down.

"Hey, Mr Heyward," I greet now standing, giggling at the man hostility, "We need your son."

"Yeah, island rules," JJ starts, now standing beside me, "Day after a hurricane a free day," he points out like its obvious. "And who made that up?" Mr Heyward conspires, looking at the boy expectingly.

"JJ," I nod at the man, the same time as JJ says, "The Pentagon," earning me a look from the blonde.

Out the corner of my eye, I see John B edging Pope on the boat trying to not get caught by the boy's hot-headed father.

Mr Heyward has had no problem voicing his distaste for his son's friends. To use his words, we're 'A bunch of good for nothing, sons of bitches, who are ruining his son's image'. What Mr Heyward refuses to believe, despite the fact that he has most likely noticed it himself, is that his peculiar son is a Pogue just like the rest of us.

"I have a card," JJ fishes through his pockets looking for a card that everyone knows he does have, but in his attempt to distract Pope dad he's putting on his best act.

As soon as Pope step foot on the boat, after quickly dumping the hose that is now shaking and spraying wildly over the dock, John B hastily hit the gas, leaving the boy's dad on his lonesome.

"I'll do it tomorrow," Pope tries to reason, but his dad is having no of it, "I'm sorry," he apologizes to his dad, who is shouting in the distance, "You'll be cleaning shrimp and your dirt-ass room."

"We'll bring your son back in one piece," I promise the man who just points accussingly at me, steam coming out of his ears, "We've fallen out Mason."

'That's it. My one true friend is gone, just like that. I only stole his son, what's the big deal?' I thought.

Rushing over to Pope who is now sitting where I previously sat, "Can you please tell your dad that I'm sorry," I beg sitting beside him as I attempt my best puppy dog eyes.

With his hand clasped over my knee, "It's too late. We're both blacklisted now," sorrow filling his voice as I pretend to cry, "I can't believe it. I'm now in the same category as those two," I point at my mess of a brother and best friends who are wrestling each other over the controls of the boat.

"Kie's our only hope," Pope admits, looking upon the disgrace that he has the pleasure of calling his friends.

"Ask and she shall come,” I smile, noticing Kie walking down the dock, cooler in hand.

"Oh, top o' the mornin' to ya," JJ greets, giving up on his attack against John B, now lounging against the side of the boat, "Morning boys. Macy."

"Ma Lady," I joke, holding out my hand for her, that she graciously takes. Stepping onto the boat, she dumps the cooler in between me and Pope, "Whatcha got? Some juice boxes?" asks Pope, opening up the cooler.

"Some Reese's Cups since you ate all mine?" I question, raiding through the cooler, seeing no Reese's Cups but plenty bottles of beer. My comment earns me a sharp flick on the ear, "Ouch," I complain, holding my the side of my head like it's going to fall off.

"Oh give up, you big baby," she laughs, nudging my legs apart, settling herself in the space between, leaning her back comfortably against my chest.

Normally I wouldn't mind, but the wind that is whipping its way up the marsh is blowing Kie hair into my face. I splutter and spit as strands fly into my mouth, slapping my hand around in hopes of regaining my vision that is being blocked by her mop of hair.

"What about my type of Juice box?" JJ asks, grinning triumphantly when Kie hands him a beer, "Skoal," he cheers, wasting no time in chugging the bottle.

Reaching back, Kie hands me one, but I shake my head, "Can't. I'm babysitting Wheezie this afternoon," I point out, making Kie pull a face, disappointment lacing her voice, "I can't believe you willing work for Sarah Cameron's dad."

If it hasn't been made obvious, Kie doesn't like Sarah Cameron, my bosses oldest daughter. Doesn't like is putting it lightly, she hates her guts. That about right. You see Kie being partly Kook caused her to try and make Kook friends and one of those friends use to be Sarah Cameron. I'm the only one that knows why she hates her so much and honestly her opinion's valid.

"He works for her dad too," I point at my brother, not wanting to be the only one under Kie's fire. John B just holds his hands up defensively and states, "I'm not a part of this," before passing the controls of the boat to Pope, seeing as though he wants to drink after the tough couple of days we've had.

"I know what will cheer everyone up," slurs an already drunk JJ, "Hey Pope. Can you go a little faster?" He asks, stumbling his way to the front of the boat on wobbly legs.

"This doesn't work," John B calls out from his lounging position at the back of the boat, taking a swig of his beer as he looks upon the determined blonde, "We've tried this like 6,000 times."

"I've got this. It's gonna work," he believes and I encourage him, even with the linger of doubt that can be heard in my voice, "You prove them wrong, JJ."

He begins to clap for himself, taking his position unevenly at the edge of the boat, "I present to you, Lady, Gentlemen, and May, my party trick."

"I hope you fall off the boat," I deadpan, my previous support completely gone after his comment. Tilting the bottle that he held high, he attempts to finesse the winds to direct the liquid into his wide mouth. Ultimately missing just like all the times before.

Kie rushes away from the splash zone that has been made with JJ's party trick, "You're getting beer in my hair," she complains moving to sit beside John B.

His face was now stiff with sticky beer, but JJ didn't care. He was having fun, enjoying the feeling of the early morning sun looking down on him as the wind blows through his hair. I'm having fun too. Watching his stupid ass attempt his flawed party trick is very entertaining.

Getting ready to applaud his failure, I'm harshly launched forward as the boat comes to an abrupt stop. Slamming my back against the side of the boat, winding me as I begin to see double. The world was spinning, my ears ringing from the force whilest the rest of my bodt erupts into painful tingles.

"Everybody alright," I cough, rubbing my head, looking at my friends who are all laying sporadically over the boat, feeling the same ache that I am. Only having the energy to grunt, Kie cries, "Jesus, Pope!"

Noticing the lack of a certain opinionated blonde, I crawl to the bow of the boat, losing balance as my head throbs, "JJ!" I call looking out into the marsh catching no sight of the boy.

"JJ!" Still nothing. Not even a ripple in the water.

"I didn't mean it when I said I wanted you to fall off the boat, you just annoyed me with you stupid comment, I didn't-" my apologetic ramble halting when JJ's head floats above the water, chocking on the warm marsh water as he groans out in pain.

Breathing in relief, "Are you okay?" I ask, feeling bad for the boy who just bodyslammed into next week, "I think my heels touched the back of my head," he coughs, floating on his back with his eyes squished shut.

"Pope, what did you do?" JJ cries at the boy. "Sandbar. The channel changed," he replies, but his eyes are glued to the water, not paying his full attention to his friend who he just threw a mile.

"Yeah, no shit," he starts swimming back to the boat, "Saved my beer, though," he cheers, seeing the light in his situation. Nobody else seems to care though. John B grunting, still in pain from his fall, "Congrats, JJ."

Pope's quietness was unsettling to me, normal never missing a beat at throwing a jab at JJ. Instead, he was staring sternly at the marsh. Clasping my hand on his shoulder, I hope to gain his attention, but his eyes didn't waver, "Hey, you okay?" I ask, thinking he was shaken up from the sudden crash.

"You see the boat too, right?" he points my eyes in the direction of the murky water. Leaning forward, I see what has Pope so confused. There was, in fact, a boat, a sunken boat, at the pit of the marsh, "Yeah," was all I could say, head tilted at the bizarre finding.

"Guys... there's a boat down there," he announces, still not moving as he calls out to our friends.

"Shut up, Pope," John B lets out a breathy laugh that I shake my head at. "No, he's serious. Look," I point at the obvious outline of a boat.

"Holy shit," Kie curses, releasing he was telling the truth, "He's right. Let's go," throwing off her shorts, diving in beside her concussed friend, John B following soon after.

"You think there's a dead body down there?" Pope wonders, teeth chattering at the thought. Humming and hawing at his question, I kick off my short saying, "Only one way to find out," pushing the reluctant boy off the boat before jumping in myself.

I don't know exactly what I was supposed to be looking for. A dead body? No thanks. I rather not have that image imprinted in my brain. What I did notice though, in between the disgusting floaters in the water, was that the boat looked in great condition. Its paint job was near to new, meaning it couldn't have been down under for too long.

This might have just happened. And judging by the lack of sealife that usually takes refuge in sunken wrecks it probably did.

Also, it looked as though it was a Grady white which is confusing. Those things are about $500 thousand minimum, you know, pocket money for a Kook. But if this was a Kooks boat, why haven't I heard their arrogant asses complaining about their boat sinking?

Laughing when we reach the surface again, breathing in big gulps of air that sting my lungs slightly, "You guys saw that, right?" JJ asks as we pull ourselves back on the boat.

"That was a Grady White," I confirm our assumptions, ringing my hair out over the side of the boat, "Yeah. That's the boat I saw when I surfed the surge," John B confesses breathlessly.

"You did what?"

"You surfed the surge?"

"That's my boy. Pogue style," JJ cheers, patting my brother on the back, congratulating him for his stupidity.

"Hey, I think you dropped this," I sympathise, pretending to pick something up off the deck. John B looks at me confused, eyes darting around the floor, looking for the whatever it was I was suggesting, "Dropped what?"

Seeing my opportunity, I clipped him on the back of the head, my brother instantly darting back up straight, hissing, holding the back of his head, "Your common sense, you moron. What the hell were you think? Oh right. You clearly weren't since you surfed the surge!"

"Chill Macy. I'm fine, nothing happened," he says attempting to calm me down but it wasn't working, "Beside Pope was with me too," he throws his friends under the bus trying to defend himself.

Turning around to a now sheepish Pope, "Okay I expected it from him," pointing accusingly at my brother who looks insulted, "But you Pope..." I try to hide the disappointment that I'm feeling.

"Okay May, don't guilt-trip the boy," JJ buts in, throwing his arm around my shoulder for comfort, but nothing was comforting about what he said next, "And you can't deny, what they did was pretty cool."

Scoffing, I shove his arm off me and settle myself at the back of the boat, arms crossed over my chest. I can't believe they would be so... so irresponsible. There was a hurricane and they somehow thought that it would be smart to go surfing? Thankfully nothing happened, but that's not the point. They didn't know that. One wrong move and- I don't even want to think about it.

"Wait, wait. Do we even know whose boat that is?" Pope asks, watching as John B pulls out the anchor, "No, but we're about to find out," he smiles cheeckly, not even giving a second thought to what he’s about to do.

"Dude, it's too deep," JJ says, being the voice of reason for a change, but I show no interest at all. I'm done. If John B wants to be stupid and reckless, then he can be: stupid and reckless.

"Oh, for the weak and feeble, JJ," John B points out, heading to the bow of the boat, rusty anchor in hand, his confidence clearly high, "Well, I'm not resuscitating you. I'm just making that clear up front," JJ holds out his hands, moving back, making way for my moron of a brother.

"That's fine." John B replies not even giving it a second thought as he hold the anchor tightly to this chest. Preparing himself for his descend down to the wreck.

Looking back at my slumping figure that is radiating discomfort at this whole situation, "John B," Kie exhales, shaking her head at the boy, coming to sit beside me. She pulls my head to rest on her shoulder and tightly clasps my hand in hers.

"Diver down, fool," Fool's an understatement.

"Diver down."

"Yeah, he is," JJ declares, shoving John B into the marsh once more.

Looking down at our hands, I ask Kie, "Do you think I exaggerated?" Beginning to feel the dwelling of my words, moisture gathering behind my eyes.

I completely blow up in his face without letting him explain himself. Not that there was much to explain, but God I suck.

As subtle as possible, I try to wipe my nose with the back of my hand, but Kie noticed. Kie notices everything. Turning, she clamps both hands on my cheeks, urging me to look at her. "No. Macy, your feelings are completely valid," she reassures, using the pad her thumbs to wipe away the streaks that travel down my face.

"He's your twin brother for crying out loud. You're allowed to feel protective of him and call him out on his bullshit."

Smiling at her comment, I wrap my arms around her, "Thank you," I mumble, not even sure if it was audible enough for her to hear, but she did. "Don't thank me, Macy. We're family, remember? Pogues for life," she states pulling away, holding the pad of her thumb up, and I do the same, stamping them together as though sealing our words.

Giggling at our antics, I turn to the boy who I dragged into this, "Hey Pope," I called, catching his attention from watching the water, "I'm sorry for blowing up on you," I apologize and hold my hand up when I see him going to object, "It was completely unwarranted and uncool."

"It's not that big of a deal, but I accept your apology," he beams pulling up from my seat for a quick side hug. Grinning at the boy, I feel as though a weight has just been lifted off my shoulders, even though I know he just accepted my apology because he knew it would set my worries at ease. I acted stupid and I relise that now.

Nevertheless, our peaceful moment of forgiveness sunk faster than that Grady White as JJ voices his opinion.

"Okay, now I feel left out. Where's my hug?" He whines with that shit-eating grin across his face. He opens his arms wide with wriggling fingers, eyes sealed close as he waits for an embrace. I know he was excepting a quick-witted comment from me with the way he is exaggerating his movements, but it’s only fair.

The shock on his face must be quite the picture, hearing Kie and Pope snort from behind me. I'm in a good mood today so, wrapping my arms around the boy's torso tightly felt right. I wait patiently for him to reciprocate the affection, but based on the stark shock that I felt shot up his back, he was startled by the sudden warmth of my hug.

For a second, I swear I felt him relax and sink into my embrace. The sensation of his fingertips ghosting over my back causes the hair on my arms to stand on end. My body erupting into a cluster of goosebumps.

As already stated, peaceful moments don't last very long in the Outer Banks.

John B, like a whale, bursts through the tension of the water and splutters, spitting the salty flavour of the marsh off his tongue.

Feeling vulnerable with the new pair of eyes, JJ and I rip apart in fright, standing a good distance away from each other.

Hoping to look as inconspicuous as possible, I rub the back of my burning neck, coughing lightly as I watch John B haul himself back on the boat.

Noticing the thick tension in the air, John B spins around glancing at all his friends, "What's up?" he asks, not understanding why we were standing in silence.

"Nothing," I say shaking my head, instant cringing at the pitch of my voice. Clearing my throat, I try again, "Why would something be up?" acting naturally, answering his question with a question.

Eye flicking back and forward, "I dunno," John B's voice laced with uncertainty, "You looking a little red there, JJ," he points out causing Kie to wheeze at her friend who does, in fact, have a pink tinge crawling up his neck.

Running his hands through his damp hair, hating the attention that is one him, he asks John B, "Any looting potential?" hoping to change the subject and it works.

Pope throws in his pennies worth, "Dead bodies?" he ask earning a look from all of us, "What?" holding his hands up in defence under the stares, not understanding what warranted him the looks.

"You're obsessed," I state the obvious observing the strange boy who just slumps back in disappointment.

"No," John B points at Pope, triggering his disappointment even more, and turn to JJ saying, "Kinda," holding up whatever he fished from the sunken boat, "I found this motel key."

"A key?"

"Great! We salvaged a motel key."

"I think it's a great find," I cheer, my voice straining with enthusiasm for my brothers find, patting him lightly on the back, but he saw right through me, "I've already forgiven you. You don't need to suck up," he points out, referring to early.

"Thank god," I let out in relief, sitting slouched on the side of the boat, now feeling confident enough to voice my real opinion, "What are we going to do with a motel key?"

Having enough for the day, wanting nothing more than to just get back to land and as far away from the expensive wreck as possible. Pope switches the engine back on and drives back in the direction of the cut.

"Guys," Kie calls over the roaring engine, "We should report the wreck to the coast guard. Maybe we'll get a finder's fee" she suggests, her head obviously in the right place.

"Yeah, and not have to work all summer," concludes JJ, dreaming of the money that we'll recieve for our finding, "Thanks, Agatha, ya batch."

Oh yeah.

Work.

Chapter two: FIN!

I really didn’t know when to end this chapter, but I hope this was okay :) I’m really trying to convey Mason’s character through her interactions with other people. Like how she got upset at John B for acting stupid.

What did you think?

Am I going to slow? Is my slow-burn too slow-burn?? I’m only 15 minutes into writing episode one. Have I dragged it?? I hope not. I enjoy detailed fanfiction because it feels more real.

I also don’t want Mason to just be there, not really having any input so, some of the show’s dialogue has changed and I will continue to do so. I want her to be her own person, with her own differing opinions.

I hope you enjoyed this chapter <3

Also, if anyone would like to be tagged in future chapters just let me know and I will for sure do that!

*TAGLIST*

@xshinytrashcanx

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sidespromptblog · 5 years

Text

Retired Liar

Summary: Deceit is a self-proclaimed retiree, unfortunately for him before he can fully kick off his newly retired status someone has a little bit of a problem with that. Not that he cares about anything anymore, let alone his past ‘job’.

The plastic bag crinkled as Deceit shoved his hand into it, shoveling out an entire handful of chips straight into his mouth. Crumbles cascaded down his chest like an avalanche of grease and potato flakes, but honestly, he could have cared less as his mismatched eyes remained fixed solidly to the tv that Roman usually stood in front of and that was now playing a horror crime drama. The very fake screams of terror coming from the tv did nothing to change the look on the dishonest side’s face, nor did the taste of bland and currently stale potato chips on his tongue. His eyes felt heavy as he stared at the tv screen, the room somewhat dark around him as with his face only being lit up by the lighting from the tv.

It was just the crinkling of the bag and the sound of the tv that made any noise, but somehow it was enough to make Thomas jump at the suddenness of it. His head snapping back to look at the snake faced side that had just suddenly shown up and asserted himself there. Honestly… Thomas wasn’t quite sure what to say at that moment, as Deceit laid there not bothering a single soul but also… looking almost depressed as he did.

Truth be told… it worried Thomas a little, to see the side that was normally doing so much.. doing so little.

“What are you doing here!” Virgil hissed, popping up as soon as Thomas’ heart started to thud heavily in his chest, the anxious side had his arms crossed over his chest as he coldly regarded Deceit, especially seeing just what he was wearing too. Deceit had always been one to dress properly, even his bedtime attire was always a little too fancy for Virgil to stand. But now… seeing the faded t-shirt that was a few sizes too big for Deceit, and the faded plaid pajama pants that were just a little bit too long and hung over the tips of the dishonest side’s toes, coupled with the absolute mess that was Deceit’s hair… he couldn’t help but to get the feeling he was looking at an exact replica of Thomas when he had ducked out a few months ago. “What are you doing Deceit?” He cautiously asked the hair on the back of his neck standing on end, all while not entirely sure if this was some trick to make all of them lower their guard.

Deceit shoveled another handful of chips into his mouth, and Virgil couldn’t help but to wrinkle his nose at the sight all while Thomas smiled sympathetically at it. It was a sight that was all too familiar to him, given that he had done it many of times after coming in from high school.

For a moment there was nothing but crinkling and loud obnoxious munching of the chips, “Most certainly not my job,” Deceit finally answered as soon the bag of chips was completely empty with not even a single crumb that remained inside, however instead of tossing it away the dishonest side crumpled it up and it merely vanished from sight just a few seconds before another one took its place. Deceit took all the time in the world to tear open this new bag, or rather struggling to open it as it just wouldn’t tear in the correct place for him to open it. “I’ve decided to…” His fingers fumbled with the seam of the chip bag again, “To…” He tried yet again, purposefully stopping his words right on the edge, as soon as he spotted Virgil’s clenching and unclenching fists, as if the anxious side was seriously struggling to not punch him right then and there.

He was infuriating the anxious side.

Good.

“I,” He stopped again, this time trying to tear the bag open with his teeth in a move that just wasn’t cutting it for him. “Will,” He tugged again with his teeth, the plastic just not opening up for him.

“Give it!” Virgil practically snarled at him ripping the bag of chips away with a little more roughness than he probably should have, before tearing open the bag practically shoving it at Deceit’s chest as the dishonest side blinked far too innocently back at him. “Now what are you doing here? You of all people should know that you don’t belong in the real world with Thomas.” His words carried a layer of venom with them, venom so strong that even he internally winced at the sheer meanness of them. He had never been this mean before, and he had never been this rude to Deceit in the past. They had once been friends, they had been buddies to one another.

And yet… here he was, staring heartlessly back at Deceit as if they hadn’t lived together for more than twenty years of Thomas’ life.

For a just a split second hurt lanced right through Deceit’s heart like a javelin from a professional javelin thrower, at the sheer sharpness of Virgil’s cutting words. Virgil hadn’t said it, but Deceit had heard the unspoken things that he had wanted say had Thomas not been in the room: “What are you doing here? You don’t belong with Thomas, you don’t belong anywhere. Why do I even have to look at you anymore? I thought that if I left I wouldn’t have to see your stupid face. I hate you!” For a moment his heart ached unlike anything before, and any other day he would have gone to his room and curled up with the abandoned black jacket that Virgil had behind. He allowed himself to feel that hurt but it was only for just a moment.

As he forced that very feeling and sensation out of him the very second he popped a chip in his mouth, loudly crunching on it. Better to eat his feelings away than to feel anything at all, that was a perfect motto for what he was doing right now. Because if he couldn’t fill the void inside of him with companionship and the company of those he had once held most dear… then he could always fill it full of pizza, chips, and sweet sweet ice cream.

He couldn’t stand the two conflicting expressions on Thomas’ and Virgil’s face. One of distaste and hate, and the other of… pitying understanding. He hated it, he wanted no pity.. and he would have given anything and everything for Virgil to never hate him again.

Unfortunately, he didn’t have anything left to give.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Deceit set the bag aside as he kicked his feet up on top of the coffee table in front of him, forcing Virgil to move if he didn’t want to even touch Deceit. “Thomas says that he wants to be a completely honest person right?” He gave a tiny little wave to the host in question, who was still looking at the both of them with varying levels of concern written all over his face. It was almost cute, that is if Deceit even felt remotely cute right now. “So I’ve retired, there’s no reason for me to be in Thomas’ head if he doesn’t want to lie, let alone be in my room. So I’m going to stay out here, where you all can live your perfectly happy lives. No lying.” The beaming smile that lit up Deceit’s face was entirely fake, in fact, his lips hurt from the mere act of pulling them so wide when all he really wanted to do was curl up with a massive blanket, fall asleep, and not wake up for several years.

His heart hurt with the words of truth that spilled from his lips, Thomas had a use for all of them. Even Remus despite how vulgar and sexual he was with everything that he touched. Patton had a place, Logan had a place, Roman had a place, and even Virgil as scary as he had once been… had a place where he would be accepted by Thomas. Deceit… Deception… Self Preservation… did not have a place in that mold. Patton hated him, Virgil hated him, Logan tolerated him, and Roman only entertained the notion of his existence. It had never been so simple than it had been now, they could all be one big happy family.

Without him that was.

“You can’t do that,” Virgil’s horrifyingly shaken voice snapped him out of his own thoughts. “You can’t!”

Blinking innocently back up at Virgil, Deceit merely cocked his head to the side like a curious puppy. “Oh?” He hummed the word out as he stretched lazily out on the couch his joints cracking as he did. Who knew that being retired was already so good for him. “And why not? That’s what you wanted, isn’t it? A life without me. Me to never exist around you. For me to simply never show up and ruin everything that you have with the new family that you worked so hard for. Isn’t that what you wanted?” Each word came out harsher and harsher without him ever really meaning to, he didn’t even have to sit up to see the emotions unfolding over Virgil’s face, and he didn’t have to sit up to not give a damn about those very same feelings either.

In front of him, Virgil was trembling like a newborn lamb caught out in a snowstorm.

They both knew what this meant.

For a moment, Deceit tore his eyes from the tv that he was watching. “Hey Thomas,” The dishonest side grinned sharply as he glanced back over to Virgil, in what felt like the ultimate dick move towards the person he had once held so much love towards. Towards the person who had left the moment that it became apparent that he could be accepted if he left Deceit and Remus behind. The person who had abandoned him, after they swore to stick together. He didn’t feel an ounce of guilt, he didn’t. “How are you feeling right now?”

Thomas’ mouth opened, before he abruptly snapped it shut with a resounding click. A combination of fear and just plain sadness all over his face as he tugged at the end of his shirt as he attempted to put his words into a coherent sentence now that Deceit had actually brought up how he legitimately felt.

“I…” Their host swallowed thickly, heat burning his eyes as he hastily blinked. Deceit, Virgil, and his home blurring in front of him. “I hate myself, I hate myself for feeling things that I shouldn’t, for thinking things, and for not liking my friends as much as I should especially given how long I’ve been their friend. Sometimes I want to sleep and never wake up, and sometimes I just want to take a shower and never get out. It varies from day to day, but overall… I feel like a garbage person.” Within a second Thomas’ hand slapped over his mouth as a look of sheer terror colored his face, it was a look that told Deceit… Thomas was just figuring out that not only would he not be able to lie… but so long as Deceit remained ‘retired’ he wouldn’t be lying about anything any time soon.

Deceit felt nothing but pure exhaustion clawing at his very bones, as he mockingly smiled back up at Virgil. Not being used was already starting to affect him out in the real world, had he stayed in Thomas’ head.. or just in his room, he would have been fine. But here… in the real world where Thomas could see him, touch him, but not.. feel him. It was a serious drain to his energy, he could already feel the struggle of keeping his eyelids open coupled with the strong urge to just yawn and curl up for a nap.

“So you see,” He beat the current of exhaustion down, as he leaned his head back against the couch cushion looking completely at ease as he closed his eyes. “You’ve finally gotten what you want Virgil, right?”

He didn’t have to look to see that Virgil was shaking his head, and that Virgil’s trembling hadn’t only not stopped… but had gotten so much worse from where it had been a few minutes ago. A trembling that was only matched by Thomas, as their host unsteadily sat down, his head resting in his hands as the feelings he had been keeping from himself washed over him like a tidal wave.

Destroying anything and everything in their path.

“No,” The anxious side choked out looming over the dishonest side as he did. “This isn’t what I wanted! This isn’t what I wanted at all.” He snarled, seizing the front of Deceit’s shirt shaking him roughly as he did. “You know very well that this isn’t what I wanted, so go back! Go back right now, and.. and I won’t tell the others about this!” His white-knuckled grip on Deceit’s shirt only tightened as he stared back into Deceit’s unyielding and uncaring gaze. He didn’t want to admit it, but… just the sheer emotionlessness in the other side’s eyes scared him, Deceit had only been someone who felt things fiercely, someone who wouldn’t give up no matter what… He had tried for years before Virgil had left, to try and get him as well as the others to be accepted. He had never given up on trying for all of them.

And yet here he was… giving up on everything.

“You thought it would be different didn’t you?” Deceit’s cold hand pried Virgil’s away from his shirt, “You thought that you could just stay angry at me for something that was your choice… that you could just unload all of your anger on me and I would just do what? Take it?” Deceit’s voice was a cool calm kind of angry as he fiercely stared back, “You thought that I’d always be around, but never in your way of getting what you want?” He hissed, that cold anger soon evolving, the truth spilling free no matter how much Virgil didn’t want to hear it. “So tell me, Virgil… why would I stick around for someone who has done nothing but lie about me… and hurt me? Why would I continue to care for you? You got what you wanted, you just didn’t like the price that it came with.” Roughly poking Virgil’s chest he forced the other side out of his face. “So deal with it.”

With that being said, Deceit seized the bag of potato chips and the remote that was laying on the cushion next to him. It didn’t take much effort at all for him to return his gaze back to the show that he had once been watching, while ignoring the shaking side in front of him.

“You all wanted a life without lies, right? Well, Halle- fucking -lujah to all of you.”

#deceit sanders #ts deceit #sympathetic deceit #mentions of remus #virgil sanders #ts virgil sanders #ts deceit sanders #thomas sanders #character thomas sanders #character thomas #ts sanders sides #ts sides #sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction

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damienthepious · 4 years

Text

alas, no kisses this tuesday. mostly just grumpiness, but it’s okay. it’s fine. >:3c

Tomorrow’s Some Kind Of Strangerland (chapter 2)

[ch 1] [ao3] [ch 3] [etc]

Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast

Relationship: Lord Arum & The Keep, Lord Arum/Sir Damien/Rilla

Characters: Lord Arum, The Keep, Sir Damien, Rilla, Queen Mira, Original Monster Character(s)

Additional Tags: Second Citadel, Lizard Kissin’ Tuesday, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Ceasefire, Pre-Relationship, Enemies to Lovers, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, (some characters tagged will not appear until later chapters), canonical character illness, asking for help, (i still dn’t know how to tag things rip), (uhhhhh canon-typical fantasy monster-hatred? that’s gonna be a thing)

Summary: When Mira took the throne, she did what no human ruler in living memory has done - she reached out, and brokered peace with the monsters. It is a shaky, uncertain sort of peace, but she and the current monster Senate have managed to maintain it for a handful of years now with only minor incident.

Lord Arum has not interacted with the human infection in the Northern Wilds since the ceasefire, but when his Keep becomes ill past his own ability to cure, the Senate has a peculiar idea for how to help the isolated Lord while testing the goodwill of their tentative allies at the same time.

Chapter Summary: Arum arrives at the Citadel. He finds himself not particularly welcome.

Chapter Notes: Beep beep! everyone is being very very very mean to each other this chapter. Except Angelo. Thank you Angelo.

The Senate sending him to personally ask the humans for help is a punishment for something, Arum is certain of that. At the very least, he knows that the snail hates him.

It is not fair, that Arum needs to traverse the wilds to go beg for help a second time to even less sympathetic an audience, but then, the Universe itself is not fair. The Universe is unfair, and it seemingly delights in Arum's humiliation.

Well.

Regardless of how it burns, Arum can stomach humiliation, if it means the survival of his Keep. The survival of his Keep is the only thing that matters. The humans never even came close to destroying his home during their precious little attempts at warmaking, and they will certainly not be the cause of its destruction now.

Though not for lack of trying.

Arum cannot even portal back to his Keep to rest, along the journey. Not with any regularity, anyway. The added distance and the frequency of summoning would drain its energy, and when it is already struggling merely to push back its illness, Arum could not possibly justify risking it for the sake of a softer place to rest his head. The unintended consequence of this, however, becomes more and more apparent the closer he comes to their Citadel.

The war is at a standstill. One would not be aware of that, if they guessed merely by the attitudes of the human knights who patrol their roads. If it was merely aggressive looks and posturing, Arum could soundly ignore them and move on, but every single one seems determined to interrogate him, to interrogate his motives and his destination and his reasons for traveling alone-

Not a one of them will leave him be, not until he shows them the letter the Senate sent him with, closed with their bold seal and addressed to the human Queen. They never seem any happier about the situation when he relents and shows his trinket, but at least they tend to leave him alone, after that.

He feels half-wilted by the time he finally sees the Citadel, piercing up out of the jungle in the distance. He can barely sleep simply for the sake of his own safety, even when he curls into the branches of the trees above he cannot be certain he will not be seen by another less-than-amicable monster. He can still feel the slow creep of stiffness inside of him, as well, a sympathetic echo of what ails his home, and despite the Keep encouraging this plan, Arum still feels a stab of guilt for leaving at such a time. It seems wrong, even if this distance is only for the purpose of seeking help.

Arum is not stopped at the gates of the Citadel, but the guards posted there certainly do not look happy to let him pass, either. Arum seethes, and stiffens his spine, and breezes past with his snout in the air.

Stupid, stubborn, self-important creatures. Every single one of them. How any Queen of such unpleasant little things could have managed to convince the Senate to peace is rather beyond him.

"Ever since the truce these beasts act as if they may slither through our streets like the war never occurred," Sir Damien murmurs, his eyes darting sharply between the handful of monsters he can see dotted through the marketplace. His attention is particularly bright upon the figure of one monster, unfamiliar and tall and out of place in his brightly colored clothing, his curved horns singling him out even further above the heads of the citizenry. "As if they have any right to our Citadel-"

"Oh, come now," Angelo chides beside him, though his tone is still jovial. "That seems an unkind thought, Sir Damien."

"Unkind," Damien sighs, shaking his head, half his attention still on the tall monster as his meandering path brings him closer towards the pair of them. "Sir Angelo, less than a month ago a beast took a life within these very walls-"

"Was that not-" Angelo pauses, tilts his head, "some smuggled animal? Magical, yes, but not-"

"A monster is a monster, Sir Angelo. Merely because its motives could not be traced to any strategy does not mean-"

"- a simple question," says a guttural, rumbling voice, and Damien's attention flits back towards the monster, and the man he has apparently accosted into speaking with him.

Damien's feet move before he even thinks to do so, striding towards the pair with Angelo at his heel, just in time to see the man stick his hand into the sack in his arms, tossing a handful of grain directly into the monster's face before the man turns and marches away. Damien's own feet do not falter, and he places himself in between the creature and the man he will likely now attempt to exact some sort of vengeance upon.

"You," he calls, stern and frowning. "Leave that poor man alone, beast."

The monster bares his teeth as he steps back, brushing a clawed hand down the front of his vivid purple cape and dusting the grain and dust away. "Yes," he snaps. "Obviously, obviously I was the one causing an issue in our interaction, of course there would be some human social rule to preclude a monster asking one single question-" He turns, his teeth still visible and sharp, and his eyes are precisely as vivid as his cape as he fixes them on Damien. "Ah. A knight. So that is why you felt the need to interject, rather than simply cringing away from me as the rest of your species seems intent to do."

"With good cause," Damien mutters. "What business have you here?"

The lizard's eyes flash, all four of his hands clenching into fists, and a strange hissing noise escapes between his teeth before he answers. "Are monsters allowed within the walls of your shabby little city or are they not?"

Damien snaps his jaw shut, his cheeks going hot with indignation, but Angelo answers before he can regain his tongue.

"We are at peace, my good beast. You are welcome to come and go as you please, provided that you cause no trouble, and harm no citizenry of the Second Citadel."

Something like incredulity, perhaps amusement, crosses the monster's face at this answer, and then his lip pulls up in something like a sneer. "Then I do not see why I should answer. My business is my own, and it is not as if you lot will assist. As I am learning more and more quickly."

"Our duty is to help!" Angelo chimes brightly, and the monster blinks in disbelief as Damien scowls.

"To help the citizens of our Citadel, Sir Angelo," Damien corrects quickly.

"That sounds more apt," the monster growls. "Now move. You are in my way and I have little time to waste."

Damien's mouth hangs open, and the fury burns within him even as Angelo amicably takes a step back, gesturing for the monster to pass.

"How- how dare you speak to a knight of the Crown in such a way! Some foreign beast, some interloper-"

"Considering I was nearly assaulted three distinct times by your ilk on the journey here," the monster snarls, "you will forgive me my lapse in decorum. My would-be attackers were dressed quite as you are, knight. I expect you would have recognized every single one of them as a brother-in-arms. I expect, were you by their side, you would have acted just the same."

"I would have acted as is my duty," Damien says stiffly. "I would have done my part to determine any threat to our Citadel, and protect against it."

"Listening to the lot of you," the creature hisses, low and dangerous, "one might come to think that you are unhappy that you are no longer given leave to slit throats at your leisure, takatakataka."

"The hypocrisy of you beasts," Damien says, indignant. "You- you foul mindless things cannot even be trusted to hold in solidarity to the idea of peace!"

"It is taking far more solidarity then I believed myself capable of to hold to the idea of peace at this particular moment, knight."

"Is that a threat?" Damien's hand twitches, his foot turning and setting his body at a defensive angle, and the beast's strangely bright eyes narrow further. "Do you dare level a threat against a knight of the Crown?"

The monster's stance goes stiff, his spine straightening in a way that looks almost regal. "I would not lower myself enough to do so. I will not give you the satisfaction of provoking the beast to violence." He snarls low and Damien's hand twitches again instinctively, but his bow is still safely stowed at his back. "I do not have time for this," the monster repeats. "I have business to attend to. Either point me towards the palace or simply get out of my way , little human."

"The palace-"

"Oh," Angelo interrupts brightly, pointing over Damien's shoulder. "You could not possibly miss it. The very middle of the city- with the highest tower, just there, do you see?"

The monster frowns just slightly, eying Angelo before he follows the line of his finger towards the tower. When Angelo waits with a light smile, not continuing, the monster nods. "I see."

"There. The entrance is at the base of the tower. I wish you well on your business, friend monster."

The lizard looks baffled again, but when Damien makes a breathless, angry noise, his frown returns, and he shoots Damien a vicious look before he turns without another word and stalks off in the direction Angelo pointed out, his tail and cape billowing behind him and his snout in the air.

"Why did you inform that creature how to reach the palace of all places, Sir Angelo? You do not have the first clue what he intends to do-"

"On the contrary, Sir Damien! I expect he shall accomplish whatever business he was in such a great hurry to complete."

Damien opens his mouth, and then he sighs. "But you do not know what that business is, Sir Angelo. You cannot know if he has some- some nefarious intent!"

"Why would he have that?"

"Because he is a-" Damien cuts himself off, lifting a hand to run over his face in frustration. "Sir Angelo, I think you are far too trusting. It is our duty, my friend, to remain vigilant against potential threats to our Citadel and our Queen," Damien says, his voice firm. "We cannot become complacent, even if all others do. Even at this tentative peace, the monsters may still prove to be just such a threat."

Angelo almost looks chastised for a moment, beneath his confusion, but then he brightens again. "But- certainly, Sir Damien, this time of peace is a boon! Even upon your own life, is that not so? Even your own Miss Rilla, with her Exile lifted, her talents recognized- were the strictures of the war still upon us, of course-"

"That is, of course, a blessing," Damien agrees, smiling very slightly as he ducks his head. "But my flower does not do magic. She was never involved in any true heresy! Her talents and those of her parents were merely misunderstood. Of course, of course it is reasonable and right for our society to recognize at last the disservice done to my brilliant Amaryllis. But the monsters-"

Damien pauses, watching warily as a creature covered in what appears to be some combination of feathers and tree bark trots by on clawed feet, its eyes guarded as it passes the pair of them and then dashes away.

"The monsters?" Angelo prompts, and Damien's fists tighten at his sides.

"The monsters," Damien says quietly, "cannot be trusted."

#elle's fanfic #the penumbra podcast #second citadel #rad bouquet #lord arum #sir damien #tomorrow's some kind of strangerland #lizard kissin' tuesday

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yandere-daydreams · 5 years

Text

A Yandere!Momo/OC commission for the wonderful, perfectly-named @lesbiansportsanime! I went a bit,,, absolutely crazy,,, with the flower metaphors and her OC’s background, but I couldn’t help it. Ren was just so fun!

Word Count: ~2.1k

TW: Implied Stockholm Syndrom, Toxic Relationships, Kidnapping and Implied Trauma.

Poppies were an odd choice, for this time of year.

Momo couldn’t help but focus on the black and yellow flowers, intermittently dispersed throughout an otherwise unnoticeable bouquet. It was a rare sight, especially in the summer heat, the flowers already starting to dry-out despite the over-filled vase they’d been placed in, the container alone nearly blocking the sight of the girl across from her. She had to peer around it just to see Ren, a problem not helped by the girl’s apparent disinterest in her company. Instead, Ren chooses to occupy herself with the delicate petals, running her thumb over the closest black-spotted poppy, hardly noticing when the mug in front of her ran empty. Momo was the only one who minded the set-up, apparently.

But, Ren was the one who’d chosen this cafe. The least Momo could do was try to enjoy it, all things considered. Already, the guilt ate at her nerves, biting and tearing and burning at whatever it could reach, her resolve the only thing standing between her current mindset and a complete breakdown. It’d taken more time than it should’ve to fix her make-up after the last incident, only hours before her and Ren were supposed to meet. Momo’s reputation would never recover, whether or not she was in costume.

Hands encircling the ceramic tea-cup in front of her, Momo attempted to peer over the poppies, breaking the silence proving to be harder in practice than it was in theory. “Have you been doing well, Ren?” She paused, after the question, smiling despite herself. She could never help it, not when she remembered how passionate Ren had been after graduation, her internship already having guaranteed her a rescue-based career. She’d been vague about the details, but Ren had been happy, so Momo was happy too. “I haven’t heard much from you, not since your new job was finalized. You know how worried radio-silence makes me, I can never trust you to take care of yourself.”

There was a heavy sigh, Ren straightening her back and leaning into her chair, tearing herself apart from the bouquet with quite a bit of effort. “I’ve been… busy, that’s for sure,” She started, shaking her head. “I’m not great at making plans, you know that. But, my agency decided to give me more solo-missions and leadership roles, and… the change was a little forced, I guess.” There was a lapse, a laugh, a timid fidget as she tugged her jacket’s sleeves over her hands. “I don’t think I realized how much it would bring back, but I’d like to say I’m handling it. As well I can, anyway.” Suddenly, Ren’s gaze focused, flickering from the table to the girl in front of her. Momo went stiff, automatically, but the response was quickly covered by a calm smile. “What about you, Yaoyorozu? You look like you just ran over a puppy.”

Now, that was her Ren. As blunt as she was observant. Momo’s smile widened, her hands coming to rest in her lap. "Are you still using such a formal name? I thought I was ‘rozu, to you.”

“Are you still avoiding the question?” She mocked, rolling her eyes before leaning forward. “Be honest with me, ‘rozu. You could never hide it, not when you’re planning to do something terrible. What is it? A new, morally-dubious mission? Is Creati taking on a vigilante persona? Or…” Ren drummed her nails on the tabletop, smiling conspiratorially. “Or, did my favorite heroine slip a little something into her tea, recently?”

At this, Momo couldn’t help but cringe, her expression faltering for the blink of an eye. Still, Ren didn’t miss the nervous tick, her grin fading as a frown took its place. She opened her mouth again, but closed it just as quickly, the chuckle Momo let out clearly catching her off-guard. “I’m sorry,” She mumbled, hesitantly, averting her eyes. “But... it wasn’t my tea, Ren.”

She only had a fraction of a second to express her shock, moving to say something before her features relaxed, muscles losing their constant tension as she made an attempt to stand, only for her knees to buckle as soon as she put her weight on them. There was an attempt made to scream, but Ren lost the ability to before she had the chance, collapsing and colliding with the table, knocking over that hideous vase along the way. Flowers scattered, water spilling, the resulting crash drawing the attention of the cafe’s other customers. But, it only took a flash of her Hero’s License and a few disconcerning waves to dismiss the forming crowd.

Momo could only hope no one noticed how careful she was while lifting Ren’s body, how she did her best to hide the blonde’s face from anyone who got too curious.

She never really could disguise how much she hated it when people looked at someone else’s property.

Ren was never where she was supposed to be, when Momo came home.

Momo hadn’t told her to... be anywhere specific, no, that would be too cruel. Ren was her lover, not her pet, her treasured jewel meant to be looked after and maintained until its caretaker was no longer capable of doing so. Still, her room had been set up in a way that would let Ren comfortably sprawl out in bed or sit at her vanity or lay on the love-seat without straining her tether, and yet for the past week, Momo’d been met with the sight of the damn thing taunt and tangled, it’s wearer leaning into the windowsill on the other side of the room.

Escape wasn’t a concern. Every exit was locked, the glass was bullet-proof, and the aforementioned chain was firmly attached to Ren’s ankle, its cord unbreakable, even against Ren’s Skism. Not that she could use it, of course. The quirk-canceling bracelets had been difficult to find, but it’d be worth it. No one should have a power that self-destructive, as far as Momo was concerned.

And with Ren, Momo was always very, very concerned.

Regardless of her skepticism, she took a step into the room, stopping to admire the collection of houseplants on Ren’s bedside table. Despite her reservations, she’d been caring for them meticulously, even the most recent aloe (the poor thing had been half-dead when Momo brought it home) green and thriving under such an angel’s care. But, in Momo’s presence, Ren didn’t look away from her fixation, not until there were arms wrapped around her waist, the Heroine’s head resting on Ren’s shoulder, trying to spot whatever had Ren so anxious. "You’re here every time I check on you,” She explained, when Ren moved, trying to get a better look at her captor. “Is something wrong? I’ll fix it for you, but you’ll have to tell me, first.”

There was a shrug, a deep breath, but no verbal reply. Ren hadn’t been speaking much, lately.

Momo sighed. “I know you don’t like it here, and I’m sorry about that. If I could keep you safe willingly, I would, but… you’re too determined, Ren. If I tried to tell you the world was dangerous, you never would’ve listened to me.” She let herself pause, checking for any signs of acknowledgment, but if Ren could hear her, she certainly didn’t seem to want to. Unperturbed, Momo continued. “There are people, out there, bad people. Terrorists and murderers and Villains, not that I need to tell you that. All I want to do is keep you safe, from yourself as much as everyone else. You understand that, don’t you? I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I let anything happen to you.”

Holding her breath, she waited, closing her eyes and digging her nails into Ren’s tank-top and waiting, until tears had begun to form. Momo knew this was necessary, she knew she had to do this, but… fuck, she didn’t know if she could, not if Ren was going to be miserable because of it. One dark thought led to another, the plans she’d tried to repress resurfacing. Terrible, awful ideas, rope and riding crops mixing in with Ren’s smiles or her screams, whichever Momo managed to rip out of her first. It wouldn’t be hard. Ren was helpless, here, weak and fragile and moldable, if Momo put her mind to it. It would only take a few days, a few hours if she used the right-

Just as quickly as Momo’d begun to spiral, she was pulled out of it, perking up as Ren turned, shifting, repositioning herself until Momo’s cheek was pressed into her chest, Ren’s fingers starting to card through her hair. It was comforting, caring, more so than she deserved. The affection was cold, joyless, but Momo leaned into it nonetheless, content to nuzzle into the gesture as much as Ren would allow.

“You’ll keep me safe?” She asked, quietly, her voice hardly audible. “Promise, ‘rozu? Don’t lie to me about this.”

Momo didn’t hesitate, she didn’t even think.

“I promise.”

The orchids were a little much, honestly.

They were nice in theory, their majority being the only requirement enforced when Ren asked for a greenhouse, but the sheer number of bleeding red and white petals, of dark green leaves. of hanging pots that were so easy to walk into was damn-near overwhelming, some days. She’d tried to suggest bring in a spike of gladiolus or lavender, but Ren had dropped the topic once Momo’s enthusiasm wavered. It hadn’t taken her much time to catch onto her captor’s… temperamental streak.

Either way, the orchids stayed.

Now, she cared for them dutifully, doing her best to ignore the shock-collar wrapped snuggly around her neck. The humidity had been perfected, a complicated ventilation system keeping the shed from overheating, and Ren had spent so much time watering each individual plant, she was afraid they’d start to wilt from the attention alone. The boredom wasn’t what bothered Ren, she’d gotten used to hours of nothingness when he was in charge of looking after her, but she couldn’t fight the emptiness that captivity left, nor the irritation that came with Momo’s constant buys for her favor.

It was something that lingered in her mind as she leaned down, taking a better look at the greenhouse’s corners for the third time that day. Tiny sprigs of forget-me-nots could be seen emerging from under the walls, eating away at the cement floor as they found their way into the greenhouse. Ren wasn’t sure why it irritated her so much, she just… couldn’t stand to look at them, for whatever reason.

It was the light blue, how harsh it seemed, she supposed, grabbing at the stems and jerking them out of the cracks they’d filled. Their eyes, too, brown and black and dark, like they’d never seen a ray of sunlight in their lives. Even after the visible portions of the infestation had been ripped up, Ren couldn’t help but stare at the weeds, glaring down at them. Why were they still following her? She was safe, now, why couldn’t she forget them? When were they going to leave her mind and, more importantly, when were they going to stay gone?

When was Shigaraki going to stop hurting her?

Before she realized it, the flowers were on the floor, torn apart and crushed as Ren’s heel ground them into the pavement. She used more force than she had to, determined to rid her world of something so disgusting, pulverizing the plant and its repulsive, obedient leaves under her foot. Ren was tempted to glare, to spit or do something to show his disrespect, but she managed to pull herself out of her rage, clenching her fists at her sides and forcing herself to take in a breath, if only to calm herself down.

Luckily, the greenhouse door took that moment to swing open, Momo having undone the locks quietly enough to avoid drawing Ren out of her thoughts. The blonde didn’t waste time, spinning on her heels and rushing into her partner’s arm, hardly even taking notice to the light sparks running down her spine as she got closer to the door. She slotted herself against Momo perfectly, hugging her as tightly as Ren could manage, a surprised giggle only encouraging Ren to force herself closer, to fall deeper into strong, secure, safe arms.

“Someone missed me,” Momo laughed, her hands finding Ren’s back, rubbing small circles into her rigid shoulders. “Everything alright, princess?”

She forced herself to look up, biting her cheek at the slightest of separations. “I… can you stay here, for the rest of the day? I don’t want you to leave me so soon.”

There was another laugh, another soft touch, one of her hands coming up to cup Ren’s cheek and tilt her head back. The kiss was sweet, delicate, everything Ren wanted from a protector.

She almost managed to ignore the fact that Momo hadn’t answered her question.

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superman86to99 · 5 years

Photo

Adventures of Superman #505 (October 1993)

REIGN OF THE SUPERMAN! The Reign is over, and Superman does what we’d all do after being dead for several weeks and coming back to life: no, not visiting your parents, making out with Lois Lane.

Or more than making out, since the next page starts with a caption that says “Later...” and lets us know that they both had to take a shower. (NOTE: Check Don Sparrow’s section below for artist Tom Grummett’s definitive take on what happened in that scene.)

Their post-resurrection bliss comes to a stop when they remember a little detail: Clark Kent is still presumed dead. How are they gonna explain his return without making the extremely smart residents of Metropolis suspect that Superman and the guy who looks like Superman but with glasses are actually the same person? Superman’s mind immediately goes into “wacky bullshit excuse” mode and he starts spitballing ideas, like claiming Clark lost his memory, or was carried by underwater currents, or was abducted by aliens. Honestly, I’m pretty sure that last one would work, since there have been THREE major alien invasions in the past few years, but Lois thinks no one would be dumb enough to fall for that sort of thing. Really, Lois? No one?

At this point, Superman picks up some supervillain activity with his super hearing, so he gets dressed and goes there (though it would have been pretty intimidating for the criminals if she’d shown up in that shower rug). A bank uptown has been taken over by Loophole, a S.T.A.R. Labs accountant who stole a gizmo that allows him to phase through walls. When Superman shows up to arrest him and his henchmen (are they all villainous accountants?), Loophole literally puts his first through Superman’s chest, instantly killing him. RIP Superman, again.

Nah, Supes just swats Loophole away and breaks the gizmo, causing him to get his crotch area stuck inside a vault door. Now he has to change his supervillain name to “DickVault”.

(I freaking love Maggie Sawyer, btw.)

After that, Superman goes to one of the areas trashed by his fight with Doomsday and helps clean up the junk that’s still laying around there. It’s then that he finally reunites with his best friend and most valued ally: Bibbo Bibbowski. (Jimmy Olsen’s there, too, unfortunately.)

Bibbo also introduces Superman to the dog he named in honor of his home planet, Krypto -- and it’s Krypto who provides the most significant moment in this issue. The little mutt starts barking at some debris from a destroyed building, leading Superman to examine it with his X-Ray vision and find some kids underneath.

Turns out the kids had been trapped there since the Doomsday fight, leading some random passerby (fine, Jimmy) to wonder if Clark could be stuck in a similar situation. Superman and Lois look at each other... giving Superman an idea and providing the premise for next week’s issue.

Character-Watch:

First appearance of Loophole (real name Deke Dickinson, C.P.A.), who would become a running joke in Karl Kesel’s Superman and Superboy comics. While his phasing powers are tech based, he also has the metahuman ability to somehow convince attractive women to be his girlfriends/henchwomen despite being a balding little dweeb. In this issue he’s dating a blonde named Sheila (who wears a mask, so maybe she’s actually hideous), but I’m pretty sure he had other girlfriends in future issues.

Plotline-Watch:

As I said... holy shit, five years ago: no one draws Supes coming back to Lois after an extended absence like Tom Grummett. This scene is almost a remake of the one from that issue when Superman comes back from his time traveling jaunt. There’s also a callback to Man of Steel #25, when Lois hears a tap on her window and thinks it’s Superman, but it’s just some dumb bird. This time she gets it the other way around:

Don Sparrow says: “There’s a cute visual callback to the last time Superman returned after a long absence on page 18, when Superman is reunited with Jimmy. It’s a near identical pose to Action #643, where Superman returned from exile in space (and in that moment, infected Jimmy with Eradicator-based space sickness, womp womp).” I think he’s instinctively throwing Jimmy up in the air, hoping the cold of space will kill him. Unfortunately, both murder attempts were unsuccessful.

As seen above, Maggie Sawyer wasn’t too convinced that “Fabio” here was Superman at first. That changes when he calls her “Captain” even though she was recently promoted to Inspector, and she’s like “only a dead man wouldn’t know all the precise ranks for the local authorities!”

The surviving non-Supermen are seen arriving at S.T.A.R. Labs for medical care after the Engine City showdown. Don again: “There are some mild continuity issues stemming from Superman #82, which perhaps wasn’t completely finished being drawn while Tom Grummett worked on this one, as Steel’s costume is almost entirely intact, when we last saw it a week ago, it was in tatters. Ditto the Eradicator, who was a wizened husk, and now is apparently a scorched Ivan Drago.” Let’s assume Supergirl worked her clothes-shifting magic on Steel’s armor and the Eradicator’s, uh, hair.

There’s a short scene where Superboy is visited by his reporter pal Tana Moon, who tells him she quit WGBS and is leaving Metropolis. Awww. Goodbye, Tana. Or should I say... aloha?

Meanwhile, Lex Luthor Jr. has a scene with Dr. Happersen where he says he intends to control or destroy anyone who wears the “S” symbol. Basically, if he can’t date them, they should be dead. He also instructs Happersen to help Cadmus’ Director Westfield get in contact with disgraced genetician Dabney Donovan. Get ready for a whole lot of clone-related shenanigans in the near future.

And now, more Don Sparrow-related shenanigans after the jump!

Art-Watch (by @donsparrow):

This issue is another favourite of mine, but I suppose all these issues around the Death and Return are faves when I really think about it. My copy of this issue had the holographic fireworks cover, and it’s a good one. I like that Superman and the Daily Planet are in natural colour, rather than holograms. The cover credit goes Karl Kesel, Tom Grummett and Doug Hazlewood, so I’m not sure what the breakdown was (or if that’s just a handwritten cover credit, just in case?

The story opens with one of my favourite sequences ever, with Lois waking up on her couch, having fallen asleep following the events in Coast City. I love the detail as she opens the curtain, we see her engagement ring, indicating she knows her real fiancée has returned. This sequence is followed up by two pages of splashes of the passionate reunion of the best couple in comics. All beautifully rendered as they float, locked in a passionate, sunrise kiss. Just lovely (so lovely that I am willing to overlook a small colouring error, as Lois has black hair instead of reddish brown for one panel). [Max: I can confirm that they fixed that in the collections.]

What follows is a very cute scene, and one of some debate among Superman fans. There’s no overt evidence of what happened, all we get is a cryptic caption reading “later…”. Again, I give credit for the subtlety of the writers, as they depict this scene in a way that can be read either way: maybe Clark and Lois made love, and the “later” we are seeing is afterglow, or maybe Lois had a shower since she just woke up after sleeping in her clothes. Then, after calling his parents while Lois showered, Clark had a shower himself. I feel like today’s writers wouldn’t feel the need to be so subtle, and might lose the sweetness of this scene.

In previous posts, I’ve talked about my friendship with artist Tom Grummett, and how as a boy, I would wear him out with all my dumb fanboy questions. Once I got older, and our relationship became a little more collegial (just a little closer to collegial, since I in no way consider myself anywhere near his level of skill or success) I would really try not to geek out too much when we would visit. But the one question I had to ask was about this scene, and what their intention, or interpretation of it was, as I was always curious. Once I had explained to him which issue it was (the guy has drawn hundreds, so they might not all spring to mind immediately!) he admitted that his assumption was indeed that they had sex. So there you have it! [Max: Hot damn! Another Superman ‘86 to ‘99 exclusive, folks!]

However you wish to read this scene, the choreography, and facial expressions as they horse around is really sweet and fun, and such a nice, light tone compared to the do-or-die pace the books had been for the last two years or so. Their easy joking, and back and forth banter really do a great job of showing them as a real couple.

It’s a very nice pose on Supergirl as she lifts off, simultaneously spurning Superboy’s romantic complaints.

I quite like the design on Loophole, and his gang. Loophole himself kinda harkens back to the silver age villains of the Flash as Loophole has a unique hairline, is an older man, with a pretty average build, which was rare for villains in the 90s. His gimmick is pretty cool, too, though we immediately see its vulnerability.

The tearful reunion of the now-sober Bibbo and Superman is also a great moment—if anyone rose to the challenge of living up to Superman’s example in his absence, it was Bibbo. I discuss the scene in more detail in the observations later, but the image of Superman whipping away the debris on page 20 is a great visual, with the dust clouds creating great motion and urgency.

On the whole, a great first issue for the return to the never-ending battle, even if it brings us closer to Grummett’s last issue on this title (for a while).

STRAY OBSERVATIONS:

Could Superman referring to the Death and Return storyline as a dream, while stepping out of the shower be a reference to Dallas, and their famous about-face after an unpopular season, where Bobby Ewing emerged from the shower, alive and well, dismissing a yearlong storyline as a dream?

A coy semi-reference to perhaps my favourite line in the first Reeve Superman film on page 8, where Supergirl says “Easy steel, we’ve got you, then later adding, “ok, you got me”.

A little more issue-to-issue dissonance with Superboy reversing himself from the end of Superman #82, where he said clearly that Kal-El was Superman, with Superboy pointing out that legally, he’s Superman and not Kal. [Max: I think he’s talking strictly in the legal sense, since he helps Superman deal with the legal problem on the next issue and all.]

For all the times that Superman has used his heat vision on guns (as he does on page 11), we’ve never seen rounds get burned off, firing on their own because of the heat. There might be an idea there.

An odd sorta-cameo by Erik Larsen’s Savage Dragon, who Superman apparently defeats in the waterfront district. An eagle-eyed reader asked Larsen about it in issue #6 of Dragon’s own book, and he nixed any proper crossover rumours, saying it was just a shout-out from Larsen’s buddy Karl Kesel. Eventually they’d meet in Superman/Savage Dragon: Chicago, a so-so crossover in 2002.

A slightly bawdy joke from one of the Loophole gang, on page 14, as the moll of Deke Dickson calls Loophole a “weiner”.

GODWATCH: A stirring moment when Superman detects the faintest of life-signs, thanks to would-be super-pup, Krypto, and responds “God willing” when someone asks if anyone is alive in that wreckage. The love and concern in Superman’s eyes when he says he’d “rather die” himself than let little ones perish is a tear-jerker moment for sure. Bonus points for the cuteness of Superman heaping praise on Krypto, with the line “if that dog could fly, I’d put a cape on him…”

Question: Does Jimmy know? He comes up with the solution to the Clark problem very conveniently. Maybe he’s smarter than we (and by we, I mean Max) give him credit for? [Max: It was all Krypto! Okay, I’ll concede that maybe Jimmy is as smart as a dog.]

#superman #karl kesel #tom grummett #doug hazlewood #superboy #steel #supergirl #S.T.A.R. Labs #eradicator #loophole #maggie sawyer #dan turpin #sydney happersen #tana moon #bibbo bibbowski #krypto #dickvault #the man whose dick is a vault

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onwardintolight · 5 years

Link

Han x Leia, ESB, Trip to Bespin, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff

Summary: ESB from Leia's POV. A journey from despair to hope, a blossoming, an opening to vulnerability and love.

Warnings: Deals with some heavy themes, incl. working through trauma, depression, self-harm, attempted sexual assault. Each chapter will be individually warned.

Note: I’m currently in the process of reposting the first nine chapters here in full, since when I first wrote this fic, I only shared links to the chapters on AO3 and FFN. I will try to post at least weekly. In the meantime, if you’d prefer to binge-read it, the entire fic is posted in full on AO3 and FFN.

Part: Masterlist | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | Epilogue

~~~

Warnings for Chapter 24: Brief reference to the torture and attempted sexual assault that occurred in Chapter 19

Author’s note from 1/2020: An important disclaimer: As I wrote this fic, I strove to make it canon-compliant—at least compliant with the canon that existed at the time. Now that I'm posting this, however, a few things have changed; notably, we've seen the release of the first issue of the new line of Star Wars comics set after ESB. While I haven't had a chance to read it yet, I'm pretty sure it diverges from what I've written in my final two chapters, and I have no desire to change any of what I've written to fit it. I know most of you don't even care about canon—this IS fanfiction after all—but I just wanted to give you and all future readers a heads up anyway!

One last thing: Several of you have asked me if I'm planning on writing a Leia-focused fic like this one about ROTJ. First of all, I'm super flattered that you'd like more! Tbh though I don't really see myself writing it as another big multichapter; however, I would really like to do a few shorter fics about it. So keep an eye out for those! That being said, things can always change. If I discover that there's an arc I really want to tell through the whole story, I may find myself in over my head again ;)

~~~

The Kaliida Nebula was about six hours away, not counting the brief stops they’d have to make every few hours to switch hyperlanes. Lando had once again joined Chewbacca at the Falcon’s helm; they had both insisted in no uncertain terms that Luke and Leia get some rest, promising they’d comm if they needed anything. She was tired enough not to argue.

Immediately after the jump to hyperspace, Luke had sat frozen, staring out the viewport into the whirling star tunnels. He’d glanced at her when she offered him a hand, looking for all the universe as if she were his only tether away from the maw. Silently, he’d let her help him back to the crew quarters, and once more she shakily attached the fluids line and pulled a blanket over him.

He was gazing up at her again, now, eyes wide and hollow. “Leia,” he whispered.

Tenderly, she brushed the hair from his forehead and reached down to clasp his remaining hand, squeezing it. She perched on the edge of his bunk. “I’m here,” she said softly. “You’re safe now.” Slowly, his eyelids began to flutter, and he drifted off into a fitful sleep.

She sat there for a long time, weariness bleeding into her bones, listening as his breathing grew deeper. Finally, when she was fairly certain her movement would not wake him, she slipped her hand carefully out of his, turned out the light, and walked over to her bunk, curling up on top of it without bothering to remove the blanket.

The pillow smelled like Han.

She thought of him laying there next to her, his fingers tangled in her hair. She thought of the hungry kisses she had never wanted to end. She thought of easy laughter and healing tears, of potent words and new openings.

She thought of the bed on Cloud City, and how they’d never have the chance now to find out if she’d regret it. She thought of his rending screams, of coils and needles and agonizing pain. Of Captain Orffa’s leers, her ripped shirt, his broken neck as he lay on the other side of the room. Of Vader’s hated mask, cold and merciless. Of throbbing rage. Of helpless grief.

Of finally saying “I love you.” Of the one she loved, turned to stone and torn away.

All the emotions she’d been trying to hold at bay rushed in. Her defenses crumpled, and the first tears came in like a flood, violent and inevitable. Burying her face in the pillow to muffle the sound, she wept, her body shaking with sobs. She wept until every breath came as a gasp; until she could no longer imagine what it was to not be weeping. She wept for Han, and for Alderaan, and for every loss in between. For a galaxy full of loss, cracked all the way through with the cruelty of it.

Long after her tears ran dry, she lay there, face still buried in the pillow—Han’s pillow—breathing in the scent of him. She wasn’t ready to let him go.

She wouldn’t let him go.

She would find him, somehow.

Slowly, exhaustion crept up on her, disarming her resistance just as her tears had done earlier. She gave into it with a mild sense of relief, letting her eyes close.

I don’t regret it, she thought as she began to drift off. Sleepy astonishment at the realization gave way to the certainty that she had always known this, somehow, despite her fears. I don’t regret loving him. Not one bit. As much as this hurt—and oh, how it hurt—she would gladly love him and lose him again.

Then sleep took her, carrying her far away into blessed nothingness.

~~~

She was woken up what felt like minutes later by the chime of her comm.

Lando’s voice was on the other end. “We’ve stopped at Terminus,” he said. “We need you up here to watch for Imperials while we search the ship for homing beacons. We’ve got her pretty well hidden behind a moon, but it’s a race against time until they find us.”

Trying to keep any bitterness out of her voice, she gave her consent and stumbled groggily toward the cockpit. Lando gave her a look when she arrived—she must have looked like hell, with red-rimmed eyes and smeared makeup—but to his credit he didn’t say anything, only giving her a nod on the way out. Chewie was already gone. She moved to sit in the co-pilot’s seat, but changed her mind halfway there, instead opting for the captain’s. Curling her legs beneath her, she leaned back into it, smelling its faded leather and a hint of old cologne. She scanned the starfield carefully, glancing at the sensor displays afterward for any signs she might have missed. There was nothing; only stars. On the other side of the moon, she knew, the sky would be filled with ships of all kinds. Terminus was a busy world; she hoped that, as such, it would distract the Empire long enough that they wouldn’t find the Falcon.

She shifted in her seat, anxious. Finding the homing beacon would likely take Chewie and Lando awhile—they had to suit up to examine the hull, after all—but she wished they would hurry and be done with it. Normally, this would have been made a much easier exercise by simply scanning the hull via the ship’s sensors, but the Empire had certainly disabled that function. Or rather, they probably just hadn’t bothered to fix it—it was, after all, one of the sensor systems that had been damaged during their escape from Hoth.

The minutes ticked by. Fifteen minutes passed, then half an hour. A light freighter moved into view. She stiffened, then relaxed again as it jumped to hyperspace moments later.

Forty-five minutes. Her eyelids drooped; she pinched her arm to stay awake.

Finally, she heard the door open behind her, and Chewie came in with a roar. «We found it,» he said. He was triumphant, but his voice was laced with sorrow. She knew enough of him now to hear it. She caught his gaze, and he sat down next to her. For a minute, they looked out on the emptiness together. «You should go back to bed, Little Princess,» he finally said, his voice gentle.

“You sure you don’t need sleep?” she whispered.

«I will,» he said, «but I have strength left to spare, and I was not hurt as badly as you. Go sleep.» She nodded and got up just as Lando came through the door. She didn’t look at him as they exchanged places. Hazily, she walked back to the crew quarters, fell in her bunk, and was once more lost in unconsciousness.

~~~

Leia’s eyes flickered open. How long had her comm been beeping? Yawning, she sat up, flipping on the light over her bunk, and froze as all the memories of the previous day flooded back in. The deep ache in her chest nearly knocked her over, and she fought off the urge to lay back down and forget everything again.

Luke. She had to make sure he was okay. She glanced over towards the other side of the room; there he lay, as still as a stone. Alarmed, she leapt out of bed and lurched over to check on him. His chest rose and fell, and she sighed in relief. He was in a deep sleep. That was good.

Feeling her heartbeat calm again, she sat back down on her bunk and answered her comlink. “Yes?” she croaked, her voice hoarse.

“Just wanted to let you know we’ve arrived at the Kaliida Nebula,” said Lando. “Whenever you’re able, I’ll let you take over and see if you can reach that contact of yours. Could use a little shut-eye myself.”

“Of course,” she said curtly. “I’ll be right there.”

When she arrived, Chewie was once again nowhere in sight. She felt a pang in her chest, thinking of his grief. At least, she thought, he was getting some sleep, too.

Lando nodded awkwardly to her as they switched places again and left without a word. For a minute, she stared at the glowing pink clouds outside the viewport. She knew he’d be just a comm away, but still, she was nervous. The nebula could be perilous. From time to time, it was home to migrating neebray mantas, which could do some serious damage to ships. Moreover, if the Empire had somehow found out about this checkpoint—

She felt her throat constricting and her heart pounding, and she stopped the thought short. Yes, the Empire had caught up with them a few too many times recently—she had good reason to be fearful of that. But she should be wary, not paranoid. This was the best chance they had to make contact with the Alliance. Straightening, she set a Rebel-coded message to broadcast at intervals to the surrounding parts of the nebula, then she took the Falcon on a leisurely tour through the cloud tunnels.

An hour later, she had a reply. It was also in Alliance code, and it gave her coordinates to meet nearby. She tensed. The Empire could have cracked that code since she was gone, they could have found out about this location, they could have—

She forced herself to breathe slowly. “Chewie,” she said into the comlink, “I’m making contact. I may need backup if it’s not who I think it is.”

The Wookiee yawned, but he didn’t hesitate. «I’m coming,» he said.

Soon both he and Lando joined her again in the cockpit. She felt bad that they’d only had an hour of sleep, but she supposed there was nothing to be done.

Well, mostly bad. She didn’t feel all that bad about Lando. As far as she was concerned, he could suffer. He sat behind her, keeping watch as she and Chewie maneuvered the ship to the meeting point.

Finally, the clouds in front of them parted, revealing an X-wing.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me!” the pilot whooped upon seeing their ship. “I was starting to think I’d never see that hunk of junk again! Is the princess there?”

Leia breathed a sigh of relief. “Hi, Wedge,” she said, transmitting the codes to confirm it was her.

“Good to hear your voice, Princess,” he said. “High command’s been going out of their minds. They figured if you survived, you’d make your way here. Lucky you found me now; they were beginning to think it was a lost cause. We probably wouldn’t have been patrolling out here much longer.”

“Thanks for waiting,” she said.

“Where’s ol’ Han?”

All the words seemed to dry up in her mouth, and she sat silent for a moment. “He’s gone,” she said finally, her voice quiet. Chewie let out a mournful wail.

She heard Wedge exhale. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice full of genuine grief. “Sending you the jump coordinates now.”

Within a few minutes, they’d left the bright clouds of the Kaliida Nebula behind and were headed home. It wasn’t truly home, of course—Home was Alderaan, and that was gone forever. These days, though, the Alliance had become the only home she could claim to have. But whatever familiarity it offered, it would be empty without Han.

“Hey,” Lando said from behind her, startling her. She didn’t turn around. “Chewie ’n I have been talking and…” he faltered for a moment, then he went on. “…We’re gonna find Han and bring him back. We’ll leave for Tatooine as soon as we can get fueled and ready.”

She leaned back in her seat. “You got a plan?”

Chewie responded. «We have some ideas, yes, but we wanted to talk with you and Luke and hear yours, too.»

Leia nodded slowly. “We’ll discuss it when we get there, after the briefings. I don’t want to put too much strain on Luke before then. He doesn’t even know what happened yet.”

“Sure thing,” said Lando.

She clenched her teeth to avoid telling him to shut up. Instead, she shifted her focus outside, watching the whirlwind starlight.

Somewhere out there, Han was trapped, but alive. And somehow, they would find him and bring him home.

A warmth grew inside her chest; the fire of hope.

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