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yslkook · 3 years

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WRONG (3)

mind of mine masterlist

summary: you find yourself at the tattoo parlor more often as of late. also, jungkook hates lemon jelly filled donuts and is easily bribed by mint chocolate and macarons. pairing: “badboy” jk x “shy/reserved” oc warnings: cursing, excessive use of pet names, kinda toxic friendship

Sora’s unbridled passion for why she believes Jungkook is wrong for you has never irritated you as much as it does in this moment. You’ll never understand why she’s so adamant about the topic, when it’s not her decision. When she knows that you’ve been harboring a small crush on the man for years now, and you’re fairly certain he returns your affections.

When the man told you that he had put an orange heart next to your name, you knew it was real.

You don’t understand why Sora is determined to make things so complicated, when they don’t have to be. You don’t believe her claims that he’s a fuckboy, that he treats people like trash. He’s shown you the opposite. He’s so gentle with everyone, not just you. He’s blunt but he has a big heart under all of the leather and layers of black.

If there’s a word to describe him, it’s dreamy.

Which is why you’re so hurt that Sora refuses to give him a chance. After all, if she was your best friend, shouldn’t she offer him a chance for your sake?

It confuses you.

“I’ve heard so many bad things about him,” Sora says knowingly, swirling her glass of wine in her hands. You don’t feel very much like drinking, not when your stomach swirls in unease. Being in her apartment is nothing new, but right now, you’d rather be anywhere else.

“But what things? And from who? Jungkook is such a genuine guy and he hasn’t done anything for people to start rumors about him,” You protest, but your words fall on deaf ears, “And I like him-”

“I mean come on, have you seen him? The man radiates bad vibes. My friends have all said-”

“Bad vibes? You’re dismissing him because of bad vibes when I’m telling you that-”

“I’m your best friend, don’t you think I know these things?” Sora says, heat and arrogance in her voice, “I’m only looking out for you. It’s shitty that you’re dismissing me for a guy-”

“I’m not dismissing you-” But your voice grows smaller and smaller, something that you think Jungkook might be disappointed in you for.

“It sure as hell sounds like you are,” Sora sneers with a cold sort of tilt to her lips, “Listen. I’m just looking out for you, even if you don’t seem to appreciate it. I thought we were best friends. Friends look out for each other, but if you don’t want to listen to me, that’s on you.”

Something dry settles in your throat and something heavy settles in your chest.

“He’s not good news,” Sora continues, as if she can’t see your heart beginning to ache, “I’ll find someone who will treat you much better, don’t worry.” She pats your knee in a way that is supposed to be reassuring but you wince.

You don’t want her favors, but it’s too late for you to protest. Besides if you did, she’d feel awful and you never want to be the cause of her being upset. She’s your best friend after all. And what kind of friend would you be, if you upset her to that degree?

But still... you don’t want anyone else. You want the sensitive man who gets misty-eyed by powerful renditions of Beyonce songs, the man who texts you until you fall asleep, the man who asks you what color to paint his nails when he feels like it.

You kind of want the sensitive man dressed in layers of black.

You let Sora talk your ear off about all of the guys she has in mind for you, but you stop listening. You don’t understand this vendetta she has against Jungkook, the vendetta that she’s always had. But she is correct about one thing- she is your best friend and has your best interests at heart...right?

The four walls of the tattoo parlor that you’ve begun frequenting more and more often begins to feel more and more like a welcome place in recent days. You’ve always been friendly with the guys, especially Yoongi and Hoseok.

Even if Yoongi doesn’t work at the parlor, he’s here frequently enough.

Though Yoongi and Hoseok are some of your oldest friends, you’ve only come to the parlor a handful of times in the past. Once that realization hit you, you’d made it a point to stop by more often.

Why hadn’t you before?

They’re your oldest friends, but these days, you feel closer to Mina and Mei as well. While you do have other girlfriends who you see as often as your collective schedules align, it’s still different.

But still. You don’t know if you’ve ever truly belonged with anyone. You feel as if you’ve been floating through life, with Sora by your side (at least half the time, when she’s not spewing criticism over the man you have feelings for).

Thinking about it gives you a headache and makes you feel nostalgic for something that you never had. But maybe it’s something you can have.

“Hey, you,” Mei calls from reception, where she’s sitting next to Hobi who waves at you, “What brings you here? Finally gonna let me pierce you?”

“I brought donuts,” You shrug, “And I’m not ready for that surgical instrument to touch me, thanks very much.”

“You can stop by without the pretense of bringing sweet treats over,” Hobi says knowingly, “I mean none of us will complain about donuts, but you know that right? You can come by anytime you want.”

“O-okay,” You nod, your throat feeling a little dry.

“Now, come here and let me see what you got. If there’s a lemon jelly filled donut, save that for Jungkook. He hates them.”

“You got plans this evening?” Mei asks, grabbing her bright red purse that’s nearly the size of your head. Her purse matches her bright red nails and for half a second, you’re mesmerized by the glossiness of her nails.

“No, other than getting ready for tomorrow’s day of work-”

“Great! Wanna come with me to the tattoo supply store? I have to pick up more needles, grips and gloves.”

“Sure,” You shrug, a little excited at the prospect of a quick adventure for Mei, “I’ll just say bye to Hobi.”

He’s already watching you with mirth in his eyes, as if he knows what you’re about to say. “Hey, will you tell Jungkook I said hi?” You murmur, feeling your ears burning at his smug grin.

“Sure, I will,” Hobi grins, “I’m sure he feels bad about not being able to say hi to you himself. He’s had a busy day.”

“Understandable,” You nod, “I mean, you guys say he’s the best in the city, right? I’m sure he’s got a waitlist of people who want to be tatted by him.”

“Maybe someday he’ll tattoo you, huh?” He says mischievously to which you roll your eyes and feel your face heat up.

“He would be so lucky,” You scoff, as if the notion of Jungkook tattooing your body doesn’t make something flutter in your belly.

“We have this competition at the parlor where the person who makes the most tips has to buy the supplies on a monthly basis,” Mei says smugly, “Usually, it’s Kook but for the last few months it’s been me.”

That doesn’t surprise you in the least- Hobi has told you that Mei and Mina are both skilled in realistic and watercolor tattoos, as well as piercings. You think if you were ever to receive a tattoo from either Mei or Mina, you would tip them for the mere fact of them being so close in your presence for so long.

They used to intimidate you, when Hobi had first introduced you to them. Mina with her sleek bob haircut, and Mei with her long, glossy waves. Both of them had nose piercings and their ears were dotted in different hoops and rods. You’d only caught a glimpse of their tattoos a handful of times- Mei has a full sleeve on her right arm where Mina’s tattoos seem to be more hidden.

They’re just so cool and funny and smart.

“How did you all get the idea for the tattoo parlor? Like, was it a business decision or were you all friends before?” You ask curiously.

“Well… Jin, Mina and I have been friends since we were kids, our parents are really close. Jin had this dream of opening his own tattoo and piercing parlor for the longest time. Jungkook and Hobi joined a few months after we officially opened. It took a while, but we’re where we are now,” Mei says fondly.

“That’s incredible! You guys started from the ground up,” You say, in awe, “That parlor is your baby.”

“Fuck, yeah it is,” Mei grins, “What about you? What cool tech stuff is going on in that pretty brain of yours?”

“Um…” Your face heats up at the compliment, “I’m currently helping in developing this app for one of our clients, it’s specific for tracking and trending information related to chronic health conditions. It’s still in its infancy, but it’s been fun! And it’s job security, I guess.”

Mei lets out a low whistle, “Wow, you’re doing something like that by yourself?”

“No, I have a pretty great team,” You shrug, “Something like that definitely can’t be done alone.”

Mei hums, “You’re gonna be great, Ms. CEO.”

“Yeah right, I’d never want that burden,” You scoff, “I’m good right where I am.”

With both of your arms full of bags of supplies for the tattoo parlor (and some extras), you both walk out of the shop and towards Mei’s sleek, black car. It’s late, and you don’t really feel much like taking public transportation. But you’re nervous to ask Mei for a ride home for some reason.

“Hey, did you drive to the parlor?” Mei asks.

“N-no, I don’t have a car yet,” You reply, “I only just bought my condo and didn’t want to make another big purchase just yet. I want to start looking though…”

“Oh! I’ll drive you home then,” Mei offers once she starts the engine.

“Are you sure? It’s kind of out of the way from here,” You reply, folding in on yourself a little in the passenger seat.

Mei only waves you off. “Oh, please. What kind of friend would I be if I just left you to get home alone?”

You bite your tongue, as vivid memories of Sora claiming that she didn’t have enough gas in the tank or her asking for gas money for the ten minute drive from her apartment building to your condo flash in your mind.

“Thank you, Mei,” You say gratefully, “Let me know how much to Venmo you, for gas money-”

“Gas money? For a seven minute drive? Is that a joke,” Mei gasps, “What do you take me for?”

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry I asked!”

“Asking me for gas money,” Mei mutters, “You said you want to start looking for a car?”

Her smile twists into something mischievous.

“Yeah, I have no idea where to start though…”

“Ask your boy, Jungkook. Taehyung, Namjoon and Jimin work at a car dealership and they’re his roommates, I’m sure he’d be eager to help you.” Something in her voice is coy but you maintain a neutral face.

“Yeah… maybe I will,” You say thoughtfully, “Hey! He’s not my boy-”

“Alright, alright,” Mei relents gently, “But really, reach out to him. He’ll help you. So that those boys don’t scam you like the sleazy car salesmen that they are.”

When you see Jungkook next at the tattoo parlor which is conveniently on your way home from work (again with a box of pastries), you muster the courage to step into his office to ask him for help.

“Hi,” You say weakly, “Umm… I come bearing gifts. Got some of those mint chocolate brownie bars that you like, and those macarons-”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were trying to bribe me, baby,” Jungkook says, smirking widely when your lips part in protest.

“If I was trying to bribe you, it wouldn’t be with mint chocolate. Disgusting,” You roll your eyes and squeal out loud when he lunges for you, giving you a teasing but tight back hug.

“Take it back,” Jungkook murmurs lowly in your ear. You hardly hear him, too wrapped up in the warmth of the big black hoodie he’s wearing. The soft, gentle scent of laundry and vanilla floats into your nose when you turn your head to press your cheek against his chest.

His heartbeat is faint against your ear. You wonder if he can hear yours speeding up.

“Mint chocolate sucks. It’s a fact,” You mumble.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” His voice comes as a low grumble from his chest and you swallow nervously. Before your nerves can get the best of you, he changes the topic. “Mei told me you’re in the market for a new car?”

“I don’t really know where to start, but I’ve already started doing some research,” You reply, pointing to your small backpack. You pull out a binder with meticulously colored tabs labeled in neat print that Jungkook raises an eyebrow at.

“What?”

“You just carry around a binder with your research on car purchases at all times? Is that what you do?”

“I have to be prepared!”

“Sometimes you just need a vibe check-”

“You want me to purchase an entire vehicle worth about a million and one paychecks based on just a vibe check? Is that what you did with your motorcycle?”

“Yeah,” Jungkook gives you a crooked smile, “And a little research. I guess.”

“You guess,” You mutter under your breath.

Jungkook has been more touchy with you once you had given him the go ahead all those weeks ago. He doesn’t show his affections with you unless you’re both alone, and it’s never anything more than hugs and the occasional brush of hands.

He’s melting you from the outside in, and you bask in his radiant heat. The thought of Sora’s approval doesn’t bother you, not when he hugs you like this.

But as always. Her disapproving voice worms its way into your head and you reluctantly peel away from him to sit on the faded burgundy couch with the box of macarons on your lap.

“So,” Jungkook says, immediately feeling the loss of your warmth in his limbs, “How can I help?”

tags: @kookdbean

MoM tags: @tiemeuptogoldenchains @boymeetsparadise @jungkooksseuphoria @kaepjjangiya @drumsofheaven @ppeachyttae @tae-bebe

#jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook fluff #jeon jungkook x you #jungkook x you

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marshmellin · 2 years

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Headcanon: Leonard McCoy and Carlisle Cullen meet each other and Hawkeye Pierce during M*A*S*H.

- Leonard wound up hurtled backward through time. Pick a reason (The time gate, Spock's "best guess" was wrong, tribbles are actually part of the Q species and this is their cosmic retribution, he built a DeLorean and agreed to test drive it for a wide-eyed friend)

- Carlisle "aged" into residency during the Korean War. His cover paperwork had been too damn good. After he finished his residency in immunology, he was drafted into U.S. Military service for the police action in Korea.

- Adjusting to an active war zone in the 1950's was nearly impossible for Leonard, and while McCoy wanted to work with soldiers, he intentionally forged his way into working in a second-line hospital in Seoul. While the assignment was more permanent than a MASH unit, he still saw quite a few emergency cases and a few hard-to-pin-down diagnoses.

- Carlisle managed to maneuver his way into a fellowship at the same second-line hospital in Seoul as Dr. Leonard H. McCoy. The choice of hospital was intentional. Carlisle felt his...occasionally unnerving (and disarming) presence in a MASH unit would be more harmful than helpful in a war zone.

- Most surgical instruments and the field surgery techniques of the day looked like torture to McCoy. He positioned himself as a diagnostician, and he did what he could to advance knowledge as a whole, Prime Directive be damned — this was the way he thought he could save the most lives with the primitive tools he had at his disposal. McCoy spent most of his free time writing medical journal articles under multiple pseudonyms. Articles that would go on to save lives, even if he had to fudge some numbers (the research had already been proven, dammit, but he didn't have the time to wait for a bunch of cases to just walk across his desk before publishing his perfectly clear memory of Dr. T’Liranja’s groundbreaking work on surgical techniques utilizing manual instruments to ensure positive outcomes during emergency spinal column operations.)

- Initially, Carlisle expected McCoy to show concern or stiffness in his early interactions. While some humans tended to succumb to his charms and enhanced beauty, most others were put off by the, well, the fact that Carlisle was essentially...not-dead-but-not-alive. Foreign. Other. Alien. He often needed to be overly likeable in order to be seen as a neutral presence when working with others in medicine.

- McCoy, however, took a liking to the young man immediately. Began asking Carlisle his opinion, helped him think more deeply about wholistic causes for bodily harm, stayed up too late in the lab with him, and didn't press him to go home. McCoy never batted a watery-blue eye at the coldness of Carlisle's hands, the gold hue to his eyes, the purple bruises and black irises when he needed to feed. McCoy saw it, Carlisle could tell nothing escaped that man's notice, but he accepted it without comment. And he accepted it easily. Just another fact about Dr. Carlisle Cullen.

- Carlisle wondered if their swift bond formed because of Carlisle's alienness, his Otherness. Much like himself, Carlisle felt McCoy was a man out-of-time. But Carlisle knew enough to sense that McCoy wasn't out-of-time the same way he was... Carlisle spoke in the formal tones of the past, and often had to remember the newer terms for the age-old procedures he'd practiced for centuries. McCoy had entirely different and new names for operations, medicines, vaccines, instruments — all names that Carlisle, in his expansive, vampiric mind, knew had never been used on Earth. At least, not yet.

- They met Hawkeye in a local dive bar on leave — well, leave for Hawkeye, a regular Friday night for McCoy, and a very odd shift for Carlisle. McCoy was deep in his cups and had drug Carlisle along when Hawkeye came in with a mustached-friend and three visiting nurses. What started as a collegial greeting turned into a night of laughter, grief, too much alcohol (all of them would regret it in the morning, including Carlisle, who wasn't able to fake it and had to physically drink), and swapped war stories.

- Hawkeye forgot by the next morning, his liver taking the brunt of the damage. McCoy remembered that night fondly, counting it under one of the best he'd spent during his unintentional exile on Earth. Carlisle Cullen has never forgotten, not even hundreds of years after he learned the names Dr. McCoy had already known.

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capricioussun · 2 years

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More for the blorbo!

Does he have a favorite genre of music or a favorite band? Is he right handed, left handed, ambidextrous, or cross-dominant? Does he play any musical instruments, either underground or topside? Do you HC him with claws or just like really sharp "nails" that can be filed down? How does he deal with those?

And of course, you can always save these for when you have time!

Taking a break from attack work so I will answer these!!

His music taste is…eclectic. The thing is, he’s kind of…weird? About music? It’s super hard to gauge what he will or won’t like because he will determine his opinion on a song with completely unknowable metrics. He might like a song sheerly because of the impressive number of brass instruments. He might hate a song because of the number of times they use a specific chord progression. This song is about lunar cycles? Ugh, tacky. This song accurately references a Greek parable others usually get wrong? 12/10 great song (please note the song could actually sound like virtually almost anything). Though he’s also not really a hater, so he’s pretty relaxed about most music, as long as it isn’t too…uh, extreme? (He’d probably hate stuff like msi) Though he does admittedly have a slight soft spot for classic rock, folk, and proper classic music because of the few cassettes and Walkman he had to fix he found at the dump a long time ago… He would like My Chem if for no other reason than the Aesthetic (he can respect commitment to the bit. He might also even genuinely like a few of their songs)

He is ambidextrous! This is a hc I share with all Papyri! It was simply a matter of needing to be able to use both hands with the same level of efficiency, which actually ties in well with the next question!

It’s also part of why he learned piano! To help with hand eye coordination and dexterity! So Edge can play the piano, but…he doesn’t anymore, or at least very very rarely…

He actually has claws!! And he hates them! /hj but to explain, Edge’s claws are very real and very annoying. Due to the genetic experimentation, they are incredibly sharp, and he actually has very mild regenerative abilities. What this essentially means is that his claws are virtually untrimmable. They grow back almost instantly, he’d have to pretty much declaw himself like a cat (surgically removing the entire last phalanx of each finger) to get rid of them, and that’s way more of an inconvenience than the claws themselves are. However when they first started getting that sharp (around the age of 11), they were a big problem, and it wasn’t long before Sans had to call in a favor with Alphys to help him make Special gloves for Edge that were pretty close to untearable, since they were catching on everything. Edge couldn’t even change his clothes or bathe himself properly without winding up covered in hairline scratches and ruining the fabric.

They’ve thankfully rugged-ed out a little with age, so they’re not still that crazy sharp, but they are still sharp enough he continues wearing the gloves all the time lest he risk nicking himself or destroying clothes. He could alternatively use claw caps to prevent unwanted cutting and tearing, but he also has sensory issues, and his hands especially can be super sensitive, so the gloves are very good for that, too (a headcanon I share for UT Papyrus as well!)

At least they come in handy with looking intimidating! (Pun intended)

#i have this gif saved somewhere of how fast I kinda imagine his claws growing back. I’ll see if I can find it #smol-dargon #I feel so insane for answering these so long windedly but he’s my blorbo. my little meow meow. the hostess with the mostest he lives rent #free in a little apartment above a cafe in my brain and sometimes I play Kenny g for him and it confuses him but he doesn’t mind that much #he just thinks it’s weird. i also gave him a little cat named oreo (named by the shelter) and a cat named creature (named by him)#I provide him with enrichment like a tiger at the zoo and in return he doesn’t materialize into reality to maim me for everything I put him #through #okay I’m getting weird in the tags it’s time for a nap I think #(they said knowing full well they are not going to nap and will likely have a snack and draw some more instead)#-rotates him in my mind faster-#everybody else is weird about Spamton or sans but I’m over here being weird about uf Papyrus like a cool guy #😎#okay okay I’m done I’m stopping now fuck #sun spots #underfell papyrus #uf edge #clear sky sunset #underfell #papyrus

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doiefy · 3 years

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idk if it's still open but can I ask med student mark?

PRECISION // MARK LEE

part of the line x series

member: surgeon!mark word count: 0.5k warnings: just a little bit of blood (like. tiny. squint)

thank you so much for requesting anon!! I guess this isn't technically med student mark, but he's in residency and is a surgeon heh. sorry if it came out slightttly darker than you were anticipating but I was partly peer-pressured into it (cough mina mhm cough). enjoy! :)

There was something about Mark Lee that made you wary.

There wasn’t anything wrong with Mark—no, it would be blasphemous among your colleagues to even suggest that Mark Lee was anything short of perfect. He was polite, hardworking, supposedly one of the best graduates SNU Medicine had to offer. And when you took into consideration the way he worked, the way he carried himself, all the easy confidence and self-assurance in every step he took… it became even more evident that he’d earned his place here.

So you weren’t sure why you felt the slightest twinge of unease in the pit of your stomach every time you saw him. You sometimes wondered if it was just jealousy, if perhaps the prospect of working alongside someone so young and well-accomplished triggered your worst memories of school, your deepest fears and self-doubts even after having successfully graduated. You would then consider the possibility of attraction. He was striking, though not in a particularly charismatic or handsome way; the softness and youthfulness of his features didn’t allow for any of that, but the smiles he sent you in the hallway were charming. Warm. But you always felt uneasy.

If it wasn’t jealousy, if it wasn’t allure, then you could only circle back to the very first of all the possibilities. Maybe there was something wrong with him.

Your thoughts really shouldn’t have been drifting in the OR. You had an unconscious patient on the table, a plastic mask secured over their mouth and nose, and several microdoses of anesthesia ready on the metal tray next to you. And then there was Mark. Standing across the table from you, adjusting his latex gloves and listening carefully to the specialist in charge. You watched him for a second, noting the crease in his brow and the way he shifted his weight to get a better look at the charts. There was something so distinct about the way he moved, something so deliberate and careful in even the smallest actions.

He leaned forward a bit, picked up the scalpel as he’d been instructed to. And with the same precision you’d noticed in all his movements, he made the first incision.

You felt the slightest prick against the back of your neck. A chill danced up your arms, through the slightest space between your skin and the light blue fabric of your scrubs. The room felt strangely cold, and the latex of your gloves had begun to stick insistently to your fingers with cold sweat. You frowned, not quite understanding what was wrong. It was just blood. A short procedure you’d sat in on countless times, although it was now in the hands of a new resident you were cautious of for no apparent reason.

Suddenly, Mark looked up from his work. It was a fluid motion, like he was checking the charts, maybe asking for another instrument, but he only locked eyes with you. The surgical mask he wore crinkled at the very edges. And the temperature in the room plummeted when you realized he was smiling.

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remakethestars · 4 years

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CABIN 7 — APOLLO

Headcanons.

❝There ought to be more drama, I think. A musical crescendo. Confetti.❞

— Jess Cooper, I Am Still Alive

Headcanon masterlist.

Oh, boy — this is my cabin, y'all; buckle up! 😁

Not all Apollo kids are good at everything their dad's good at, okay? I sure as heck can’t paint or play an instrument.

TRIGGER WARNING: mentions of violence?

They run an underground tattoo parlor.

That's where Will & Butch got their respective sun & rainbow tats.

Apollo kids with lyrics tattooed into their skin.

Rick says there isn't much by way of décor inside, which is f*in' B.S. Apollo's the god of art; those walls have been graffitied Tangled style.

🎶 i'll paint the walls some more — i'm sure there's room somewhere! 🎶

The east wall is covered in a landscape of a sunrise, & the west has a sunset (because the sun rises in the east & sets in the — yeah, I'll see myself out).

The north & south walls & the ceiling are white, though, because it really brightens/opens up the space (C7 has the 2ⁿᵈ most campers under C11 because Apollo's a slut; things can get a little crowded in the summer).

When there’re celebrations, the artistically inclined kids bust out the face paint. Especially for the younger campers.

The artistically inclined are the ones that paint the camp beads for the end of the summer. Despite the numbers, it doesn’t take them as long as one might think.

Rick said the ceiling had cedar beams, but we're not gonna do Cyparissius dirty like that. Cypress wood is good for building; the beams are cypress. You know what? F*ck you — the whole dang cabin's cypress!

There’s a massive, potted aloe vera plant by the steps that gets moved into the C4 greenhouse in the winter. It’s one of those old ones — because everyone knows the old aloe plants work better for burns & blisters than these sh¡tty new ones. (It’s constantly getting broken off to heal burns & stuff.)

Rick said there are potted red & purple hyacinths in the window & yellow flowers from Delos. That's true.

I'd say the flowerbeds around the cabin are full of healing plants, but I feel like they'd be better off around the infirmary for obvious reasons.

I do feel like there's a laurel tree planted outside C7, though, because Apollo's a pining b¡tch.

And there's an actual infirmary building, okay? Rick's kinda inconsistent about that. Sometimes he says "infirmary," sometimes he says the Big House is running over with injured, & apparently there's a cot dead center for injured in C7? B.S.

Or maybe I've just read too much fanfic, and the authors don't get it right?

Either way, there's an infirmary building with surgery & delivery rooms. One floor. Locker room for C7 kids to store their scrubs & sh¡t.

They go for yellow scrubs, though, because orange C.H.B. scrubs make them look like escaped convicts.

Fun Band-Aids™

They give out little orange stickers with laurels around the edges that are like I voted! stickers, but they're injury-specific.

I got my leg(s) reattached! & Percy Jackson shot me in the butt! & I ticked off Clarisse! & I made out with an Aphrodite kid in the poison ivy! & I fell off the lava wall! & I got pranked by the Stolls!

After a war or just when there’re a lot of campers in the infirmary, there seems to be a constant flow of Apollo kids singing one hymn to their father in unison to heal someone.

Sometimes, an unconscious camper wakes in a cot & thinks they’ve died & gone to the wrong afterlife for a moment because their singing sounds like angels.

The medically inclined wash their hands like surgeons.

Kind of germophobic?

They also go around tying surgeons knots in everything.

In the summer, they’re walking Banana Boat sunscreen & after-sun aloe lotion dispensers.

The medically inclined also have the world’s sh¡ttiest handwriting.

They have to work hard to fix it if it bothers them.

Can check your vitals & run a blood test just by touching you.

A lot of them casually touch their loved ones (at least, the ones that aren’t in C7) every morning to check their vitals & see how their health’s doing.

They do it subconsciously every time they touch someone & don’t notice it until they pick up something’s wrong.

They can do this for themselves as well. Though it may not be as accurate? And they take daily vitamins depending on what they need.

Organize their lives via pill box (never lose an earring).

Fight surgically. Every blade in their hands becomes a scalpel, & every time they’re going in for a kill against an armed anthropomorphic monster, they slice the tendons in its arm required to grip its weapon to disable it before going in for the kill.

Back to C7, it’s got a little porch with a porch swing. The kids sit on it sometimes & teach people how to play instruments.

They leave the porch light on at night when they’re waiting for one of their siblings to come home from a quest.

Jumping into the depressing sh¡t, they never found Michael’s body, so they only presumed him dead. They leave the porch light on every night now, hoping he’ll come home.

Apollo kids are afraid of the dark. They use the buddy system after the sun goes down.

The cabin’s central light fixture is a papier-mâché sun that’s been charmed to glow when someone sings 🎶 clap on 🎶 & stop glowing when someone sings 🎶 clap off. 🎶

The curtains are a gold fabric. They’re only closed at night. Because, again, C7 kids are afraid of the dark.

The Wikipedia says Apollo kids are cursed to be afraid of snakes (I assume by the Python Apollo killed). I feel like they’d burn a lot of aster leaves then. I read somewhere it was said by the Greeks to ward off evil spirits & snakes.

They play Go Fish with their tarot cards. They’re really good at tarot games.

Hand-drawn tarot decks featuring figures form Greek myth.

There’s a target on the back wall they practice throwing cards at. They can throw them in combat for a distraction with terrifying accuracy.

There’s a Magic 8 ball that’s passed around on the Winter Solstice (the longest night of the year), when — as a headcanon I’m sure I’ve read somewhere has indicated — they’re up all night.

Crystal balls are allowed. However, they must be covered with a cloth or placed in a box when not in use because they’re double-convex lenses, & we don’t want another incident like the fire of 1993.

Sometimes, they make little predictions throughout the day other campers may find disturbing. Such as whipping around and catching a stray arrow without warning (spidey sense?). Or cutting you off when you’re talking about someone moments before they walk into the room.

There’s a tea cart in the corner. Because tea is good for healing & they’ve accumulated an addiction.

The cart has a radio on it that’s always on at night because a lot of C7 kids can’t sleep without noise. (Inspired by @sugarandspiceandkindanice.)

Most of the time, it’s on a nearby country station that actually plays good country at night. But sometimes they switch channels — especially when there’s a new kid settling in & they could use the comfort.

There’s a portable record player there too. The shelves under the cart are full of C.D.s & records.

I’m sure I’ve read a headcanon somewhere that they sing every morning while getting ready for the day. That’s true.

The number of times it’s been “When Will My Life Begin” from Tangled is disturbing, though.

🎶 seven a.m., the usual morning lineup! 🎶

Luke said in The Lightning Thief C11 is up at 07:00 & breakfast is at 08:00, I think, but we all know Apollo’s waking his kids up when the sun rises.

A lot of the time, someone will just start out with whatever song they have stuck in their head & everyone else will pick it up.

Sometimes, this leads to members having the aforementioned song stuck in their head for the rest of the day.

Even the people who aren’t musically inclined will sing along, as they’re usually drowned out by the music kids that get really into it.

So sometimes those not-music kids will find themselves singing by themselves during the day years later & are surprised to find — they actually sound good?? Or at least not bad??? And it’s because singing is a learned skill & they picked it up.

I’m sure I’ve also read a headcanon somewhere that they sing “Look Down” from Les Mis when they have to do menial chores, but I'm adding “It’s a Hard-Knock Life” from Annie, “Whistle While You Work” from Snow White, “Happy Working Song” from Enchanted, & the Smurf song.

They break into song all the time.

Lee was glaring at Tantalus once & made the mistake of saying, “Sometimes, I wish —” and the entire cabin broke out with “Bohemian Rhapsody.”

🎶 — i'd never been born at all! carry on, carry on… 🎶

As mentioned in at least The Lightning Thief & The Lost Hero, they spend a lot of time playing basketball. You can bet your butt they do a rendition of “Getcha Head in the Game” from High School Musical every time there’s a new camper passing by.

They have a sister named Jubilee, and every time someone greets her — "Hey, Jube!" — the entire cabin breaks into “Hey, Jude” by The Beetles.

🎶 hey, Jube! don't make it bad. take a sad song & make it better… 🎶

Sometimes, if there are two campers that really need to get together, C10′ll commission C7 to sing “Kiss the Girl” from The Little Mermaid (or the same song with different pronouns, obviously).

It’s usually a capella unless someone happens to have an instrument on them.

Rickrolling.

The “Macarena.”

Apollo takes clandestine recordings of their jam sessions & distributes them professionally. Whatever money’s made goes directly into their college funds or they periodically find it under their pillow tooth-fairy-style.

There’s a lot of denim because the artistic members like to paint on the backs of jackets & the pockets of jeans.

A lot of them have excellent aim with most projectiles, so they toss stuff to each other a lot. This results in them being oddly in sync, so they can catch something from another sibling without warning & without looking like Sam & Dean Winchester do in Supernatural.

Their life looks like a Dude Perfect trick shot video.

It also results in some funny looks when they hurl things halfway across camp to each other. Namely, the whistling Nerf football.

C7 is two stories. The second story has paint on every wall.

The east wall upstairs has arrows mounted that got Robin Hooded along with a little tag with the name of the C7 kid & the date it happened.

They also have arrows mounted from the first bullseye if there’s a member being taught.

Lots of musical instruments & art supplies up there.

There’s an old T.V. up there. They have all of Bob Ross’s show on V.H.S.

C7′s south wall (ground floor) holds the door to the bathroom on one side & a door leading to the stairs.

It also hosts framed photos of Charlotte, Lee, & Michael.

Instead of saying “shoot,” they say “loose.” For everything. Instead of saying “Shoot!” when they drop something, they say “Loose!”

It's kinda one of those things — like your friend starts saying something & you just integrate it into your vocabulary subconsciously.

They like to play a game where you shoot an arrow straight up & try to catch it as it comes back down.

That sounds really stupid on their part, but it actually comes in handy when someone tries to shoot them in combat & they catch the arrow, dumbfounding whoever's attempted to skewer them.

The cresting on their arrows is in Morse code of their nickname (·—— ·· ·—·· ·—··). They can take one look at an arrow & tell what’s whose.

And the paint color of the cresting tells them what kind of arrow it is — bullet tip, broadhead, explosive, etc.

Every bunk in C7 is made with hospital corners. No exceptions. The kids who aren’t medically inclined learn because all the beds being made the same way makes it look cleaner for inspection.

I can’t decide if Apollo kids have really good eyesight so they fit the Hawkeye bill or if they’ve all just read — Apollo’s the god of knowledge — & painted so much they’ve messed up their eyes.

The number of times one of them has used bowstring wax on an art project in a rush instead of glue is hilariously large.

I use String Snot, and it comes in a container that looks like a glue stick.

A lot of them wear bracers all the time.

When the time it takes to sling one’s quiver onto one’s back, grab one’s bow, knock an arrow, & draw is so long, one really doesn’t have time to also strap on their bracers before rushing out of the cabin to threaten a giant bronze dragon.

Not to mention if they use a recurve, they’ll also have to string their bow.

And a number of them do use recurves due to the abilities to both knock multiple arrows at once & to restring in the field.

Bows with risers coated in golden, reflective paint & limbs painted with artistic strokes.

Trick arrows are their jam. C9 is constantly being asked for new arrows.

Explosive arrows, sonic arrows, grappling hook arrows…

That’s another saying they’ve all taken to: “___ is my jam!”

There’s a bookshelf or reference material on Apollo for new C7 kids (as Rick’s indicated), but the rest of the case is full of medical journals & textbooks & books on art & poetry & divining the future.

A lot — if not all — of them have either gold flecks in their eyes or central heterochromia.

Freckles across their noses & shoulders & on the tips of their ears. Tans. Sun-bleached hair.

Long, nimble fingers perfect for playing musical instruments.

Either they hate the winter because the sun's out for less time (so you’ll find them walking around with blanched skin & faded freckles & with both a hoody & a parka on), or they’re perfectly fine with winter & are used by everyone around them as walking space heaters.

They spend a lot of time with Castor & Pollux.

Rachel sits at T7. She’s practically an Apollo kid at this point.

While her cave was being renovated, she stayed in C7.

Their dad’s the god of truth; none of these M.F.s can lie worth a sh¡t.

But, by the gods, they can tell when you’re lying.

And they take it as a personal insult. That you (A) would dare do something as immoral as lying in the first place & that you (B) would dare to insult their intelligence in such a way because you thought they couldn’t tell.

C6 & C7 are both known for reacting outrageously when their intelligence is insulted (see: chapter 10 of The Battle of the Labyrinth).

The more civil of the reactions of a C7 kid being lied to is cursing the liar to tell the truth, which I believe they can.

They can curse you to speak in rhyming couplets; they should be able to curse you to tell the truth.

You mean to tell me none of these kids have created a functioning Lasso of Truth yet?

This one's really long. 😅

A lot of people fancast Sam Claflin as Apollo, but I'm going with Ross Lynch. 'Cause I do what I want. 😎

Visit my Apollo cabin Pinterest board or my headcanon masterlist.

DISCLAIMER ━━━ These headcanons are what I consider to be canon in my fanfictions. They may be others’s headcanons I’ve subconsciously filed away in my noggin. If one’s yours and you want it removed or credited, please send me your post and let me know.

#Apollo #Apollo kids #children of Apollo #Apollo cabin #headcanons #headcannons #Percy Jackson #PJO #HOO #TOA #remakethestars #art #archery #painting #healing #doctors #sun #hcs #TW: mentions of violence

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bigskydreaming · 3 years

Note

With the Tom Taylor stuff, they released a new Batgirl costume for Babs again (different anon then before though so hopefully same issue). People are mad because, well, it's abelist. Especially because like it feels like they've been teasing/foreshadowing her becoming Oracle again (ie. noting that she shouldn't be hopping from roofs, I mean Dick adopted a three-legged dog for Christ's sake). It really seems like the perfect time for the magic disability curing chip to die, and instead they come out with this? Disappointing. Rude. Especially rude because the new costume was announced on the first day of disability pride month, and he's responded by saying - but oh look, here's a back brace on the part of the suit behind the cape. Not a good look imo.

Idk how many people would have to agree on making Babs truly paraplegic again for it to happen? Like would something like this be up to editorial, or could Tom as the writer have enough sway to make it happen? I know the original decision was ten years ago, and Didio has (thank the lord) been fired since then, as has Harras, and I've heard there's been creative turnover as well. Since you've been in the fandom for a while, do you know who else we should be pressuring?

Its literally something that only editorial and higher will ever have decision-making control over.

I can tell you that while Gail Simone was the one who initially wrote the story where Babs returned to being Batgirl - and considering that a lot of Gail's own work was instrumental in fleshing out Babs as Oracle to the degree that she was - what I can say there is that Gail was not actually a fan of the decision to make Babs Batgirl again herself.

It was 100% a decision made by the higher-ups during the initial Reboot discussions, and I do know that a number of creatives, both writers and artists, voiced their protest to the decision at the time - though I can't speak to who exactly did so and who didn't.

Gail has however expressed that she went back and forth a lot on her decision to write Babs becoming Batgirl again, because she really was not comfortable with it at all, but that ultimately the reason she did decide to do it was because it was made clear to her by the higher-ups that they were asking her to write it out of respect to the work she'd done with Oracle previously - but whether she accepted or not, they were going to go forward with it, even if with another writer.

So ultimately, she's said she only decided to take on the story herself because she could at least try to make it as aware of Babs' time as Oracle and what she represented as Oracle as possible, whereas she had no control over if DC went to another writer whose approach to it was basically to magically handwave Babs being 'cured' and being ecstatically happy about it.

Please note, I'm not trying to speak to her choice there or argue for it or against it, I'm simply trying to repeat what I know of her stated perspective on it, as the writer who actually 'did it.'

My point just being that it wasn't a decision made at a creator level at all, and DC was more than ready to go around one of the writers most closely identified with Babs in her Oracle identity, as well as a number of others who were against it, though again I don't know how many or whom specifically.

I honestly don't see any guarantee they'd be more accommodating of any writers today trying to convince them to do it. So while I don't think voicing concerns over disabled representation to writers is ever a wasted effort, I don't see it accomplishing anything here in specific. If any movement is going to be made on this matter, its only going to be done through keeping the subject centered in the awareness of the higher-ups, so basically any editors with a social media presence.

Unfortunately, options are very limited there (I'm not really on twitter these days so I don't really know what editors are even around there, currently), but yeah, in the interest of prioritizing time and spoons, and concentrating efforts.....this is one of those situations where the writers themselves are simply the go-betweens and the only even potentially effective appeals are going to be those made at the editorial level and higher. (Higher being those at the publishing exec and board of directors level, but I wouldn't know where to even begin looking for those particular names).

Sorry I can't be more help!

(Also, just FYI in general on this matter:

For the record, I do try to be very....'light' about expressing my opinions when it comes to Babs' disability, because I do not trust myself to have the necessary objectivity. I have a physical disability that greatly impacts my way of living and has for five years, but in ways not remotely interchangeable with Babs. Additionally, mine does have a surgical treatment that would allow me to resume my original way of living without significant deviations from it, and its a treatment I still am working towards and hope to get in the near future. So I definitely have opinions on physical ableism in society and how I've even been impacted by such things myself, but I've also never viewed or even approached my own situation or disability through the lens of it being lifelong.

So I'm kinda 'thematically' somewhat in a position that has nuances relevant to the conversations at hand and the 'choices' being thrown around in-universe IF and only if such things were subject to 'real world rules' and self-autonomous choices rather than being ruled by the whims of editors with agendas and biases of their own. All of which makes me uncomfortable weighing in too heavily on this subject because I'm a naturally opinionated person, and I have a tendency to center my own experiences in online debates simply because they're the only ones I can actually speak to, particularly in non-monolithic situations like this one where even people with broadly shared marginalizations have opinions that differ in degrees both large and small.

My own disability really brought to light for me that I had a LOT of pre-existing ableism myself that I'm still unpacking five years in, and frankly I just don't trust myself to be able to tell the difference between opinions I express on this subject as a kind of unconscious wish fulfillment, ableism-still-in-need-of-further-unpacking, and even subconscious overcompensation for my own ableism based on addressing current issues I have born of impostor syndrome. Its a whole mess up here in terms of ableism discussions, so if you don't see me weighing in on the Babs matter much elsewhere, that's why.

Personally, I always write Babs as Oracle and physically disabled, even in Reboot-era stuff, and I’m fairly sure I always will - so don’t get me wrong, I have a very clear stance on that front because I'm never on board with erasing, mitigating or invalidating previous representation....that isn’t my issue here at all, its more just wading into arguments for and against undoing the chip storyline that I hesitate to do. I know my stance - I just don’t trust myself to argue it in the right ways or for the right reasons.

Just know its not because I'm oblivious to it, that I approve of DC's decisions here or how their various creatives reply to criticism of it, or because I don't have opinions myself......but my own view of things is too constantly shifting in my own life for me to be comfortable contributing any lasting voice to these discussions, at least where I'm at right now. I'm not good at speaking softly if I feel a need to speak up at all, but I don't believe in speaking loudly when I can't even be sure for myself that I can commit 100% to what I voice...and even more importantly in my mind, WHY I voice it).

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anotherbeingsworld · 4 years

Text

Fly High

Pairing: Bryce Lahela x F!MC (Casey Valentine)

Characters: Bryce Lahela, Casey Valentine and Teresa Martinez.

Summary: The small moments with Mr.s Martinez were playing in their mind a year after the inevitable happens.

TW: death.

A/N: hi! I am sorta-back in the writing game? This idea has been living in my mind as OPH is coming. Its somewhat a tribute to Mrs. Martinez, and with a small touch of backstory between Bryce and Casey. I’m so sorry for not writing as much as I did before, uni is almost coming to an end for the 2nd semester which i am quite excited for. But, this story is dear to my heart. Idk why I love to write death, as i somewhat resonates it with life, but...this really is something I am very proud of. I like to dedicate this to those who wants to catch their dreams but, they couldn’t. Mrs. Martinez really gave us good advice, and...I’d like for it to stay in our minds. Also, I’m dedicating this to those who have leave a mark in my life. Its something that still blows me away everyday. Thank you, and enjoy! <3

MY MASTERLIST

"I would take a 99% chance of dying over spending the next ten years in this hospital. To have even a 1% chance of exploring the world... of finally standing on the steps of Sacre-Coeur... I would give everything."—Mrs. Martinez.

---------

365 days ago.

“Teresa Martinez were found dead at her hotel room in Buenos Aires.” was the topic in the hospital that day. The news of Mr.s Martinez leave the hospital devastated, as the world seems to stop for Casey.

It doesn’t feel real. It’s not real, she is living her life happily in Paris...visiting the Sacre-Coeur. She can’t be...

The thoughts were interrupted by the sound of ambulance coming in, a trauma case distracting her thoughts. She quickly joined in the other interns in the scene, but her mind falls onto Mr.s Martinez; the advice she left. A wisdom, as her passing is similar to a shooting star finally burns out. A light that has to be left behind. The days went by quicker, a trial, law-suit occurs in a blink of an eye.

---------

PRESENT DAY

It was a day of remembrance today, as Bryce and Casey make their way to the hospital in a slow pace. It was an emotional day for all of them, as all their memories were playing. All the laughter and joy, it was one of her favorite things about her. Her cheery persona was the heart of Edenbrook, and without her; a light has been burn, but a star has obtain someone special to keep on shining them from a far.

Bryce was awfully quiet as well, as they walked down the road after spending their night together. Words were unspoken the night before, as the comfort was worth more than a sentence, a word and even a rhyme.

Casey found herself to a stop, at the entrance. A distance away, trying to calmed herself down. He broke the silence by placing his hand on her cheek, caressing it with a small smile on his face.

‘You cam do this okay, we are all here for you.’ He said before pulling her into a kiss, as they melt into an embrace before going their separate ways. He stops in the mid of the hallway, his eyes fall onto her as they were met with a pair of emeralds that is already looking at him.

They both resume their day, as the memories followed them throughout the hour. A reminder that she had left a mark to everyone in Edenbrook including one Casey Valentine and Bryce Lahela.

----------

C A S E Y

The voices around her fades, as she sat on the empty bench, letting out a sigh as she was dismissed by Dr. Mirani upon her mistake today in the patient room. She remembers the embarrassment as the other interns let out a chuckle upon her mistake, moments before she was chewed. It was her second week as an intern, and she has made mistakes; what happened to her?

Her thoughts were interrupted by someone occupying a seat the opposite of her. It was Mrs Martinez letting out a breath with her I.V stand on her side, looking at her with concern. She smiled upon her arrival as she remembers the events on their first meet which involves herself being lost in the hospital during her first day with Elijah.

Weeks later, she became close to her as she learns upon her love towards travelling, visiting new places around the world; from the Bright Lights of Paris to the city of Madrid. And, the thought of the postcards hanging in her room bring joy to her, as a reminder of her own dream to be a doctor.

“Casey dear, what’s with the long face?” She spoke, as Casey lets out a sigh.

“I just, I messed up again. It’s been a month, and I tend to get distracted with everything; friendships, the competition, dreading patients, and everything feels too overwhelming.” She burried her face in her hands, trying to hide her expression from the woman in front of her.

After a few moments of silence, she opened her eyes once more to be met with a concerned looking Mr.s Martinez.

“Dear, you are not human if you never messed up. If I ever got a dollar for every time I took a wrong turn in life, I believe I can afford a mansion in the city of Stars.”

Casey lets out a chuckle upon the mention of it, as the smile slowly appear on her face.

“I think I’d be able to pay up my student loans that way.”

There was a ripple of laughter between them, lighten up the mood releasing a knot on her shoulders that has been there for the day.

“Indeed, but I saw you work that day; and I believe you are going places dear. You are unique, and the world is not ready to see the light in you dim. For the last decades of living, I made a huge mistake of not pursuing my dreams; and I don’t want to see you give up this dream Casey.” Her voice is demanding yet calm giving her a sense of hope.

They were interrupted by Danny who is in the midst of a scavenger hunt for one Mr.s Martinez who apparently has left her room once again.

“There you are Mr.s Martinez, its time for your medicine once again.” Danny said as he smiles upon their interaction.

“I guess my time is up. I had fun chatting with you dear, I’ll see you soon.” Mr.s Martinez left with Danny leaving her alone with the wild thoughts once again.

But, this moment; she received a sense of hope. Maybe it will be okay after all.

----------

B R Y C E

The first day as a surgical intern at Edenbrook. He was finally a surgeon, all those years of bartending was worth it. His confidence somewhat pushed people away, as he shrugs the feeling off. He came here to be the best, and not to find friends.

“Welcome interns. Today is the start of your careers as a surgical intern, and I am ecstatic for what all of you could bring to the table.” the Dr. Harper Emery exclaims happily, as she eyed the crowd of surgeons.

There was a round of applause, as the energy in the room was accumulated.

“I will introduce you to Dr. Tanaka who is one of your surgical residents. He will be guiding you through this journey. Some of you will fall, quit, but some of you will rise and it will be worth it in the end.”

After the introduction was done, the crowd was dismissed as the first rounds of the day begun for the surgical interns.

His heart was filled with excitement, a new beginning. A new slate, and a new chance to not become known. That is the whole reason from the beginning. He is Bryce Lahela, a surgeon. Nothing else more.

As the days go by, he has been able to witness the procedures that were taught during his years at medical school. His gaze was equivalent to one who looks at their favorite food which is filled with awed and joy. As someone who would fixed up the problems at home, surgery made him feel fulfill once again. It is giving him a purpose even after everything that has happened.

“Dr Lahela, earth to Dr. Lahela.” A voice called for him brought him back from his subconscious.

“Yes, I’m here.” He replied as the other interns were found laughing silently at the back.

“What is the first step to perform a Laparoscopic appendectomy?’ Dr. Tanaka questioned him with Dr. Emery on his side observing. All of the eyes fall on him.

It was his moment to show that he is worth it today, and everyday for the rest of his life.

We will access the appendix through a few small incisions in the abdomen as a cannula which is a small, narrow tube will then be inserted. It is used to inflate the abdomen with carbon dioxide gas which allows us to see the appendix more clearly...” He paused, as he took a deep breath before resuming his explanation.

“Once the abdomen is inflated, a laparoscope will be inserted through the incision. It is a long, thin tube with a high-intensity light and a high-resolution camera at the front which will display the images on a screen, allowing us to see inside of the abdomen and guide the instruments. When the appendix is found, it will be tied off with stiches and removed. The small incisions are then cleaned, closed, and dressed.” His final words fall as somehow equivalent to a mic-drop earning both smiles from the two doctors, as they resumed with rounds for the day.

He took a minute to be proud of himself, as it is a reminder that he is here to stay.

After rounds was over, he is officially a surgeon. He was assigned under Dr. Tanaka as he was his resident along with a few other interns. It was really happening, the suprised dream he had that was meant to be an escape; has came true today.

“Dr. Lahela, I would like you to scrub in with me to perform your very first appendectomy in the O.R” Dr. Tanaka said, as his smile was wide filled with joy which was taken away by the growling voices of the other interns behind him.

He ignored them, as he started to scrub in. The looked that was dedicated to him was somewhat a deja vu moment, a moment where he was known as the son of a criminal. The hatred eyes that is coming to him, attacking him slowly as it was disguised by the confident exterior.

He shake the thoughts away, getting himself prep in the O.R for his first surgery, but some demons never left as he tried his best.

After they were dismissed, he took a turn to the cafeteria as a distraction. It wasn’t the best, maybe he hoped it would be like the movies; he would be the protagonist, the hero. Instead, it was the joker.

He decides upon a snicker bar from one of the vending machines, as the line piled up. He took a seat at the edge of the room, with his pager present on the table. A breath was taken, calming the rage and expectations in him.

The occupied thoughts were interrupter by a woman, looking at her once again with concern.

“You should try this, it’s the cafeteria signature.” The voice was soft, comforting as she passed a pudding cup his way. Chocolate to be specific.

“It’s just a pudding cup, mr.s” He chuckled upon the small cup, as Mr.s Martinez joined him on the empty seats.

“It’s more than a pudding cup, it’s the cure of sadness actually.” She gestures upon him, as realization hits him.

“I didn’t hide it hard enough didn’t I?”

She just shake his head, as he held the pudding cup in his hands.

“You must be one of the new interns aren’t you, the outfit reminds me of a young Harper Emery during her own residency.” She gestures towards his green scrubs.

“She was the legend, and you have seen her work here before??” His eyes shine upon the name.

“Son, I have been in this hospital for the last decade. I have known all the residents for some times now, there was a lot a person can go through for the last 10 years.” She stated as Bryce was filled with awe.

“So, tell me what’s with the long face; I thought it was supposed to be an exciting start.”

“I woke up today feeling on top of the world, but coming here feels like the past haunting me once again. The eyes, the look, and...it reminds me of something I always wanted to forget.” He lets out a small sigh upon the statement, it wasn’t the whole truth, but it feels go to have someone to listen.

“The past, its always going to be there to haunt us. Sometimes, history repeats itself to prove how strong you are. You have been through a lot and you survived, you are a doctor today dear. This chance is bigger than any doubt, any pain, any memory that you have been through. I have seen the doctors here grow, some had left to pursue something easier, some even crack under the pressure, but some also thrive in excellence. Those people have fought to survive, and that’s what life is about dear. Fighting to survive, I am fighting too. It felt like a long journey for the past 10 years, but some adventures are worth to take to get to the final destination.” She ends the speech with a smile, as she left him with his thoughts once again.

It feels like a fever-dream, but it is true. Maybe, he will make it after all with a pack of chocolate pudding by his side.

Suddenly, his pager starts to beep. A new chance to start again, a new hope was in-stored. He took a final bite before leaving the room, feeling okay for the first time that day.

----------

PRESENT DAY

The day passes by quickly, as the reminders and memories kept on replaying in their minds. A sign from her, a message possibly, a lingering gift from the beyond.

Casey met up with Bryce at the entrance, they have plans that evening. Both of them are already dressed in black which replaces the scrubs from the day; Luis invited them that day to pay their respects for Mrs. Martinez. The whole gang followed, as it is better to face the inevitable together- making it less scarier.

The evening was peaceful, it was beautiful even. The leaves started to fall, its a start of a new season; some would say a new chapter. They met with Luis to pay their respects to the woman who had changed all of their lives, as they changed hers even for a moment.

They paid their respects together, as Casey lets out of her silent wishes for Mrs. Martinez. It took a few moments before she was met with his comforting gaze once more, as she nods in completion. Their reunion with Luis was a pleasant one, as he thanked them once more; despite everything. It echo’s in her mind, word-by-word.

‘You give my mom her happiness, the one thing I couldn’t. I will never thank you enough for the little miracle that had happened. I was pissed when I found out, but...you manage to give her the signature Martinez’s smile once more. Thank you.’

Luis excused himself from the group, as they were pulled into a group hug. Mrs. Martinez gave each and everyone of them a purpose. Something that she couldn’t see before.

After they bid their farewell, Bryce and Casey walked hand-in-hand making their way back home as they talked about life, memories, and even happiness. It was a beautiful ending for their day, as the sunset was their backdrop, it was what life is all about.

She finally started to live life, as he continues to pursue his dream. Maybe even found himself a new dream as well.

----------

‘Life to one Teresa Martinez ; it was an unforgettable journey. She believed in the impossible, she took a risk that wasn’t mean to be taken by any other. She trusted me, and that was everything. But, the news - it was a tragedy. Death is a tragedy, as life was taken away from us. But, Teresa Martinez’s death reminds us of the dreams that we wanted to catch. The dreams that were left behind, the dreams that were abandoned in the dust. It was a dream that is worth following for, even if it ends upon your death bed. She believed in me during my dark times, and the reminder of one Teresa Martinez, is something we can’t turn back from. But, the advices and love she has left behind is a reminder that those who are gone...will always be with us, we can’t see them, but there are always there guiding us, cheering us on even after they have left us behind. Teresa Martinez lived a good life, and she will never be forgotten as she is flying high at somewhere better.’

THE END.

Tags: @bitchloveskcbaseball , @storyofmychoices , @mvalentine , @princess-geek , @lahellacute , @annekebbphotography , @mrsbhandari , @dcbbw , @choicessa , @fantasyoverreality98 , @baltersome , @ofpixelsandscribbles , @thundergom @starrystarrytrouble, @kelseaaa , @choicesficwriterscreations , @lalizah , @drethanramslay , @eleanorbloom , @openheartfanfics , @brycesgirl , @freckles-spangledvampire , @agentnolastname , @robintora , @adriansbiss (comment if you want to be tagged or removed 💜💜)

#playchoices #bryce x mc #bryce lahela #casey valentine #open heart #anotherbeingsworldwrites #choices fic writers creations #alya writes #teresa martinez #tw: death

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runpogorun · 4 years

Text

Show Me Your Scars

Here is my DDE 2021 New Year’s Day fic @daredevilexchange (a few days late, shhh) for @matt-murdok. Sorry it was late, but I hope it was worth the wait!

This is set in that horrible time after season 2, when Matt and Foggy aren't on good terms. Matt is working with the Defenders. @metaderivative and @iheartallthethings were amazing with their help on this fic.

Read it here, or over on AO3.

Enjoy!

_____

Foggy doesn't bother to announce his arrival with a knock. If Matt is conscious, he'll have heard Foggy long before he slid his key into the door. If Matt hasn't heard him… well, Foggy isn't letting himself think about unconsciousness, or worse.

It's dark in Matt’s entryway, of course, vague blotches of colour mottling the cavern that Matt uses as a lounge. Foggy drops his keys and a sigh on the side table, and flicks on the hall light. He can see a tuft of dark hair at the end of the couch, and his back is thankful he won't be scraping Matt off the floor.

"What are you doing here, Foggy?" Matt's coherent, even. Wonders will never cease.

"You know, it's great being wanted." Foggy nearly turns on his heel to leave, but he doesn't. Instead, he takes slow, deliberate steps, as he moves away from the warm light of the hall and towards the purplish billboard-lit gloom of the lounge. "It makes my day. Or, whatever you call this sort of time."

Matt grunts but doesn't turn his head to track Foggy as he ambles over to perch on the edge of the coffee table. Matt's half-sitting, stretched out full length. His eyes are closed, and he looks pinched, in pain, even as the lights dance across his face. Foggy can’t identify any visible injuries. "There's no reason for you to be here," Matt says.

"That's where you're wrong." Foggy waits, but Matt gives him nothing more, so he sighs. Matt seems to make him sigh more and more these days. He decides to stick to fact. "Jones told me you might need a welfare check."

Matt shakes his head slightly without opening his eyes, so Foggy stops trying. He stands, walks to the kitchen and fills a glass with water, snagging a bottle of pills from the shelf on his way back. He puts the glass on the coffee table, where Matt can reach it easily, and shakes the bottle before throwing it on Matt's stomach. "Ibuprofen." Matt opens his eyes, picks up the bottle and runs his fingers over the braille label, like he doesn't believe Foggy and needs to confirm for himself.

Foggy thrusts his hands in his pockets and watches as Matt twists the cap off the bottle with some difficulty, and shakes out two capsules. He swallows the pills, then reaches out, groping for the glass, but his aim’s off. He must be feeling pretty bad. Foggy takes Matt’s flailing hand and guides it to the glass.

“Thanks,” Matt says, grudging. Foggy knows how much Matt hates feeling helpless, so he shrugs. Matt drains the glass, and manages to get it back on the coffee table without smashing it. “I’m fine, really.”

“Yeah, sure,” Foggy says. Matt really does look miserable. He has dark circles under his eyes, and his breaths come short. Foggy casts about and spots a blanket hanging over the back of one of the armchairs. He picks it up, shakes it out, spreads it over Matt. God, he hates this asshole. “Ribs?”

Matt nods, curtly, then says, “You don’t need to stay.”

“Oh, I know.” Foggy paces over to the window and looks through one of the grimy panes, down into the darkened alley, still with the heavy humidity of summer, then back over his shoulder. “Want to tell me what happened tonight?”

“C’mon, Foggy. What do you want here?” Matt squirms slightly, pulling the blanket around himself.

“Whatever. I’ll get out of your hair.” Foggy turns and leans against the brickwork, holds up a finger. “Just tell me one thing.”

Matt raises a questioning brow, as his hands squeeze the blanket.

“What’s CPLR 3211?” Foggy asks.

Matt frowns in confusion. “What?”

“You heard me. CPLR 3211. What is it? What’s it for?”

“Motion to dismiss?” Matt replies. “Or is this something cryptic?”

Foggy relaxes and wanders closer to Matt. “Nah, you got it right. I’m just testing your lucidity.” Testing that Matt’s safe to be on his own.

“With my knowledge of New York’s consolidated laws?”

“It’s not something you’d forget easily.”

Matt concedes the point by tilting his head. “So now you want me to dismiss you?”

“Don’t imagine you’re the one calling the shots, here.” Foggy stands where he is, studying Matt’s face while he tries to decide between coffee, alcohol, and the door. “You know it would be an enormous pain in my ass if you died, right?” Foggy asks. “So I need you to promise that if I leave you won’t die.”

“I will never die,” Matt quotes, the corner of his mouth quirking.

Foggy snorts, suddenly on the edge of laughter. "Yeah. Okay, Gary." He sobers, looking again at Matt’s taut face. “Don’t lie to me. Are you going to be okay if I leave you alone?”

“I told you, I’m fine.”

Foggy nods absently. “Gary was a better actor than you.” He doesn’t really believe Matt’s ‘fine,’ but Matt also doesn’t look like he’s lining up to shuffle off this mortal coil. “You want any help getting in bed?”

Matt closes his eyes again, shakes his head. “I’m here for the night.”

“Need the bathroom?”

“Foggy. I’m not an invalid.”

“Okay.” Foggy nods. “Okay. See you, man.”

Matt says nothing as Foggy walks away. It’s for the best, really.

_____

He spots them, a week or so later, walking towards him on the opposite side of the street. Matt’s grinning like an idiot, and Jess is trying to hide her own smile, looking at him with fondness. Foggy’s glad they’re working together, he really is. Matt needs someone looking out for him, and Foggy appreciates the sporadic texts she sends him. Matt’s even holding her elbow, the way he used to hold Foggy’s.

Foggy readjusts the strap of his briefcase where it’s suddenly cutting into his shoulder. Because he can’t tear his eyes away he sees Matt’s smile falter, his head tilt, and because Jess is looking right at Matt she catches it, too. She tenses, scans the street as Matt shakes his head slightly and mutters something. Jess relaxes, turns her head to look across the street just as they draw level and locks eyes with Foggy, raising her brows. Foggy half-smiles then looks away and carries on with his journey. He can’t let this derail him. He has clients to meet, a reputation as a capable lawyer to uphold. He even manages to whistle.

And if Karen can’t meet him for drinks that night, and he spends the night crying into his whisky glass alone in his apartment, no one needs to know.

The next day he gets a text.

Sort your shit out

I’m not the one with the shit, he replies.

Then he adds, Thanks for texting last week.

Jess replies surprisingly quickly. He was pissed at me

He’s an asshole

Agreed

Keep him alive, please, Jones

Jess doesn’t reply to that one.

_____

Foggy sees Matt in other places. At the courthouse, in a cafe. He can’t help but scan him for injuries, knowing that his heart’s pitter-pattering in his chest betrays his concern, and finding no new injuries, subsequent relief. Or pulling at the sight of a poorly-masked limp, a black eye not-so-hidden by dark glasses.

When Foggy sees Matt unexpectedly, he tries to feel revulsion, but he can’t. Instead, being close to Matt Murdock summons pain, and frustration, and despair. The feeling swirl and threaten to drown him, and he waits for them to coalesce into a single entity, something he can name and vanquish. He expects it to be disgust, loathing, or even hatred, but that hasn't happened yet. And Foggy can’t work out why. So he learns that after he sees Matt he’ll lose his appetite, that his breath will catch, that his body will worry.

There’s something else that he feels, in the centre of his chest, but he stubbornly refuses to name it. All the time and betrayal hasn’t weathered away its rough edges, and it has a habit of spiking him at the most inconvenient times. It would bring him to his knees, if he let it.

Matt always plays their encounters perfectly straight, never betraying what he might be reading from Foggy’s traitorous body, never straying from polite yet distant when they need to interact.

Foggy knows there’s chatter at the courthouse - What happened to Nelson and Murdock? They were practically married, and now I never see them together.

Foggy lived through the past months, but he doesn’t know, either. He doesn’t know how they ended up here, and if they can ever get to a new place.

_____

The next time Jess contacts him, she calls. At the panic in her voice he bolts out of his warm bed. Foggy has never heard her panic before.

When he arrives at Matt’s apartment his hands are shaking and he struggles to slide his key into the lock, but before he can manage it the door swings open, revealing a broad chest, clad in a hoodie flecked with bullet holes. Luke nods and steps aside wordlessly as Foggy pushes past him, searching for Matt.

All the lights are on, which isn’t saying a lot. The poor lighting casts deep shadows, appropriate for a man with too many dark secrets. Foggy has eyes only for Matt, stretched out on the couch again, bare to the waist and with an arcing red line of sutures across his chest. His breathing is so shallow that for a moment Foggy fears the worst. Matt’s deathly pale, his lashes dark against his cheek, and gives no sign whatsoever that he’s clocked Foggy’s arrival. The bright splash of red on the floor paints a picture in crimson that takes Foggy back to another night, another pool of blood. Foggy feels his legs weaken underneath him.

Foggy turns to look at Claire, where she’s kneeling beside the coffee table, cleaning up her supplies. Surgical instruments clatter into a plastic box, alongside the once-sterile wrappings of her surgical kit and little suture packets. It’s less tidy than usual, as though Claire was rushing. Claire’s hands are shaking, and her movements are jerky. She looks like she’s gone beyond her standard frustration, like she’s been grappling with fear.

Claire glances at him, then back at her work. “If Danny hadn’t got here quickly….” Claire cuts herself off and swallows hard, composes herself. “There’s only so much I can do like this.” She gestures angrily and shakily at her supplies, at Matt’s prone form, and throws bloody swabs into the box. “This isn’t an operating theatre.”

Foggy lets out a long, shuddering breath. “Thank you, Claire,” he says. He knows it’s inadequate, that it doesn’t even begin to cover what happened here tonight or any of the other nights before. .

Claire pauses, her tidying finished, and there’s a stillness to her. It’s like the night has drawn in, circling the three of them in a hideous diorama. Foggy feels himself frozen and watches as Claire looks at Matt, still as death. She shakes her head minutely, then slowly rises to her feet.

Jess is suddenly there, holding a cup of coffee in Claire’s direction, and the moment passes. Claire takes the cup with resigned relief, and Foggy shivers in surprise. He hadn’t noticed Jess at all. He looks over and sees Danny slumped at the dining table, chopsticks in hand and an empty take-out container beside him.

“Drink that, and I’ll take you home,” Jess tells Claire, then looks at Luke. “You’re in charge of Fisty.” Luke nods, and wanders over to Danny, poking him in the side with a finger.

“Ow!” Danny yelps, and stands up stiffly.

“Quit being so dramatic,” Jess grouses.

“It takes a lot of energy to channel my Qi like that-” Danny begins, but Luke picks him up and hefts him over a shoulder. Danny protests briefly, pounding ineffectually against Luke’s back, then gives up, sagging in defeat. Luke nods at Foggy, and makes for the roof access stairs, disappearing up them more quickly and quietly than a man his size should be able to.

Claire knocks her coffee back, and discards the cup on the table, looks hard at Foggy. “You need to stay with him.”

Foggy nods. “How long will he be like this?”

She shrugs. “He’s lost a lot of blood. Danny’s fist is kinda miraculous, but I think it has limits.”

“Just tell me what I need to know. Please.”

Claire and Jess exchange a look, and Jess clears her throat. “Luke and Danny were working together, Matt and I were doing a different area. Matt got cut bad. It was deep,” Jess supplies. “We were close so I called the others then got him here, and Claire met us, but…” Her already-pale skin turns whiter still, and she swallows hard.

“Luke and Danny showed up when we needed them to,” Claire says. She looks again at Matt, and he watches her watching Matt. “He’s going to need to rest for a few days,” Claire says.

Foggy laughs mirthlessly. “Have you met Matt?” he asks.

“He might not have any choice this time. Keep him warm, make him drink and eat. Call me only if you need to. You know the drill.”

Foggy nods, following Claire and Jess with his eyes as they disappear around the corner. The front door opens and closes, and Foggy is alone with Matt. He rubs his arms, feeling the sudden chill of fall, and looks down at the person he once called his best friend. Matt’s still unconscious, and he looks cold.

In Matt’s room Foggy digs out socks, sweats, and a hoodie, and the soft blanket Matt keeps at the end of his bed. He spreads the blanket over Matt, and piles the clothing on the coffee table. Foggy allows himself another look at Matt’s face, and he feels the spiky thing flip over in his chest. He tucks in the edges of the blanket, to keep Matt warm, and goes to make himself a coffee.

Foggy’s left a few magazines and a couple of novels at Matt’s apartment, and they’re still in a small, neat pile on the bottom shelf of the bookcase. He retrieves his old, dog-eared copy of Pride and Prejudice, and sits down in the armchair closest to the window. From here the billboard lights Matt’s face, and Foggy can look up every few pages to check that Matt’s still breathing.

Foggy sets the book aside and stretches, and walks over to stand above Matt. Matt’s skin in waxy, but his breathing is smoother, a little deeper. Foggy should be angry at Matt, but he’s just sad, worried and lonely. He wants his best friend back.

Foggy sinks slowly to his knees and reaches up a hand to stroke back Matt’s hair. His skin is clammy, which Foggy remembers tends to happen when someone nearly bleeds out. His stomach twists again with fear for Matt, and for a fleeting moment Foggy imagines a world without Matt in it. It’s a dark place. But Matt is here and breathing. Foggy finds himself leaning in and pressing a gentle kiss to Matt’s forehead.

Because this is Foggy’s life, Matt chooses this moment to stir and groan, and Foggy jumps back.

“Jess?” Matt asks, eyes pinching tightly.

“Sorry, man, it’s just me.”

“Fog?” Matt croaks, uncertain. “I can’t, I’m not.” He swallows and his eyes open, roving aimlessly and frantically as he brings one hand to the wound on his side. Foggy’s seen Matt’s eyes wander like this before, when he’s disoriented, so he grabs for Matt’s clammy hand and gives it a squeeze. Matt holds on tight, a drowning man clutching a lifering, and the lost look fades from his face. He clears his throat. “When did you get here?”

“A while ago. Jess called me.”

Matt closes his eyes again. “Claire was here.”

“She was.”

“She stitched me up.”

“Ye-es. And I think that, maybe, Danny did the magic healing glowing fist thing? Claire seemed kinda upset.”

“Because Danny took over?”

“More like…” Foggy swallows, fighting down an edge of panic. “She nearly lost you.”

“Oh. Mmm.” Matt pauses, like he’s taking stock of his body. “That tracks.” His tone lacks inflection.

“How do you feel?”

“Fine.”

“Oh fuck you, Murdock.” That earns him a half-smile. “You thirsty?” Foggy asks, reaching for casual, but falling wide of the mark.

Matt swallows, with effort, and licks his lips. “Um. Yes.”

Foggy lets go, and doesn’t miss that Matt flexes his hand, like he hadn’t realised they were still holding each other, before slipping it under the blanket.

In the kitchen, he fills the electric kettle and puts it on to boil for tea, then retrieves a bottle of water from the fridge. There’s not much food on hand, looks like Danny got to the leftovers, but at least there’s bread for a sandwich.

“It’s late, Foggy. Go home to bed.”

Foggy aggressively ignores this, setting out two mugs with tea bags, and retrieving milk and sugar. He starts slapping together two PB&Js, and finds half a block of dark chocolate in the usual spot. The jug clicks off, and he fills the mugs. The familiarity of the task is soothing, distracting. Matt doesn’t seem to be as aware of Foggy’s movements as he usually is, and he hasn’t tried to sit up.

As the tea bags steep, Foggy prepares himself for the conversation he knows is coming. He has to be the instigator.

Tea bags out, Foggy adds milk and honey. Matt doesn’t like his tea sweet, but he gets less choice on a night when he nearly died. Foggy he tucks the water bottle under his arm, picks up the plate of sandwiches and chocolate, and carries Matt’s mug over to the lounge. “You need one of those lap trays they make for old people.”

Matt groans as he pushes himself up into a sitting position. Foggy stuffs a piece of chocolate at Matt’s mouth and he makes a face, but takes it without protest. The blanket has slipped down, and goosebumps stipple Matt’s chest, his nipples standing out, hard. Foggy hands Matt the hoodie and Matt takes it with surprise, running his hands over it to orient himself before slowly and painfully pulling it on and lifting the hood up over his head.

“Drink your tea,” Foggy says, and goes back to collect his own. He snags the whisky bottle and pours a hefty tot into his cup before returning to sit in one of Matt’s armchairs.

“Do I get some of that?” Matt asks.

“Maybe when you’ve got your blood volume up again.”

Matt’s surprisingly tractable, eating his sandwiches without complaint. Of course, it’s not particularly reassuring because Foggy knows it means that Matt’s got to be feeling terrible.

They sit in relative silence, Matt seemingly focused on drinking his tea without spilling it, until Foggy realises it’s past 5am. He pulls himself out of the airchair and goes to switch on Matt’s espresso machine.

When Foggy moves away, Matt reaches for the rest of his clothing. Foggy lurks in the kitchen while Matt dresses slowly, awkwardly, dropping his pants and kicking them under the coffee table. Foggy’s seen this enough times to know better than to offer help. Matt pulls on one sock then sits back, panting. Foggy despairs for Matt and his abysmal sense of self-worth. He wishes he could love Matt into healing, but he knows it doesn’t work like that. When Matt stands to pull up his sweatpants he sways slightly and clutches the back of the couch for balance. Foggy looks away, attends to the coffee, makes his own Irish.

Foggy puts Matt’s coffee on the coffee table in front of him, although Matt’s lying down and doesn’t reach for the cup. Foggy sits down again in the armchair, balancing his mug as he leans back, and fixes Matt with a stare he hopes Matt can feel.

“So.”

“So. You heading out?”

“I’m here to look after you,” Foggy says.

Matt scowls a little. “Don’t you have work?”

“It’s Saturday.” Foggy spreads his hands wide, like a magician presenting his trick. “I can stay all weekend.”

Matt makes a noise of frustration. “Just go, Foggy.”

“No can do. I’m staying.”

“You’ve left before.”

Foggy feels a stab of anger. “Because you told me to. You made it very clear that you didn’t want me around again.”

Matt’s jaw tenses, and Foggy takes a deep breath, willing himself to regain some calmness. When he speaks again, he’s proud that his voice doesn’t shake.

“We’ve already been through this, and I have no interest in doing it again.” He takes another breath. “You matter to me, Matt. Once upon a time I met this cool guy and we became friends and spent tons of time together. I even started a business with him.”

“And then you found out he wasn’t who you thought he was,” Matt says, with a wide, dismissive gesture.

“Yeah, and it sucked.” Foggy looks down at the hands in his lap and realises he’s wringing them.

“So why are you still here? I thought we were done.”

Foggy looks up at that. “I’m not done.”

“Foggy. I feel like shit. I don’t want to do this now.” Matt does look like shit, but that’s not the point here.

“Yea, well, you never want to talk about it on the rare day you’re uninjured, so...”

“So drop it.” Matt’s face is blank, emotion masked, facing the wall in front of him, not Foggy.

“Stop pushing me away, Matt”

A flicker of anger crosses Matt’s face. “You’re only here out of a misplaced sense of loyalty.”

“Misplaced? Matt. Why can’t you accept that I want to be here?”

“Because you don’t. Because I’m...”

“What?”

Matt closes his eyes and tips his head back, inhales like he’s praying for strength. Then he straightens, facing Foggy head on. “I’m not worth it.”

“This again. You must think I’m a poor judge of character.”

“Maybe when it comes to me,” Matt says, nodding.

“You’re such a selfish asshole.”

Matt nods again, agreeing, which is frankly irritating. “Also, I’m not. Not. I…”

“Not what, Matt? Reliable? A good decorator? Because I already knew that.”

“I’m not.” Matt stops again, takes a deep breath. “It’s not you, it’s me. You know that. I’m just…” Matt still can’t finish the thought.

“Are you trying to say that you’re not likable? Because I think you know that’s not true. You’re… magnetic.”

“Until people find out who I really am.”

Fogy shuffles forward in his seat and rests his elbows on his knees, leaning towards Matt. “Matt, I need you to listen to what I’m about to say. Okay? You have inherent worth as a human, and you matter to me, very much. And that isn’t contingent on us getting along all the time, or you avoiding injury, although I’d really prefer it if you didn’t get hurt. So stop trying to push me away, because I like things a lot better when we aren’t fighting. Or we can squabble, but it’s not the end of the world.”

Matt’s averted his face, away from Foggy and the billboard. He bites his lower lip and shakes his head slightly, and doesn’t reply.

“I love you, man,” Foggy says. “And it hurts seeing you be self-destructive. But that doesn’t stop me loving you.”

Matt squeezes his eyes shut, and Foggy sees a glistening tear slide down the curve of his cheek. Matt’s jaw works, and Foggy waits him out, giving him time to speak.

“There’s a difference between what you tell me I should know, and what I believe,” Matt finally says.

Foggy hates everyone who has left Matt over the years. But he can’t hate Matt.

“You’re so smart, Matt, but you don’t understand feelings at all.”

Suddenly the space between them yawns, impossibly far, and Foggy has to bridge it. In a rush, he stands and moves to sit beside Matt on the couch, and he reaches across Matt’s lap to pick up his left hand from where it’s balled in a fist on his thigh, forcing Matt to turn his shoulders towards Foggy.

Foggy looks at Matt’s hand. The knuckles are bruised, of course, but it’s the same hand that he’s seen reading, skimming over surfaces in a real or feigned search for information, the same hand that’s so often held firmly but lightly to Foggy’s elbow.

Gently, Foggy unfurls Matt’s fingers, spreading them wide and lifting Matt’s hand to press against the centre of Foggy’s chest, with his own hand spread above it.

The rest of Matt unfurls along with his hand, softening and reaching towards Foggy.

Foggy watches as the lines of tension in Matt’s face ease, and he seems to tune in to the beat of Foggy’s heart. The spiky thing in the middle of Foggy’s chest warms and pulses and softens, and Foggy finally lets himself name it - it is love. Foggy’s love for Matt. And Matt Murdock might be clever with words and stupid with emotions, but no one feels the world the way Matt does.

Foggy leans forward and kisses Matt’s forehead again, gentle and warm, then presses his forehead to Matt’s.

“I’m tired, Foggy.”

Foggy murmurs in agreement. “I know. So am I. And I miss you.”

Matt reaches with his other hand to cup Foggy’s shoulder, a finger playing over the scar under the sleeve of Foggy’s sweater.

Foggy kisses Matt’s forehead again, then pulls back slightly. “You haven’t touched that scar before, have you?” Foggy asks. Matt pulls his hand away, like he’s just realised what he’s doing, and shakes his head, frowning. “It’s okay.” Foggy has to release Matt’s other hand, but he shrugs his left arm out of its sleeve and pulls the bottom edge of his sweater up so that his entire arm and half his torso are bare. “Feel away.”

Cautiously, Matt reaches out with his right hand and touches one fingertip with unerring accuracy, exactly where the bullet left its mark. Foggy watches as fleeting emotions chase each other across Matt’s face. “I’m sorry I didn’t visit you in the hospital,” Matt says. He presses his palm flat over the scar for a moment, lifting his hand away only to press a kiss of his own to Foggy’s skin, to his scar. Foggy shivers.

Matt’s hand moves again, sensitive fingertips trailing from Foggy’s arm across to his chest and grazing a nipple. He pauses, all five fingertips there with the lightest of touches over Foggy’s heart, before his hand spreads out. Foggy feels the contact like it’s a brand.

Foggy lifts his right hand. He has to unzip Matt’s hoody, but then he’s pressing his own hand over Matt’s heart, and confusion, joy and hope are chasing each other across Matt’s face.

Matt leans forward and kisses Foggy on the lips. It’s sweet and gentle, but when Matt presses in more firmly Foggy moves back.

Matt doesn’t look like he’s about to jump out the window, but he does look uncertain. “You don’t want...?” Matt asks.

“Oh, I do. You have no idea. But you’re hurt and tired and you have a very soft bed in the next room, and maybe we’ve done enough talking for now.”

“Want to spoon?” Matt asks, and the hope on his face nearly breaks Foggy’s heart.

“Yes I do, my spoony little friend. And we can talk later.”

Matt smiles, and it’s like seeing the sun burst over rain-drenched lands that had almost forgotten a sun existed. “Later.” And Foggy takes Matt’s hand in his, helps him carefully to his feet, and leads him to bed.

#daredevilexchange #matt murdock #Foggy nelson #pogowrites

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bitch-i-migth-be · 4 years

Text

Crash Course | Chapter 05: Priorities

Fandoms: Danny Phantom, Batman,

Relationships: Danny Fenton & Jazz Fenton, Danny Fenton & Jazz Fenton & Vlad Masters, Ember Mclain & Kitty, Danny Fenton & Cujo

Characters: Danny Fenton, Jazz Fenton,Cujo, Ember Mclain, Kitty, Lunch Lady, Younblood, Skulker, Johnny 13, Random ghosties mentions *boo*, Vlad Fucking Masters Everyone

Words: 6′582

Tags: BAMF Danny, Ghost zone shenanigans, Sibling bonding, Shenanigans, Swearing, Family dinners, Heteronormativity?? The fuck is that, Danny in Cosplay, Ghost King Danny,

Summary: He swore his sister was trying to make him go into cardiac arrest - considering his halfa status that was quite the accomplishment-

But there was no other explanation to his sister’s stubbornness, and if he knew her at all there was just no talking her down from interning at goddam Arkham.

A/N:

Some of you *coming here for the fights, angst and The Drama™ that a DP & DC crossover inevitably involves*: “Hey-”

Me *Trying to write fluffy shit to liberate and soothe my deranged soul from this mortal prison*: “S'up?”

-.-.-.-

This is so long compared to the other chapters. Whhy is this so loooong. UGH- It’s almost double the length of the first four chapters together? I thought it was less? This would have been bigger if I hadn’t posted chapter 4 first? What is happening

THIS IS ON AO3, IF ANYONE WOULD PREFER TO READ THERE. LOVE COMmENTs so if u have anything to say IwillBeReallyHappyYesThankU

CHAPTERS: 1 , 2 , 3 , 4 , 5 , 6 , 7

-.-.-.-

Phantom was currently drifting on the Ghost zone trying to hunt down his next unsuspecting victim among the ghosts.

‘Oh, how the turn tables.’ the halfa chuckled.

Jazz had kept her word and after pulling an all-nighter they had come up with some interesting options.

Now he just needed to pull them off.

The sound of growling at his back made him freeze on his tracks. He turned around to look at the source of the sound.

“Oh,” Well, this certainly had not been on the plans. To stumble upon such a mighty beast this early on. He smiled. “Hi, Cujo!”

The happy barking that followed the greeting was rather endearing, normally whenever he crossed paths with the pup he would spare some time to play with him and teach him some tricks. After some months of the pup following him around and of the halfa trying to deny to anyone who would listen, especially Val, that the dog was not really his, Danny finally gave up and got him a new collar.

The little guy was quite spoiled nowadays.

Sadly, right now he was on a timeline.

“Sorry, bud. No playtime today, I’m on a rather tight schedule.” Phantom cooed softly, reaching down to briefly scratch behind the pup’s ears.

Cujo sat on his hind legs, paws in the air and tail wagging, effectively cutting off his path.

Not like he couldn’t try to fly around, mind you, but with a dog that could go gigamax on your ass, it was better to just talk your way out.

Just when Danny was about to open his mouth the pup upgraded to excited wiggling on the non-existent floor of the zone.

The halfa sighed to himself. Fond smile growing without his explicit permission.

“Cujo-” he tried, just to be interrupted again. “And there goes the whining, Oh. My. God.”

The boy covered his face with his hands, not daring to look until the sounds stopped completely. After a moment, he finally took a peek from between his fingers.

Sad, puppy dog eyes were looking up at him, small little whine making a comeback.

Fucking shit.

He was going soft.

-.-.-.-

“Match head.”

The sound of the nickname momentarily dragged Ember’s full attention from the tuning of her guitar to the new arrival.

“Baby Pop.” She took notice of the green puppy posing as a hat on the white-haired boy’s head and snorted, eyes going back to the guitar. “Blessed the eyes. You going Cruella on us now or what?”

“Please,” The boy jested. “Like we need a remasterized skulker around here.”

“At least the woman did it for fashion.” She hummed. “You would make a horrid carpet, you are too fucking skinny.”

“Excuse you, bitch.” Phantom shot back, irritation clear on his voice. Ember rejoiced on it.

She faked a gasp,“ Are you saying you want Skulky to make you into a rug, baby pop? Scandalous!”

“T-that’s not-!” the halfa spluttered before Ember cut him off.

“What do you want, cupcake? It’s not like you to venture so far into the Zone willingly unless you are looking for blood.” She questioned, carefully putting her guitar back in the case.

The boy huffed.

“Whatever, Ashley,” he grumbled under his breath. “I think it’s time we revisited the terms of our agreement ” The boy sat by her side nonchalantly, not noticing — or outright ignoring — the sudden rise in temperature as the girl’s blue hair flared violently, a deep frown marring her face.

Cujo did notice. But the little doggo was more distracted with the movement of the pretty light-emitting hair, and the fluffiness of the hair on his current method of transportation to register the imminent danger to his fur.

Priorities.

“Revisit? You want to fucking revisit?” She growled. “I will tell you what you can fucking revisit-!”

The halfa just laughed at her reaction. Ember’s hair doubled in length. The laughter died off.

Her hand was getting dangerously close to her guitar.

Danny swallowed hard, deciding to just get on with it before Ember tried to use the instrument as a wanna-be war hammer again.

“It’s quite the contrary, my dear flaming hot,” he rushed to appease her “I want to expand on it,” he said, throwing in a sickeningly sweet smile for good measure.

He hoped it was enough to regain her attention in a more positive light. He didn’t want to explain to Jazz why his ghost form’s eyebrows were singed off. Again. He didn’t have time for more lectures. Thank you.

Luckily, If the hair-inferno reducing to a cheerfully blazing bonfire and the growing smirk taking over ember’s face was any indication he had succeeded. Cujo whined for the loss. Danny wanted to squeal for the win.

He did not. But it was a very close thing.

“Oh ho, now we are talking, baby pop.”

-.-.-.-

The window of opportunity to pull this off was very small. He had to take into account the amount of time that had passed since the last fight, the reason for the aforementioned fight, and how much of an emotional investment the objective really held for it to be a proper detonator.

This operation required surgical precision, which meant a lot of preparation. And research.

It was a good thing it happened so often.

“I will be direct with you, sister,” Phantom spilled, sprawling himself on the free seat on Kitty’s right side. “your bitch boyfriend doesn’t know the jackpot he hit with you and that just ain’t gonna fly.”

knowing where Kitty would end up after a fight with Johnny was not a problem. tracking down which bar she was going to be crashing for the aftermath was the real problem.

Danny hadn’t even known there were bars in this place.

In the last months of his treaty with one Ember Mclain, he had learned plenty of- interesting facts about the Zone that he would prefer to forget. Not that he really had an option, Jazz had taught him early on that information on the enemy — and sometimes on friends —was a valuable asset to ensure victory.

So he would play dumb about knowing these things. But he would not forget about them.

Couldn’t afford to forget them.

If the Ghost Writer pulled another surprise quiz on him and the answers were less than perfect the man would riot.

The halfa stretched out a hand to take a menu and leaned his elbows against the bar-top. Cujo chose that moment to leave his position on the teen’s head to sit next to his forearm so he could peer at the menu too.

He skipped the drinks section and went straight to the food. There was no way he was getting any alcohol.

Don’t get him wrong. They would serve him whatever the fuck he wanted if he asked for it on the zone, but the teen had tasted it before and hated it with a passion. Fuck the peer pressure. Never again. Good for when you are sad? Bitch, just get ice cream. Maybe he should have asked Ember for Kitty’s favorite flavor and save himself the hassle. Oh well.

Too late now.

Danny chose his order but decided to risk a look at the drinks for non-alcoholic options while he waited for Cujo to paw at whatever he wanted.

Kitty, who had been spluttering and getting progressively redder since he made his entrance, was about to smack him upside the head because even if it was true the brat shouldn’t just go saying it like it was any of his goddamn business. They were in the middle of a crowded bar, these people didn’t need any more confirmation for her relationship problems. Couldn’t she keep some dignity?

Before her hand could connect though, a pair of arms surrounded her, bringing her firmly into a backward hug against a warm chest.

A very familiar warm chest.

Startled, she looked up to stare into fiery green eyes.

“Cool it kitten,” Ember purred, clad in a leather jacket that was, most likely, scammed off some unfortunate soul. Still. She looked damn good. Kitty got so tongue-tied she couldn’t manage to even begin to stutter a response, let alone a protest. Danny took advantage of Ember’s intervention to finally place his first order. “Babycakes is right.” Ember continued, effectively cutting off all the air from kitty’s sails once and for all, because really, Ember was her best friend and if there was anyone who knew exactly how many times Johnny and Kitty had fought it was the blue-haired girl.

Kitty let out a defeated sigh and wiggled a little on the embrace to settle into it properly. Might as well get the best out of this-

“Oh, they have frappes!” Phantom trilled in awe. Kitty twitched.

If only Phantom would go away. Ugh. She couldn’t deal with males right now.

“Can’t you leave that thing alone?” Hissed Ember, who had seen the teen open the conversation with her kitty kat just to completely ignore her right after in favor of the menu. The bitch boy needed to focus, they were supposed to be on a mission here.

“Hey! You were the one calling me skinny earlier!” Remarked the teen, only to get a raised eyebrow back from the rockstar.

“As if a single frappe is going to fix that. Give me that!” She sneered at him and snatched the laminated paper from his hands. Phantom tried to snatch it back and failed. So he resorted to pouting and tried to give her the sad puppy dog eyes.

It wasn’t going to work with the matchstick, he knew, but it was good practice.

To pull this shit with Ember you had to be either Kitty, Youngblood, or an honest-to-god puppy. He was not risking ticking off Kitty more than he already had. Youngblood was not here — for obvious reasons—. Cujo was here and didn’t hate him, but sadly the dog wouldn’t be any help right now.

The pup was already accepting belly rubs from the waiters and completely ignoring the world around him.

Again: Priorities.

So really, Danny was just doing this for the sake of being extra.

While Ember and Danny continued with their dramatic standoff, the other girl blinked rapidly and turned her head towards Phantom.

“Oh” Kitty’s bad mood banished almost magically in favor of curiously peering at the teen’s figure. Danny fidgeted on his seat apprehensively.“I hadn’t noticed. You are really lean.” Ember snickered. Cujo — coming back from the belly rub induced coma — barked. Phantom sighed and just accepted defeat.

“I suppose that’s somewhat better-” He grumbled under his breath.

Kitty allowed a tiny smile to escape from her lips but shook herself slightly to get back on track. “What are you two even doing here anyway?” She asked, alternating glances between them.

“Pretty sure you already know,” Ember answered, rubbing her cheek against kitty’s green hair and sending A Look at Phantom. “Because someone is not subtle. at. all.” She ended with a hiss and a flare of her hair. Kitty winced lightly at the confirmation. Phantom rolled his eyes.

“Oh, Cry me a table, matchstick.”

Kitty knew alright. Ember made it her personal business to get involved in whatever petty fight Kitty got into, more so if it was about Johnny. Phantom getting involved in the aftermath — and not the fight itself — was new though.“It was just another stupid fight. And- You know, his obsession-”

“Nope. That’s no excuse, Kath.” Ember cut her off. “If you can work around yours for him, then so can he.”

“You can do better.” The teenage boy agreed while Ember continued squeezing her.

“What do you suggest then?”

Phantom and Ember exchanged a look, mirth flashing in their glowing green eyes and matching smirks growing bold, they turned to look back at Kitty. The green-haired girl gulped down her growing unease. In her experience, these two banding together was never a good thing for anyone.

“We are here to talk to you about the Remember Initiative.”

-.-.-.-

“Such a skinny boy!”

“Hey! I’m just lean-!” Phantom let out a yelp as he ducked under yet another juice box “What’s with you people and your obsession with my weight-! Ugh! If you would just listen-! Wait. Is that apple grape?” He said the last part in a hushed rush, looking in silent awe at one of the little juice boxes she was about to throw his way.

The Lunch Lady preened.

“Boxy got them for me! 100% Juice Fruit guaranteed!” She was radiating smugness about these facts.

“Oh my gosh- Wait! NO. That’s not what I came here for!” Danny managed to shake himself out of his stupor just in time to keep evading the Lady’s attempts to shove a spoon full of food down his throat while he was distracted with the juice.

The last time she had gotten a hold of him he had ended up feeling like one of his mom’s thanksgiving turkeys. Danny gulped. Best to just go for it and hope for the best.

“Did you know that there are 37.2 million people living in food-insecure households?!”

The screamed question froze the lunch lady on her tracks. At the look of horror his words achieved, he decided to keep going.

“1 in 6 American children don’t even know where their next meal is coming from.”

The lunch lady let out a horrified gasp, “Those poor children-!”

And with that, the woman exchanged her attempts at stuffing him for furious-but-mournful whisperings. She looked really constipated about this new information. Danny almost felt sad. Almost.

“There is a way to help, you know?”

The lunch lady’s head snapped back towards the half-ghost, eyes narrowed in a glare. Not the usual I’m-going-to-choke-your-skinny-ass-in-food glare, but an I’m-paying-attention-to-your-skinny-ass glare.

Danny refrained from openly cheering after sensing his upcoming victory. Better not chance it.

“Have you ever heard about old San Nicolas?”

-.-.-.-

“You know,” Danny murmured, slurping noisily from one of his juice boxes as he watched from a safe distance how Johnny and Skulker got wrecked by a pair of cute-murderous-girls, “I wasn’t expecting that to work so well.”

His only response was a pair of little barks from the green puppy that was happily squirming on his lap.

The boy paused on his watch to look down at Cujo. Danny extended one of his hands towards the puppy to carefully try to swat at him. The cub rolled onto his back and trapped Danny’s upcoming fingers between his paws with a playful growl, giving little nibbles to the appendage.

He couldn’t help the giddy giggles that escaped him.

Those little paws were precious.

At the sound of high pitched screams Danny’s head snapped back up to continue watching the ongoing smackdown, surrendering complete possession of his hand to Cujo to do as he pleased.

If the Initiative didn’t work out, both girls would do awesome on the wrestling circuit. Not like Ember lacked in the costume department.

Speaking of costumes, he wondered if the match stick would let him borrow her feathered hat. That thing was awesome.

Better just ask.

Once she was done throwing down with skulker, of course.

He was not about to become cannon fodder.

Priorities.

-.-.-.-

“Ahoy! me fellow comrades!! Your future Cap'n ’s talking!! I’m here on a recruiting mission to embark on the most perilous dangers of the Realms!! May ye, dear comrades, embark under your own risk! Arrrgh!! ”

Thanks to Youngblood’s presence the main residential area of Phantom’s keep was starting to become complete disarray. The adult ghosts were frantic for the possible kidnapping of the tiniest ghosts that was most likely going to happen. The children amongst them were cheering for the possible playtime in their future.

The guards were starting to panic. No one had seen the kid enter, much less bring along that enormous ship of his. The little brat was not supposed to be here!

“Who the freaking hell let Young Blood get in?!” One of the guards hollered.

“It’s fine, I invited him.” Came the cheerful reply from behind the guard. “I’m expanding the lair so the kids have more space to mess around. Just don’t tell them.”

The ghost was startled at the voice but didn’t panic anymore. Instead, they started to relax. They knew that voice, but they needed to confirm-

“P-Phantom?”

Phantom, in full cosplay and sporting the biggest feathered pirate hat on this side of the realms, landed lightly beside the startled ghost with a little chuckle, “Just play along, man.”

“Also, pretty sure there should be a ‘Lord’ in there somewhere.”

“I-I thought you preferred to not be called that, my lord?”

Phantom winced.

“Ah- No. It’s- You know what? Never mind, I keep forgetting you guys don’t really get updates of pop culture on this side of the coin” Phantom frowned. “I really should see about getting some wifi for this place”

He continued to murmur about the updates he would need to do to the tech to make that possible. But the guard was not paying attention to his words anymore.

They were staring speechless at the whole pirate get-up the halfa had managed to assemble. It had been mostly borrowed last minute — not that the guard knew that—. It looked really good. Especially the gold hoop earrings that kept swaying slightly alongside the fluffy white hair with every motion of Phantom’s head.

The guard let out a dreamy sigh.

Their Lord was so cute.

“How is everything going?”

“Wha-?” Getting suddenly pulled out of their daydreaming

“The preparations?” Danny hummed distractedly, diligently searching for his journal and pen among the numerous layers of clothing he had donned for the occasion. Why the fuck did this thing have so many pockets?

“Oh,” Came the ghost’s soft exclamation, suddenly remembering the requests the owner of the keep had left the last time he had come around. Finally emerging victorious from his search, Phantom turned to look at them, raising an eyebrow at the lack of proper explanation “Oh, yes! Everything is going smoothly, and we received the last confirmations this morning, sir.”

Danny smiled at the answer, completely unaware of the effect his playful smile had on the guard and the other ghosts that had started to converge there upon seeing their ‘landlord’. “Awesome.”

That was the last one.

-.-.-.-

Well, almost the last one.

He must admit that the shell shocked expressions on Sam and Tucker were funny the first few minutes.

But after having to repeat himself over and over again it had gotten increasingly less funny.

“Y-you are leaving?” Tucker stuttered.

Danny sighed, “Yes, we are leaving. As in, Jazz and me.”

After gaping at him for another few seconds, Sam finally gathered herself enough to start talking again.

“what about the ghost?”

“I- um- already took care of that,“ Danny mumbled, nervously avoiding eye contact while playing with his milkshake straw. “I also cashed in some debts and asked some favors from my allies, so most will be taken care of until we come back. Either way, I will leave enough Fenton Tech for the both of you and Val. Just in case.”

“Enough tech?” Sam repeated incredulously. “That’s it? Just leave some tech and jump boat just like that?” Danny frowned but refrained from answering her until he thought it through. Sam wouldn’t accept less.

Jump boat? That was not really the case. Jazz and he had really put some thought into this, heck even before the Internship on Loony Capital had come up — specifically, since Jazz’s breakthrough — the siblings had already been toying with ways to get some of the most persistent ghosts to back the fuck off, distract them with better and useful targets or entice them into submission.

At first, it had been a tentative thing, something fragile that they didn’t let themselves hope for. But with Jazz’s change of course of action, it had become something more urgent.

They had to pull it off. There were no other options.

Danny pursed his lips, then took a deep breath to strengthen himself for what was coming. “That’s not it-”

“You are just going to dump us.” She announced like it was final in a harsh whisper.

At least she was keeping her tone quiet.

“No one is getting dumped, Sam,” Danny tried to reassure her in the same tone of finality, sans the harshness. “I told you. We already thought this through. I already put some plans in motion and rigged some backups and- ok. Meaby they are not good enough to be permanent but-”

“You are going to put everyone at risk just because Jazz somehow got the ridiculous idea that ‘talking it out’ is the answer” She scoffed.

“Maybe it is. Maybe not. We won’t know until we try.”

“They are ghosts-”

“So am I.” Danny Interjected. Sam seemed to choke on her next words.

“You are not a ghost Danny.” She had, somehow, gained a tone even more quiet and harsh than her previous one.

“Aren’t I?” He was looking directly into her amethyst eyes. Daring her to fight him on this.

He already knew she wouldn’t.

She had opened her mouth to rebut but closed it immediately after. She took a long breath; most likely to prepare for her next rant than to calm herself. Weighing her options. She didn’t seem willing to have that particular conversation. Not yet. Danny had counted on that. “It’s still a goddamn risk.” She finally countered, a slight sliver of defeat coloring her words.

Maybe he had been a little harsh, but he needed her to understand. “There is risk in every choice I could make. This is not different-”

“What about us?”

Ok, so she was just getting her second wind. Fucking amazing. “Sam, please-”

“We are your friends!”

“And she is my sister!” He finally snapped.

She startled. Gazing at him speechless for a moment before standing up and storming out of her seat without a backward glance, making the people on her way part like the red sea. Leaving in her wake a bunch of curious persons staring after her and throwing shameless glances to their table.

So much for not causing a scene in the middle of the Nasty Burger.

The boys ignored the stares. They were already accustomed to being the focus of attention. Almost never positive, mind you. But that was what cleansings were for.

Tucker, who had been silent for most of the back and forth, finally spoke.

“She just needs time to cool off.”

The Fenton boy would be lying if he said he hadn’t seen this coming. Sam had always been very opinionated and believed herself to be right most of the time. In her defense, she usually was right and knew how to go about expressing it to her friends without resorting to this kind of standoff. This just appeared to have struck a nerve.

Living with her parents and having to fight for every single choice she wanted to make had left her on a constant defense mode that the boys had learned to navigate in their years of friendship. It hadn’t been easy for anyone. But neither Danny nor Tucker were perfect. They had their quirky shit to deal with.

The three of them stuck together and hadn’t bothered to try and expand their friend group that much over the years. Not like they had many options. But that was ok.

Until now.

With Danny leaving them the relative feeling of a support system was trembling at its foundation.

She was probably scared. So was Tucker if the wobbly but sincere smile he was giving him was any indication.

Danny had to admit that when he let himself think about it he got scared too.

They had been in the same boat for a while and parting ways was not something they had accounted for, not for the near future, at least.

In a weird way, they still would be in the same boat even after they were apart. Struggling to learn how to function without the other there. Sam and Tuck would have each other, they were resilient, he was sure they could cope. He would have Jazz like he always had, enough said. And they would keep going like they always did.

Tucker was right. She would come around. But-

Danny slumped on his seat, running a hand through his hair releasing a big sigh.

“Yeah, I know” He murmured looking pensively in the direction their friend had stormed off. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“So, you are not mad?” Danny asked when he finally turned around towards Tucker.

“Nah, man. Just a little squeezy about dealing with this without you. But if your sister is really going to do this she is going to need you there.” Tucker shuddered a little bit. “I have never been there personally but if the social media and forums are not lying Gotham is a goddamn beast dude.”

The halfa hummed in agreement. Not like Amity Park didn’t have its own reputation on their corner of the internet, but still.

Gotham.

Danny took a sip from his milkshake before doing a mental check-list and frowning, “I’m starting to feel like I’m forgetting something” he whispered.

“Oh god, please don’t say that.”

“It’s okay,” Danny had made his best at planning, so his friends wouldn’t have to deal with the ghost in his absence. But with things like this, you never knew for sure. Not until it slapped you right across the face.“Probably just the paranoia.” ‘I hope’ he finished mentally with a weak laugh.

“Dude,” Tucker started before taking hold of his friend’s hand and squeezing it. “If you need help with anything I’m your man. just say the word.”

Tucker may not understand the full extent of the situation, but he was trying, and that meant a lot to the Fenton. He squeezed back and shot his friend a small but grateful smile.

“It’s ok. Thanks, Tuck-” He cut himself off, being interrupted by the sudden ding of one of Tucker’s devices.

The afro American boy ignored the sound though, in favor of putting his full attention on his friend, an action that demonstrated how serious he was with his words, but Danny was already lost in thought, staring intently at the briefly, but brightly, illuminated screen.

“Actually-” The halfa suddenly chirped, turning his full attention back to the boy across the table. Tucker just blinked back, waiting. Danny leaned forward dragging the other boy towards him so he could continue with a whisper. “You could help me with a pair of things.”

The mischievous smile Tucker was witnessing had come out of nowhere and couldn’t presage anything good, but as it was not aimed at him — necessarily — he couldn’t help but join in.

Several cities over, some of Gotham’s more infamous residents couldn’t find an explanation to the sudden shiver that ran up their spines.

-.-.-.-

When Danny made it back home he didn’t waste time tracking his sister down. She was down in the lab, typing away on the main computer and using one of her shoulders to keep her mobile pressed against her ear.

She was in the middle of a conversation and still managing to rewrite part of the ghost portal code like a pro.

His sister sure loved multitasking.

At the sound of the door closing behind the younger Fenton, Jazz looked up from the screen to shoot a brief smile to her brother before carrying on with her conversation.

“Yes. That’s perfect, I will be sending the three files then-”

The boy froze on his step and blinked a pair of times. She was already talking with one of the G. A. proctors? When he left this morning he had just dumped his proposals on Jazz for a second revision. He wasn’t expecting to have them sent already.

Hmm. Well, to be fair, he had rambled at Jazz about his projects relentlessly whenever he had a chance and didn’t feel like death warmed over.

Which weren’t many times. But once he got into a ramble it was an Olympic endeavor to shut him up. He was a Fenton. It was in their blood. Jazz did it too, even if she tried to chalk it up to healthy-and-completely-natural excitement.

So. Jazz already knew the contents pretty well, it was just a question of pulling off the presentation, which was the thing that Jazz was supposed to check over.

His sister had given him some tips, and even if his parents were not as invested in the writing process as in the practical, the fruit loop had more than enough experience doing it and didn’t give two flying fucks over whether or not Danny wanted his knowledge.

Danny knew monologing was an essential part of a villainous experience but he had spent way too much time listening to Vlad bitch about most of his employees to last him a lifetime.

Even little Madeline couldn’t stop the loneliness that had brought the madness. Danny had put so many hopes in the fluffy thing.

Letting out a resigned sigh the boy decided to just let it go and be grateful that his sister - who had more than five Universities fighting over her- deemed it acceptable already.

He liked writing his ideas down, but using formal language and fudging APA was fucking exhausting.

Good fucking riddance. He thought, shaking his head slightly and sending a light sneer in the computer’s direction. As if the files on it could feel his disdain from his position on the other side of the room.

Danny spotted some of her sister’s nail polish bottles by her side on the table and made a beeline for them and took most of the little bottles before retreating to a chair on the other side of the desk.

He had heard some of the cheerleaders saying that the nail polish helped to keep the nails from getting all fucked up quite as easily, and it had caught his attention.

Danny had looked down at his hands and winced. Normally he didn’t pay much attention to his nails, but ever since getting on a constant string of fights he was more aware of how easily the goddamn things could break on you if you didn’t trim them properly, and it hurt like a bitch every time. It always seemed to be the tiniest things that told you to ‘fuck off’ to your face like nothing else.

Danny guessed that it was worth the try. And if anything, putting some color on them would help hide some of the blood — and ectoplasm — that got under his fingernails.

So he tried it out.

By this point, he was not sure if it really helped or he was just fooling himself into thinking it did work. The only sure thing was that he didn’t feel comfortable going without it anymore.

Danny liked to borrow the clear nail protector from Jazz, but most of the polish he had in his possession had been previously Sam’s. All pastels and cheery colors that her mom kept insisting on buying her because they kept being used.

“Thank you, Miss Gordon!”

If she had bothered to pay more attention to her daughter’s friends for more than sneering at them she may have noticed Danny’s pastel pink nails. But she hadn’t. And that had just ensured Danny a constant supply of pastels to cover his bloodied nails with-

“So, how did it go?”

“Uh.” The boy startled at the sudden proximity of the voice. He looked up from his nails and to his sister, who was now seated beside him.

“The execution.” Jazz prodded, smiling at him in anticipation. It looked downright creepy, considering the words she used.

“Seriously Jazz?” He snorted. “You make it sound like I went there to dispatch murder at random.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” His sister scoffed, watching how her brother resumed painting his nails. “They are already dead. You couldn’t kill them any more than they already are.”

“I could certainly try.”

“Danny-”

“Let’s just say the all-nighter paid off, and leave it at that.”

“So you had fun.” She teased. Stealing back one of the bottles of polish to finish her own nails with a second coat.

“For the most part, but-” He stopped, struggling to find words to describe the sheer mayhem that went down in the zone-

Jazz just hummed and gave him a little nod, still focusing on her nails. Danny relaxed. He could tell her later. When he had cooled off some more from the attack-protect mode he got into whenever he visited the zone. Remembering it all right now would just set him off again.

“So, what do you want for dinner?” The redhead asked suddenly.

Danny blinked a pair of times, perplexed, and stole a look at the clock.“It’s a little late to be asking that, don’t you think?”

“I suppose, but I decided to wait for you and then got sidetracked with the files.” She really needed to work on her awareness of time. “Didn’t even notice the hour.”

“I don’t even remember what we have in the cupboards.”

“Maybe we could-” She didn’t manage to suggest something before she got interrupted by their mother’s voice.

“Dinner is ready!”

“They made dinner?” Danny whispered to Jazz in dread.

“So it seems,” she responded, sharing his dread.

“Why did they make dinner? They never make dinner!”

“I mean, they do for special occasions, like-” She shuddered. “Like thanksgiving.”

This was ridiculous. Jazz and he were normally the ones cooking. Their parents spent most of their time in the lab or trying to hunt down ghosts. Today was not a holiday. They hadn’t invented anything new worth the ‘celebration’. There wasn’t a reason for them to-

“Oh! and Vlad is here~!”

Danny slammed his face against the desk with a groan.

Jazz winced at the sound.

“Time to face the music, little bro” She closed the polish bottles and patted him carefully on the back a few times before standing up and going to the kitchen.

“I still feel like I’m forgetting something…” Danny grumbled under his breath before following his sister upstairs.

-.-.-.-

It was the last Friday of the month and this could perfectly be one of Jazz’s many attempts to make them a functional family unit.

Except that the Fenton girl had let said efforts slip in favor of pursuing her little brother’s scholarship.

Oh, And the fruitloop was here.

Vlad had weaseled into the family’s — unplanned — plans because of course, he did.

“Everything looks absolutely lovely Madeline.”

Jazz would have believed his words. If she hadn’t seen the man poke at the food on the table with the wariness of a man on the death warrant whenever mom was not looking.

The siblings had spent way too many family dinners doing the same thing whenever they couldn’t quite manage to keep the older Fentons off the kitchen. And even when they did, they didn’t lower their guard. The chance of contamination was always a latent threat to the house.

Jazz turned her head slightly to look at her brother. The boy was, very pointedly, not poking at his food and just watched it with all the scorn he could gather. He refused to do the same things as Vlad, which didn’t mean he was crazy enough to try and eat the food on his plate.

The dinner proceeded with making some catching up, abundant science talk, teasing, scathing remarks, sighing, and finally dissolved in a three-way match between the Fenton children and one Vlad Masters to see who could dispose of the food in the most sneaky way.

She had always wondered how the man survived with her parents for as long as he did back in their college years. She knew now.

“Oh! And Jazzrinces finally decided on a college! The G.S.A. is backing up her research on ghosts! Isn’t that incredible?!”

Vlad smiled blandly at Jack. Skillfully suppressing the sneer the man’s cheeriness was trying to invoke to his face. He had lots of practice.

“And Danny decided to tag along to help his sister! Isn’t he such a sweet boy?” Maddie added with a cheer a little more forced than her husband’s. But still, cheer.

Now, that. That got Vlad’s attention. And he decided to take advantage of the children’s distraction to get more information and decide a proper plan of action.

Dany was making it a point to completely ignore the three adult’s conversation. Jazz stuck to taking small sips from her glass of water. That was, until-

“Surely you’re not planning on sending them without some proper equipment, are you?” Vlad tutted. “Don’t get me started on weapons. I mean you never know for certain what will be indispensable, right?”

“That’s a wonderful idea!”

The heads of both children snapped up.

“I mean, most of my research isn’t-” Jazz tried hastily to stop this on its tracks.

Sadly, it was not to be.

“Nonsense Jazz,” Her mom interrupted her, “It’s better to be prepared!”

Vlad hummed in agreement, “They won’t, after all, have anyone else to protect them from those trashy ghosts.”

Just like that, the Fenton parents started to list out loud all the things the kids would surely need for the research.

Vlad smirked.

Danny narrowed his eyes at the pompous fucker.

Jazz resigned herself to keep sighing until the end of times.

-.-.-.-

“How are we supposed to take this with us..?” Danny whispered looking horrified at all the equipment his parents had just thrown their way

“Can’t you just put it in the thermos?”

“The ectoplasmic energies of each Item would clash horribly” Danny winced

“You tried to…?” Jazz side-eyed him

“Yes.” He said curtly, “Wouldn’t really recommend” he continued with the air of someone haunted by the consequences of their life choices. death choices. Both were accurate, she supposed.

Jazz swallowed.

Cue in more silent horrified staring at the equipment.

“Maybe if we start with some boxes-”

“BEWARE!!! THE BOX GHOST!!!”

“Oh my god-!”

“I Fucking knew it!!”

-.-.-.-

A little while after, once the ghost box was gone, and the siblings had retreated to Jazz’s room for safety and the opportunity of proper evening gossip. The fruitloop came barging into the room.

“Ok. I raided the kitchen. There is nothing edible in this house. How do you even survive.” He stated, not asked, in a deeply judgemental tone.

“Magic. Pokemon Magic.” Danny deadpanned from his place on the bed. Jazz, who was cuddled beside him, was still chewing on the dry crackers that managed to survive the onslaught of their parents, for the simple reason that the things had been in her room.

Vlad sighed and started to massage his temples.

“Fine. Truce. Grab your things, we are going out.”

Jazz slightly choked on her crackers. Danny just choked on air. “What? Where-?”

“To get some proper food, of course.” The man sneered like it was completely obvious and tagging a smirk on for good riddance.

“Why would-”

“You have directions. I have the money. Chop chop. Before your parents catch us.” With that, the millionaire turned around and left, leaving the door wide open fully expecting them to follow along.

The siblings stared at each other for a moment before scrambling after Vlad.

Food was more important than playing the archnemesis-game.

For the hundred time that day:

Priorities.

ENDNOTES:

I couldn’t help the fucking references. Danny is a dork and I am ashamed.

-.-.-.-

I headcanon Danny as someone who really likes pet names, be it because he really likes the person or because it pisses them off. Two stones a deader bird.

-.-.-.-

What do you mean The Avengers aren’t a boyband?

-.-.-.-

The siblings are firm believers of the borrowing culture. There is no shame in asking to borrow some things.

Are those Ember’s hat & earrings? Yes. Yes, they are.

Why does Danny have his ears pierced, you ask? BECAUse there is no absolute heteronormative bullshit in this household AND I MUST ADD THAT-!

-Danny & Jazz watched ‘The parent trap’ when they were small little beans and were really interested in whether or not piercing your sibling’s ears was the ultimate bonding moment.

Jazz insisted on researching a lot more about proper sterilizing, mind you- but like the tiny feral unsupervised cupcakes they were, they decided to try it.

Jazz already had her ears pierced, SO, yeah.

It hurt like a bitch for Danny, and Jazz panicked for a week afterward about infections, but it was indeed a good bonding moment.

-.-.-.-

If I ship Jason with some fucking therapy does that mean I can ship him with Jazz?

Ship’s name is JJ for you.

… I just gave myself YOI flashbacks.

Fuck.

-.-.-.-

You might want to say: ‘but author-san, those are not all the ghosts Danny deals with?’, and you are damn right they aren’t, but you must trust in Danny thousand-back-ups Fenton, my children.

(Also, where would be the fun if everyone was accounted for since now? You will see what went down later on. :p)

-.-.-.-

Don’t know if you noticed, but Jazz is not the only one that thinks Danny is a cutie patootie :v

Danny has long ago resigned himself to the being called “Lord” thing. Is better than the ‘K’ word.

-.-.-.-

The thing about the nails is something I do. I started because they looked pretty, I kept painting them because I felt they broke up more easily if I didn’t put like three coats of polish on them.

At least I don’t bite them as much anymore. :p

-.-.-.-

If there is someone on this green earth that knows about the struggles of living with Jack and Maddie Fenton, that someone is Vlad Masters.

Change my mind.

You can’t.

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anayajain · 3 years

Text

Popular Orthopedic Surgeries To Have Knowledge Of

Nowadays, you can find thousands of people suffering from some kind of orthopedic issue. Like, there can be problems related to their muscles, ligaments, tendons, bones, or joints. Some conditions are supposed to be serious in such a way that non-surgical techniques fail to do something better for the patient. In such cases, orthopedic surgeons recommend a surgical practice according to the condition. Here, in this section, we will let you aware of some popular orthopedic surgery treatments that are benefitting a lot of people all around the world.

1. Knee Replacement Surgery

Also referred to as knee arthroplasty, it is a kind of joint replacement surgery that is guided to those who suffer from intense pain in their knee joint and movement problems. In the beginning, the surgeons try to settle the condition using medicines, injections, or physical therapies. But, when they don't work fine, this surgery comes under use. The surgical practice involves removing the damaged surfaces of the knee joint and then replacing them with an artificial joint called an implants.

2. Hip Replacement Surgery

One of the most common reasons for implementing this kind of orthopedic surgery is arthritis. Although, you can suppose arthritis to be one of the main causes behind performing any kind of joint replacement surgery. Hip replacement becomes an option for those who complain about intense pain in the hip that creates problems in their daily life activities. And especially when they tried non-surgical options but they haven't helped positively. The damaged sections from this ball and socket joint are once removed and then replaced with different forms of artificial point. Many people having this kind of surgery observe an improvement in their mobility and quality of life.

3. Shoulder Replacement Surgery

The shoulder joint can suffer from damage in a serious manner. Even the condition can trouble the patient in such a way that he might need surgery. In such cases, shoulder replacement surgery may become an option. So, in this kind of orthopedic surgery treatment, the natural bone in the ball and socket of the joint is replaced with the help of artificial components. Different approaches are there to observe in shoulder replacement. For example, total shoulder and partial shoulder replacement are available. Along with that, there is an option of reverse shoulder replacement if there is a complaint of a torn rotator cuff.

4. Arthroscopic Surgery

This surgical procedure is a fine option for orthopedic surgeons to diagnose and treat joint problems. It is not as major as the upper surgeries and the patient can be discharged the same day of the surgery. It can be used in cases when a person suffers from some kind of problems in the joint like injury, damage, or inflammation. A person can have this kind of orthopedic surgery on any joint. But, in usual cases, it is performed on the elbow, ankle, shoulder, hip, knee, or wrist. A special instrument is inserted in the joint side that contains a video camera with it. It helps to convey the internal information in front of the surgeon and thus, he can identify what's wrong with the joint. If needed, he can treat the problem at the same time with the help of some special tools. Even if there is a need to perform open surgery, it can be executed during an arthroscopy.

5. Fracture Repair Surgery

A bone fracture repair is a kind of orthopedic surgery treatment that is recommended in cases when a bone doesn't heal properly in its actual place. However, a lot of options are available to treat the broken bone like wearing a cast. But sometimes, there can be a necessity of performing this kind of surgical method. In bone fracture repair, the broken bone is fixed with the help of metal screws, plates, rods, or pins. They are implemented to hold the bone in its actual place.

#orthopedic surgery treatment #orthopedic surgery #orthopedic

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jewishzevran · 4 years

Text

between the shadow and the soul

thirty-five: “can i have one last kiss?” / requested by @purahs and @dalish-gloves

a/n: massive spoiler alert for trespasser dlc

“tell me of something fiercer than the love with which i gaze upon you

or something softer than the tenderness with which i hold you.”- sanober khan

It had been hours.

That morning, they had woken up in the Winter Palace, and Anders had helped Ori dress ready for the Inquisition hearing. The last of their companions had arrived. Dorian had announced he had been made a Magister. Everything was going smoothly.

Then that damned qunari corpse had shown up and Ori had been travelling back and forth through eluvians all day, trying to find out what the hell was going on. The last time she disappeared, she’d winked at him and told him she’d be ten minutes. Anders had watched the sun set and almost rise since then. The sky was stained pink and yellow in the light of dawn. Birds were starting to chirrup in the bushes and trees. And Ori had still not returned. He was going mad.

He paced the courtyard, wringing his hands and at a total loss for what else to do. He couldn’t eat, even if there was food available; his stomach was far too knotted and he could taste bile in his throat. He hadn’t tried to sleep. How was everyone so damned calm? Anders was going spare because Ori was his wife, but that aside, she was the Inquisitor, the reason everyone was here; she had been missing for over half a day and people had just eaten dinner and gone to bed as usual. Like nothing was wrong.

There was a loud crash from inside the cellhouse, and his skin tingled with latent magic. He felt giddy with relief for about three seconds before Bull’s voice echoed up the stairs.

“We need help, NOW!”

Maker, no.

Dread started to make Anders’ head swim as he almost fell down the stairs, bursting into the room and taking in the scene in front of him. Dorian was grey and looking incredibly panicked, Varric looked grim-faced and utterly out of his depth, and Bull was - Bull was -

Bull was kneeling on the tiles, cradling Ori in his arms. She was limp, barely conscious, and writhing in pain. Her skin was ashen, she was covered in sweat, and her left arm was hanging uselessly at her side. Anders’ eyes followed the line down to her hand and almost fell over.

It was stone. Frozen like a statue. He could see tendrils of it slowly creeping up her wrist and forearm, and his hands flew to his mouth before he dropped to his knees in front of Bull.

"We still don't know what happened," Bull said through gritted teeth. "She followed the Viddesala through an eluvian and came back like this. She’s said a few words here and there but she’s barely coherent, and half of what she has said has been in broken elvish.”

Anders pulled Ori into his lap, running his fingers over her forehead, letting frost crystallise in her hairline in an attempt to cool her down. She was writhing and moaning, and her eyes rolled to look at him. It broke his heart.

“Ori? Ori, darling, can you hear me? Talk to me. Help me understand.”

"Anders?" she whispered, frowning and trying to focus on him.

"Yes, darling. It's me. I'm here. What happened?"

She murmured something he couldn't hear and screamed with pain again, her breath coming in shallow pants. Anders was vaguely aware that there were people shouting and scrambling around outside, and he could hear a bell tolling in the distance.

"Ori, love, please. Tell me if you can. Anything that will help." He placed a hand over her chest, radiating blue light, and sent pain relief coursing through her system. She relaxed a fraction, and held his gaze a little clearer.

"Solas, he's… he's the dread wolf. He's Fen'harel. Spies everywhere. You have to tell the Warden-Commander. She has to know. You have to tell her. She'll help. She'll stop him. He - my arm - stone magic to stop the anchor spreading-" She cut off with another scream of agony, and Anders felt tears starting to burn in his eyes.

Anders took a deep breath, letting the familiar calm wash over him, and allowed the chaos around him dissolve into quiet. He could see the tendrils of the strange magic curling around her arm: a blue so pale and stark it was almost white. He felt it too, unforgiving, forceful, and relentless.

Ori reached up to cup his face with her good hand. "I love you, Anders. I love you so much. Don't forget that, please, please don't ever forget how much I love you."

Anders' heart sank. "No, no Ori, you don't get to say that. You can tell me that later when we've worked out how to stop this-"

"It feels cold." She rasped. "It hurts so much. It's like frostbite but heavy. I don't think I can - I don't -"

"Shhh, shhh love," Anders said, starting to cry freely. "It will be ok. I promise you."

"Vhenan, please… can I have one last kiss?"

"No. Ori, don't, I'll save you, I promise. I’ll kiss you a hundred times when this is fixed -”

“Anders, we’re running out of time, please-”

Anders had never been able to deny Ori anything, and he sobbed as he leant down to press a fierce kiss against her cold and clammy lips. “I love you, Ori. You are my life.”

“I know, vhenan,” Ori whispered, voice trembling as her own tears rolled down over her temples and into her hair. “Thank you for seeing me.”

As she fell limp in his arms, finally succumbing to unconsciousness, panic, grief and rage all rose to a blinding cacophony in Anders’ chest. He delved into the very bottom of his mana pool and blasted as much healing energy as he possibly could directly at her arm, gripping it tightly, willing something, anything to work. He pulled on the threads of his healing magic and weaved them round the skin, but it did nothing, he tried to dispel the magic, he tried to force the curse out of her, but everything he attempted was like hitting a brick wall with a feather.

Help me!

There is nothing that can be done, Anders. This is magic not even I recognise. It is ancient and powerful. If you do not stop it spreading, Anders, Ori will become stone. She will die.

I can’t let her die, I can’t, I can’t, you have to help, there must be SOMETHING!

Other people were in the room now, other healers trying to pull Ori from his lap. He held firm, refusing to let her go, glowing so brightly with magic that he could see Bull and Dorian squinting.

“Don’t touch her!” Anders yelled, tightening his grip on her shoulders, needing the warmth of her body against her to remind him she was still here, still alive.

Be calm, Anders.

Anders was about to retort to Justice when he realised he was right. He was no good to Ori lashing out like an animal caught in a trap. He took another deep breath, and extinguished the magic in his hands, looking up at the other healers, forcibly keeping a hold of himself. “It’s old magic. Ancient, even. I don’t recognise it. I don’t think it can be stopped. The longer we try to hold it back, the further it’s going to spread.”

One of the other healers crouched beside him. “I know the two of you are married, but you’re the most senior healer here. Do you feel able to make the call?”

Anders felt his stomach lurch as he realised what he was going to have to do to save Ori’s life. She would never braid her own hair again, and for that alone, she might never forgive him, but he couldn’t let her die. Not as his patient, and not as his wife. He nodded. “We have to amputate the arm,” he said, and when the words left his lips, they didn’t feel real. “At this point, physical intervention is the only way to stop it spreading.”

The next 15 minutes were a blur. Anders stood, lifting Ori with him. The other healers left, and he followed, being led to a private room in the palace, where he gently lay her on the bed, and they began preparations. It felt odd, almost as though he was sitting back and watching whilst his body moved of its own accord. He was calm and level headed, just as if this was a normal surgery and not a life-saving operation for his wife. He was given surgical tools. He made sure the environment was sterile. He washed his hands, three times just to be sure. He could feel the panic simmering in the back of his mind, waiting for a moment where it could release, where he could scream and cry and process the fact he was watching his wife turn to stone before his eyes, but he was good at this, and he knew how to lock it away.

The surgery itself took remarkably little time. When it was done, Anders cleaned his instruments, thanked the other healers, then when he and Ori were alone in the room, he crawled onto the bed beside her, pulled her close to his chest, and wept. Relief flooded through him, relief mixed with terror and profound loss; Meredith could rise from the bloody dead and it wouldn’t move him now, nothing else mattered except the fact that Ori was alive.

When she woke up, he was going to kiss her as often as she could stand.

#ash writes #anders x lavellan #anders #inquisitor lavellan #trespasser #ori x anders #wow this was physically painful to write

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cruciferousjex · 5 years

Text

Only Gods

a oneshot about the creation of Imp that elbow-dropped my brain until 4am last night, so please enjoy Hordak's goddam baby rabies.

❤

Hordak had spent his life in the constant company of his Brothers. He'd rarely been alone, much less lonely, much less how horrendously lonely he'd at times been on Etheria. He felt the lack of family keenly, missed their voices and scent.

Hence Imp.

That he had never managed to clone a body for himself was not entirely true. He had, and on his first attempt no less. A perfect vessel, flawless in its code, the result of years painstaking labor. It would take twenty years to mature into a proper container for an Emperor. Prime was able to expedite this process into months, but it involved ingredients and power sources unavailable on Etheria. So, Hordak settled in for the long haul. All he had to do was wait and watch his immortality thrive in the vitrine before him. It was his prize creation. He placed it in the center of his Sanctum and kept an eye on it always, so he would know the moment anything went wrong.

For three years he watched it grow from a strange little lump into an organism with distinct fingers and toes and a face. It began curled up, as was typical for a clone, but to his suprise it one day stretched out, flexing its fingers, floating blissfully in the green creche fluid.

This alarmed Hordak greatly. Given he was never overly involved in any aspects of the Horde's reproduction, but he'd never seen a tanked clone move.

"What is wrong with you?" he muttered before the vitrine console. "What is wrong with you?"

[[MORE]]

The scans sent back nothing. He went over every inch of the clone's form with his own eyes, stepping slowly around the tank with his hands on the glass, looking for any sign of decay or mutation on its little knees or claws or wings. But nothing appeared amiss, and the scans read perfectly normal.

Hordak pointed at the clone.

"Cease your movements," he commanded it.

It did not cease it's movements. It spent most of its time curled in the proper position, but every so often twitched and jerked and splayed its limbs. The scans never indicated any problem. Perhaps this was normal? He'd never spent any great amount of time on the creche decks of the flagship where he himself was gestated. Maybe tanked clones always moved? Hordak came into the sanctum one morning to see it had flipped itself upside down, arms and legs spread to the four winds, a smug expression on it's sleeping face.

"Well don't you look happy with yourself!" he said. He tried to muster up some anger or frustration but, oddly enough, could not. He shook it off and settled for annoyed. "I told you not to move. Little imp."

He spent the whole of that day working in the green light of that ridiculous upside-down urchin. When the Force Captains came in for a briefing their eyes went wide. Hordak glanced back at the clone - it looked ridiculous - but the Captains dared not say anything. They simply reported on their most recent defeat against Bright Moon.

"You lost twenty soldiers, three skiffs, and runestone data it took years to obtain," Hordak snarled at the cringing Captains. "There will be punishments for this idiocy. There will be-"

There was a loud thud from the tank. Everyone in the room startled and turned. The clone had kicked the side of its container. It's heel slid against the glass loudly.

Hordak cleared his throat and turned back to the Captains. They looked from him to the creche and back again in fear.

"Explain yourselves," he growled, pointing at the head Force Captain.

"Sir, we - we were - unprepared-"

"Unprepared?" Hordak snarled. "The Horde saves you from your miserable lives, expends untold energy raising you, feeding you, training you, providing you with the best technology and weaponry and planning on Etheria, and you dare say to me that you were UNPREPARED?"

Another loud thud from the tank. The clone slammed it's little heel into the glass once, twice, three times, as though stomping out whatever was causing upset in the Sanctum. The Force Captains took a visible step back, their eyes wide.

Hordak gestured to it. "Even HE can see that it is a pathetic excuse, Force Captain. You have failed me. Now get out of my sight while I decide on an appropriate punishment."

They bowed and rushed out the room, doing everything short of running. Hordak turned to the tank.

"I told you to stop moving," he muttered to it, tapping on the glass. "I have an empire to run. Your interruptions will not do."

It placed its foot on the glass as if to show it to him. Counterargument, it seemed to say, observe my little foot. Five tiny toes. Look at all these little lines on my sole, so perfectly made.

"That's very nice," Hordak said, "But you must stop. They're more afraid of you then they are of me."

Despite himself Hordak smirked. He had never explained to the Force Captains what the clone was, and they had certainly never seen it move. To them it just appeared one day as the centerpiece of his Sanctum. He saw them stare at it every time they came in. He knew it "freaked them the fuck out." Or so he'd overheard.

He enjoyed that.

The question in their faces. The awe and terror. The struggle as they attempted to understand the contents of the Sanctum and failed. He decided he liked the fear the clone inspired in them. It was good to cultivate the aura of one who dabbles in the dark and profane and twisted when dealing with Etherians. It kept them on their toes. It was not as though this was too far off the mark, after all. Soon he would have to detank the clone, open it's skull, and make some ... minor alterations.

It was a few deep snips, very simple really. A few connections cut which rendered the brain ready for transfer. It needed to happen within a four hour window of a brain hormone reaching a certain saturation point or the entire endeavor was lost. Hordak kept a tracker with him that would go off the second it was time.

He watched the hormone numbers slowly rise over the next month. The clone returned to its proper position for a while then flipped and twisted in place, kicking its chubby legs, smiling peacefully. One time it stretched its arm over its head and pointed upwards, little wings outstretched, as if to say there, there is where I'm going, into the sky.

"You're staying right here," Hordak said.

The wing twitched.

"Those will fall off when you mature," he said to tank. "It is said that only gods keep their wings. That is why they are the symbol of the Horde."

The little finger pointed with more insistence. The face scrunched up tight and yawned.

Hordak's entire body snapped to attention. It had never opened its mouth before. He had a nearly overwhelming primal impulse to get the baby out of the water. It was helpless and in terrible danger.

He remembered he was the terrible danger.

Hordak swept some data pads off the console in frustration and walked out.

The alarm went off that night. He looked at it with dread, which was not what he expected at this milestone. There was no reason to fear, it was a simple procedure he was well prepared for. He would drain the vitrine of the pre-surgical creche fluid, perform the procedure, then replace it with post-surgical fluid which kept the brain from repairing itself. And there it would remain for twenty years, growing steadily into his next vessel, but definitely not flipping or pointing or smiling or yawning or kicking the side of the tank.

He did not look at the clone he prepared for the procedure, setting up a tray with scalpels and clamps and tubes. As he drained the tank fluid its little body was caught by a net, which lifted it up to the top of the tank for Hordak to remove and take to surgery.

He finally forced himself to look. It was limp now, sleeping. He gingerly reached in and picked it up. It was warmer than he expected. Heavier. Out of pure instict he held it to his shoulder, one hand protectively over its back. It melted into him. He touched it's head. The tuft of hair there was the softest and most delicate thing he'd ever felt.

"Well," he whispered to it. "It's time."

But he could not make himself move. He just stood there, feeling the weight of it against him. He shut his eyes, savoring it's scent. It had been so long since he'd known the scent of his people. A million sense memories of Prime's flagship bubbled their way up to the surface, filling him with longing for home. For his Brothers. He missed so desperately having others of his kind close by, and they did not get closer than this child on his shoulder.

It's little hand teached out and touched the skin of Hordak's throat. He swallowed hard.

"Stop. Get to work," Hordak chided himself. He gathered his resolve and turned towards the operating table, white and sterile, the instrument tray ready. The sharpness of the tools was repellent to him.

"No. This is not a child," he said to himself. "This is a container. It is your future."

The baby pressed its face to Hordak's neck, sharp little teeth nibbling at his skin. It's mouth was warm. It cooed.

"Quiet!" Hordak snapped. "Quiet. You've been a very bad boy, always moving and now you're making sounds. I never did that when I was in the tank," Hordak said, though he had no way to be sure. "I was good. I stayed still. Never uttered a word till I breathed air for a week, and here you are not ten minutes old, making noises. I -"

"Keh," the baby said, and gurgled.

Hordak grimaced. He glanced upwards as though entreating a higher power to help him, to stop this terrible churning in his stomach and chest. To make this child into the cold dead container he needed it to be, magically and without his involvement. The light glinted off the scalpels and clamps on the tray next to the surgical table. They were so sharp. He didn't want the child anywhere near them.

Hordak stopped walking. Turned in an anxious circle. Gently bounced the infant before forcing himself to a stop.

What the hell was he THINKING? No, this was ridiculous, the procedure was the only sensible way forward. The four-hour surgical window was ticking past, and he had contaminated the pre-surgical creche fluid. There was no going back now.

There was an another problem. What Hordak had now should he stop- what he had inadvertently created - was a permanent toddler.

Clones did not have the ability to grow outside a tank until the age of ten, when soldiers underwent tank removal. From the age of ten they could reach full maturity on their own, but not before. Until that point they needed close monitoring, the intoduction of certain hormones and nutrients into the creche fluid at certain times, or they would simply stop growing. If he did not go forward with the procedure now the clone would remain this size and shape, forever an infant complete with wings and tail.

Hordak knew nothing of infants. He did not know how to teach it to talk and walk and keep itself clean. Ten year old clones were uploaded with this information just after detanking and were thus immediately self-sufficient in that sense. There was no time for potty training in the Horde. On Etheria he had dedicated a portion of the infirmary to serve as an orphanage but he could not in good conscience send a brother of Prime to be to raised among lesser beings.

Hordak could - he supposed he could - tailor an upload for the child that contained whatever Hordak needed him to know. To his knowledge such had never been done, but at this stage the brain was still malleable enough, still had enough growth hormone to work with. He felt reasonably confident he could provide the child with adequate self-sufficiency and knowledge. That would go a long way towards making the little imp a tolerable companion, which, Hordak supposed, was what it was to be if he went through with this. With ... keeping it.

No. No, this was an absurdity. What in the hell would he DO with it? There was no space in his life for an infant, no matter how independent. What if it cried? The scalpels still shone on the table. Hordak could still save himself this trouble and gurantee himself immortality.

The baby nibbled at his neck. Slid his little arms around him and cuddled in close. Made a happy, curling little coo, and sneezed.

No, Hordak realized. No, he could not.

Hordak shut his eyes and gave a final defeated sigh. His shoulders sagged. The fight was over. The imp had won.

"This is stupid," he muttered. "This is so utterly stupid."

The child shifted it's weight, dropping his head back to show Hordak a big smiling mouth full of little pointy teeth. Hordak cradled him. He pointed his tiny finger. Showed him a little foot. Here I am, he seemed to say to Hordak. Look at all I have!

"Yes, I see," Hordak sighed reluctantly, taking the foot between his fingers. "Very nice. Come now."

He turned away from the operating table and carried his child to his personal rooms to dry it off and find something to wrap it in, the choice made, for better or worse. Had he known then he'd never again be able to generate a flawless new body for himself he may have chosen differently. But he was more naive then. Etheria had not yet drained him. Back then he assumed if he'd achieved something once he could do it again. In the ensuing years he would learn, over and over and over, that this was not the case.

But in that moment Hordak did not know that, so he gave the child's head a gentle scratch. Imp smiled. Hordak found himself smiling back. He was filled with warmth. With relief that he'd chosen not to lift a scalpel to this little thing. He was ... glad of it.

How the hell had this happened? What supernatural force made Hordak abandon immortality for a creature that was logistically useless to him? Likely a huge burden?

Hordak looked down at the sleeping mystery in his arms, pondering it's power over him. The child's little wings fluttered. Wings he would keep forever. Hordak took one between his fingers, paper thin and sweet.

Ah.

That was, Hordak decided, a proper explanation. One that made sense to him, that explained the child's extraordinary power.

Only gods keep thier wings.

#hordak #imp #entrapdak #spop #spop fic #baby rabies #surgery #babies #surgical

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megatronswaifu · 5 years

Note

Nightlight defected from the Bots?! I must know MORE! :0

yes she did!!! it’s a long story BUT I’M SO HAPPY U WANNA KNOW MORE so i will try to do my best to relay it briefly…my writing is very abridged but it still does the job. this is the TFP version of her defection.

basically, nightlight came to earth on a stolen ship with her friends (other ocs who i haven’t really finalized – here are some doodles i did around a year ago), seiner, wheelhop (used to be named “popcorn” as a placeholder), and phase (used to be named rook before somebody pointed out that there’s already somebody named that). a gang of girls!

they are all a very silly and flawed bunch but they get along.

nightlight does not often go on missions because she is a scaredy cat and honestly isn’t very skilled at fighting, and she kind of just stays back. if she does go on missions, she usually ends up getting protected or rescued, so she tries to help in other ways.

one day, the gang of girls decides to go out on a stroll in an uninhabited (by humans) place on earth since they felt cooped up in the autobot base. there is literally no reason for cons to be around so they just decide to have fun.

sadly and very annoyingly, decepticons DO appear and they have to sprint their fucking afts off running and shooting back and hiding, until they can finally sit still enough for the biggest bot, seiner, to comm ratchet,

“ratchet!! ratchet we need a ground bridge! the decepticons found us!”

(rest of story and another doodle under cut)

ratchet pulls up a groundbridge and informs them that the bridge is on the right, on the other side of the mountain they’re currently hiding behind. they make a break for it, and sprint to the bridge. they hop right through, and to their horror and surprise, the room they hop into is purple. it’s dark. it’s got decepticons.

the ground bridge behind them closes, and the girls scatter around and run out the door. they get chased and are forced to run about what is presumably The Nemesis. they finally find a room in which nobody has followed them into or figured out they’re hiding in.

the girls begin to talk.

wheelhop: “WHAT THE SHIT WAS THAT I THOUGHT RATCHET GOT US A GROUND BRIDGE????”

seiner: “well uhh fuck obviously we didn’t go through it, what went wrong?”

phase (in cybertronian sign language, she is mute): “maybe we went through the wrong one.”

wheelhop: “you mean there was a decepticon bridge open at the same time?”

phase nods.

seiner (looking over at phase, with a considering expression): “seems like it.”

nightlight: “but, but ratchet said it was on the right…right?”

…on the “other right” of the mountain, a completely separate ground bridge sits. on that bridge’s other side, ratchet attempts to comm them, to no avail. the girls have accidentally run through another ground bridge that the decepticons were using to mobilize their own forces into the area, and had completely missed their own ground bridge because they went to the wrong “right”. they must come up with a plan to escape. seiner, being a leader-type, looks around the room. it looks like they found themselves in an unused monitor room.

seiner eyes one wall of monitors and says, “we might be able to access some sort of map from this computer. we can find our way out that way.”

nightlight: “we can’t call someone for help?”

phase: “decepticon technology blocks our signals.” she has stood up and is at the monitor, but she hesitates. phase turns to the group.

“if we access this computer, we will most likely notify the cons that we are in this room,” she signs. “as soon as i turn this monitor on, we are on a timetable. the nanosecond i get the map, we must go.”

all of them, very tense, sit in anticipation as phase accesses the monitor. lo and behold, the decepticons are notified, and a team of vehicons rushes towards the abandoned section of the ship. however, when they arrive, the door is open, and the girls have escaped the room.

meanwhile, in the airducts of the nemesis, the four of them crawl, squished, with a map of the ducts on phase’s arm-minimonitor. they traverse the map, having found a suitable way out, for several hours, trying not to get spotted, waiting for the longest periods of time for vehicons to leave areas so they can pass, and being incredibly stressed.

at one point, they must cross from a room and into a hallway to get to their last path. the hallway isn’t very populated, and only at the far end are some vehicons stationed, where nobody will see them, so although obviously very tense, they are not as afraid as they have been a few other times on this “adventure”.

first, phase, the navigator, and an expert at agility, jumps quietly out of the duct, into the room, and opens the door to the hallway. she peeks out. there is no-one. she swiftly emerges from the door and sprints to the other side, opening the other door on the opposite side they must enter.

second, wheelhop follows, a terrified but determined look on her face.

third, seiner, the big bot she is, tries her best to run across quietly.

fourth, nightlight crouches down outside the threshold of the door, propping her foot in a “ready, set, go” position, getting up the courage to run to the other side. her expression is nervous and she is shaking.

just as she is about to hop up, the voices of the vehicons down the hall they had previously not given a care to suddenly stop dead. nightlight’s helm shoots towards their position, to see soundwave, the decepticon third in command, walking down the hallway.

her helm whips again back to her friends, on the other side of the hallway, who all have their mouths open and optics wide as dinner plates. after taking a few seconds to be terrified, they all motion frantically for their friend to run to the other side as quickly as possible. but nightlight hesitates, and shakes her head frantically back. soundwave is too close! she’ll be seen! she doesn’t want to go. nightlight, with fluid pricking her optics, attempts to re-open the door they came from, but it seems it locked when she exited. she takes another look at her friends, and scared out of her spark, she curls into a ball, her helm between her legs, her arms around her kneejoints. if she stays small, he won’t see. if she stays in the crook between the door and the wall, she’ll be okay. he won’t see.

nightlight watches from between her legs as her friends sink into the room, and the third in command approaches from down the hallway, his shadow dangerously puddling closer. it passes over the floor and between her legs, and so do his pedesteps. nightlight, assuming her hiding technique has worked, lifts her helm. she is greeted with soundwave’s expressionless, petrifying helm, and one of the spymaster’s tentacles grappling her arm and yanking her harshly into the air. she shrieks, and is wordlessly taken off to some random place in the nemesis. as she is dragged off, she yelps and cries the names of her teammates in fear, but she cannot see them any longer.

wheelhop, seiner, and phase sit deathly silent in the vent they were forced to escape into. they eventually discuss; they are almost out. finding nightlight would take hours, possibly days if they were going to check literally the entire ship, because they had no clue where the interrogation rooms were (nothing much was labelled on the map). and they weren’t even sure she would be there. they could be killed, or worse, interrogated for information and then killed. it would be better to return to base and come back with a bigger rescue team. they were exhausted. after much deliberation, and despite it basically emotionally killing them do make this decision, they decide to continue on their path and escape the ship, without nightlight.

meanwhile, nightlight shivers in an interrogation room with knock out overlooking her, doing something on the monitor next to the table. she is not strapped to the table, as she is too small to reach the straps, so she is simply cuffed to one of said straps, with additional cuffs on her ankles and wrists. nightlight holds back desperately on tears. surely she will be tortured.

the little moped waits for something to happen. she expects to be killed or interrogated. there’s a bunch of surgical instruments (or, other things, nightlight can’t really tell what they are if she’s honest) on a table a few meters away and she’s about to cry. knock out is scary as the pits. she is helpless. suddenly, the cherry-red doctor is talking to someone on his comm.

and the door fucking opens. and megatron walks in.

and all her sense of decorum and self-regulation and “i should be a good bot and stay still” is thrown out the window in an instant, and she tries to jump up from the table, wailing and sure of her demise. she is going to die or be tortured and THEN die, and now, by the hands of megatron at that? she is faced with an autobot’s worst and scariest nightmare. why her?!

knock out has to yoink her back and hold one of her legs to the table, and really she’s not strong compared to him so it doesn’t take much effort. she is very small on main so you can understandably imagine how scary this looks like to the poor thing: a gigantic shadowy figure that frankly just looks like a dark tower, with searing red eyes, radiating with millennia of hatred for her kind, moving towards her. this is made even worse when she realizes the tower has walked very close, closer when she had last peeked through her servos, and is now reaching for her. she hyperventilates and cries out and kicks (or really, attempts to) when two humongous servos grab her legs, and all the minicon can do is babble pleas.

to her surprise she feels the stasis cuffs unlock on her ankles and wrists, and she is slowly let go of to scramble away and curl up on the table, taking a second to sooth herself. nightlight eventually sneaks a look from behind her fingers to see megatron just standing there with a patient expression.

weirdly, knock out next to him with a “?????????what” look, completely baffled as to why megatron just uncuffed a prisoner. it seems he did not expect this either.

and megatron puts on his best Do Not Worry I Am Very Friendly face and says, “hello nightlight”. nightlight doesn’t respond, but still glances at him with a look of profound confusion.

and megatron sweet talks her for a while. asking her questions, talking as nicely as he can. and even though, to any sane bot viewing the scene, one would see megatron’s clear intentions of evil, our poor nightlight is immune to social cues. so, she’s thinking, “what’s happening?“ and all of this is…a lot.

eventually, megatron says, “nightlight, i’d like you to join our side.” the periwinkle bot thinks, “well this isn’t torture or death, but….” and megatron can tell she’s baffled, so he keeps talking.

“your friends left you,” he says firmly. nightlight’s face sours pitifully, and megatron continues, “they’ve already left the ship. i’m sure you heard the overhead comm announce we were no longer on lockdown.”

nightlight looks away, feelings clearly hurt, and he continues still, “they didn’t stay to rescue you. they escaped without even an attempt to come for you. they don’t see you as a valuable part of their team.”

and this very much hurts nightlight. this is exactly what she worries about, in her endeavors as a friend and as an autobot; that she is not a good and contributing team member. is she really that small, that bad at fighting, that dumb? megatron continues by saying, “but the decepticon army has a place for you.” she looks up for a second in hope, but not any longer, and megatron can tell she is very conflicted, so he changes the subject.

(and ok side note i have this idea that before tfp megatron went gladiator he was a miner. and he was marx on main in the mines and had already developed kind of a following, and the governmence was like

“oh god oh fuck we can’t kill him he’s got too big of a following he might be seen as a martyr if WE kill him”

“well alright then government man #1 how about we put him in the gladiatorial pits. then we won’t be the ones to kill him. he’ll be taken care of and we won’t be blamed for it”

“very sexy idea government man #2!”

and they did it but megatron was tough as shit in the end and y’all all know what happened)

but anyways,megatron leans in closer as if sharing some sort of nice, secret moment with her, “i know you used to work in the mines, nightlight.” and this is true. nightlight used to work as an autonomous flashlight to give easier lighting to miners and contractors and such, in her life back on cybertron. “o-oh yeah i did that…” she replies sheepishly.

megatron: “did you know i used to work in the mines too?”

and nightlight immediately forgets she’s sitting in front of the warlord who obliterated most of their race, who destroyed their planet, and is responsible for the death of many of her friends and comrades, “you did?!” she perks up and moves slightly closer, naturally friendly. the fact that megatron was a miner is kind of common knowledge, but nightlight doesn’t know shit fuck about cybertron’s history or important figures and she just thought megatron was a gladiator before this and that’s it.

nightlight hasn’t met another ex-miner for a while and she’s visibly excited. most of the other autobots, including her teammates, had other occupations on cybertron, and sometimes she found it hard to relate in certain situations. megatron and nightlight chat nicely for a while, but eventually megatron says something maybe a little too violent that reminds her “ah…i am talking to THE megatron”.

the moped looks down. the warlord questions her expression. “um. well. y'know,” she fidgets, “you guys…i can’t join the decepticons. you guys kinda…you guys do…bad things. sometimes. a lot of bad things.” she is not unsure of this fact, but she does not want the confrontation, so she lightens her choice of words as best she can. megatron leans down again, soft-yelling at her in his typical overly-intense way, “you don’t think the autobots have committed JUST as many grievances as us?”

and the answer is obviously NO, they have NOT committed as many war crimes as you, but nightlight falls for his manipulation and backs off, looking guilty. she’s so awfully gullible. and megatron happily grabs onto this fact and runs with it, naming off bad shit that the autobots have (allegedly) done, and nightlight is successfully freaked out.

the gigantic mech sees he’s scared her and can tell he’s convinced her, so he leans back and ends the interaction, “i’ll give you some time to think, nightlight. we will talk later. tell me your decision then.” and with that, placing his servo once on the table as if to say goodbye like a friend but not quite touch her personal bubble, he walks out. and poor nightlight is left to think, alone, about what she is supposed to do.

megatron exits out of the doors and starscream is there, and they walk off all evil-like and start talking.

starscream begins their conversation,“well how did it go?”

megatron: “swimmingly.”

starscream: “is she convinced?”

megatron, especially evilly, grinning that nasty shark-smile: “i have left her no other option.”

and DUN DUN DUNNNN it’s somehow revealed that starscream and megatron decided to form a plan to lower autobot morale by stealing away nightlight to become a decepticon. they didn’t come up with it before this, it was impromptu when they got the alert that the girls had entered the ship. not many people defect over, and nightlight, from what they have seen, is a dumbass and is very convincible, so she was the perfect target. her friends, who were admirable fighters and were admittedly putting a dent in their forces, would be especially broken by their friend leaving them for the decepticons, moreso than if they had just killed her. so, they decided to convince her to defect so their morale goes to shit. how satisfying would it be for nightlight not to look at her friends in longing and love, but disdain and hatred when they next meet? she is weak, so if the plan doesn’t work out like they’d hoped, they can just kill her.

eventually, of course, whether she is fully aware she had no other choice or not, she says yes, and she gets her new paint job, her new symbol, her new optic color, and is successfully brainwashed. megatron and co continue their skilled manipulation, and nightlight is forced to make a new life as a decepticon, without her friends. yippee!!

anyways, if you made it here, here’s a little doodle. it’s the differences between her autobot and decepticon look! sorry it’s messy.

thank you for viewing.

EDIT: popcorn is now named “wheelhop”! so i changed all instances of her name.

EDIT2: same with rook phase!

#tf oc #tfp #nightlight #tfp nightlight #seiner #phase #wheelhop #tfp seiner #tfp phase #tfp wheelhop #maccadam #sunnyd #megatron #tfp megatron #this includes some other characters too but i feel like i'm spamming if i tag all of them...#they aren't that prevalent in the story so i'll leave it be.#frenchhouseaddict

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