Thinking about a duct tape wizard
Severus Snape x Reader
Mentions PTSD, Agoraphobia, Depression.
AN: Writing this was hard. I wish I could come up with a summary for this, but I just cant. I like the idea of a post war Severus struggling to come to term with the fact that he's allowed to finally be happy. Remember, love isn't always linear. Sometimes we unintentionally hurt the ones we love the most. Slight ambiguous ending. Enjoy.
The room beneath his staircase at Spinners End is full of dust and cobwebs, the smell of mildew and decay clings to the walls, to the wooden crates his father had shoved most of his things in once he was accepted into Hogwarts so many years ago. Clothing his mother once thought to save are ruined, full of tiny moth holes and stains from leaks he never knew he had. Still Severus keeps them, holding onto the memories more than anything.
He had wanted to put some more things in storage, wanted to stow away parts of his life that he no longer wanted to be reminded of, that he no longer had a connection with. He wasn't one to throw things away, growing up beneath the poverty line meant that the clung to things longer than he should have. Clothing that no longer fit him, books he's read so many times that they were tearing, edges rubbed raw from his fingers, the spine so broken that he knew if he was to open them the pages would start falling out, they were all put in boxes, labeled and sealed.
Severus never meant to pick up the box, never meant to turn it on its side and see his mother's penmanship, the words blurred from water damage yet so familiar that he could read them easily.
Severus, 6th year
Curiosity had gotten the best of him, so he took it out to the kitchen, using the midday sun as light so that he didn't have to waste what was left of his candles or call out for his wand. His throat was still raw and healing from Nagini's bite and every time he spoke it agitated the wound. The doctor had told him it would be many months before he was able to speak again, even with the many spells and potions he was to take. There were some things not even magic could heal.
The box isn't heavy and he can hear things rattling around as he pulls it open, careful not to tear at it. There's a faded school sweater he sets aside, the bag of gobstones that his mother had given him but he never got around to using, and a couple of notebooks he's reluctant to throw away but has no other option to, seeing as they're illegible from all the water damage.
At the very bottom he finds a book that sends a wave of nostalgia through his bones. Severus can't help the smile that spreads across his face as he recognizes the tattered cover and worn pages of his favorite childhood book. He had taken it to Hogwarts every year, finding great comfort in its pages when he needed it the most. The cover is held together with a piece of duct tape, the pages warped and yellow and faded at some parts. Even now, as he holds it, he can still remember his mother gifting it to him, sitting him on her lap as she read it to him by the fire place, back when life was easy and his father hadn't taken to drinking and carrying his belt around in his hand.
Severus sits, the rest of the box forgotten as he runs his thumb against the brittle spine, wondering how he could have forgotten about such an important thing. Even now, at thirty-six he still had the urge to crack open the book, let himself slip back into the fantasy world between the pages.
A letter falls on his lap as he fans the pages open, the wax seal crumbling and leaving bits of blue across his sleeve and on his lap. He cleans himself off, picks up the letter and the first thing he realizes is that the handwriting does not belong to his mother, but it is familiar. He can just about make out the fact that he's seen it before, the soft slope of the 's' and the way the letters connected; he knows this writing, he just can't recall who it belongs to.
The glue holding the envelope shut is so old that it's dried up and Severus just has to tug at a corner, the whole thing opening rather easily.
The letter is dated exactly nineteen years ago, written on a piece of official Hogwarts parchment, the school logo stamped on the upper right corner. Severus can feel his mouth go dry, his heart stopping as he reads the letter someone must have sneaked into his book during his Sixth year at Hogwarts.
I wish I was brave enough to tell this to your face, but it's like every time I'm around you I can't get my brain to work. The words are always there, yet somehow I don't know how to speak them. I'm hoping that this letter does a good enough job of expressing how I feel.
I've known you for a long time now, and I've always admired you from afar. Your intelligence, your wit, your passion - all of it has drawn me to you in ways that I can't fully explain. But what I really want you to know is that I care about you. I care about your happiness, your safety, your well-being.
I know that you've been through a lot, Severus. I know that life hasn't always been kind to you. But I want you to know that you don't have to go through it alone. You have people in your life who care about you, who want to support you, who want to see you thrive.
It's no secret that you don't feel the same way, that perhaps there's someone else you're interested in, but I don't think I can hide the way I feel about you any longer. So here it is, here goes nothing.
I am in love with you, Severus Snape. I have been for a long time. I know this might come as a shock to you, and I understand if you don't feel the same way. I just needed to tell you how I feel, so that I don't have any regrets later in life.
Please don't feel pressured to respond right away, or to feel the same way. I'm just glad that I finally get to share my feelings with you, even though I have to hide behind a piece of parchment.
I can't wait to see you again after this Winter break,'
Severus feels a knot form in his throat as he reads the letter, a sense of dread filling him up. The name of the writer is smudged, almost as if they had written this in a rush and hadn't let the ink dry properly before slipping it inside the envelope. But he so desperately wants to know who wrote this, who had slipped a love letter into the pages of his book nineteen years ago, hoping he would read it?
The thought of it being a joke, another one of Potter's or Black's twisted pranks, did cross his mind and for a second he could feel a wave of anger lick at his veins. But he read it again and he could feel the sincerity of every word and that anger melts away into uncertainty.
What is Severus supposed to do with this letter? Is he to put it in the rubbish, seeing as he's nineteen years too late? It's not as if the writer, whoever they may be, somehow still felt the same after all this time. Keeping it would make absolutely no sense.
Yet as he sat there in his kitchen, the sun at its highest, Severus thinks about how someone had looked at the young, awkward, poor boy that he was and had somehow seen something worth loving in him. Simply thinking about it sent his blood pressure soaring, a feeling he couldn't quite identify sinking its fingers deep inside his chest and squeezing until breathing was painful.
He was careful to slip the parchment back into its envelope, careful when he picked up the book and found space between the pages to put back the letter. Ever since the War, Severus was prone to panic attacks, and the weight of the letter, the weight that came with the realization that someone had entrusted him with their heart only for him to discover it almost two decades later, threatened to overwhelm him.
He slowly puts everything back in the box, deciding that it's best if he forgets about it all. If he acts like he's never found it, perhaps the guilt that's eating at his bone will go away. The letter would remain tucked between the pages of the book, stored away in the very bottom of the box and he could go back to living his life as if nothing had ever happened.
His resolve to ignore the growing seed of emotion inside of him breaks a few months later, when he wakes panting in the middle of the night. Severus is used to nightmares, is used to the feeling of his throat closing up and the weight of memories that threaten to suffocate him. But this time, it's not a nightmare that has him waking up in a cold sweat, no. This time he dreamt. Something soft and benevolent and unbelonging to him.
He dreamt of a house warm with life, of bright colors and laughter. Of a hand so tiny and fragile resting on his, a pair of sparkling eyes that look at him with so much trust and love. In his dream, he knew that child was his own, a child that he had never gotten to hold in his arms. In that dream he had loved her, had felt a warmth and tenderness that he had never experienced before.
The dream leaves Severus feeling disoriented and emotionally raw. He sits on the edge of his bed, taking deep breaths and trying to calm himself down. He's never been the type to long for companionship or a family, not after everything he's done, everything he's lost. He's always known that he will never have those things, that they are not meant for him, and he's come to accept that.
But that dream has shaken him, has managed to free whatever longing Severus had in his body and magnified it until it's all he seems to be capable of thinking about.
He thinks about the letter tucked between the pages of the book in the room underneath his staircase. He thinks about the person who had wrote it, thinks about how his younger self might have felt had they found the letter when he was supposed to. Would he still be sitting here alone, scared that if he went back to bed he would be forced to see a life that suddenly he craves more than air itself?
Severus isn't expecting company, so when someone knocks at his door and he's forced to put down his tea, he feels a pang of annoyance. He's just gotten back from his appointment at St. Mungo's and while his vocal chords are healing, he's in no mood to entertain company.
He opens the creaky door with a frown, ready to tell whoever stands in front of it that they ought to turn around and leave him alone. But the words die in his throat when he see's you standing there, one arm wrapped around a large brown paper bag, the other holding your wand up besides you, a thin layer of 'Protego' keeping you dry from the cold rain.
"Good Evening, Severus." You say with a smile, "May I come in?"
He wants to say no, wants to slam the door shut in your face because he knows what's in the bag and he doesn't need you buying him groceries. You've done this before, every so often showing up to check up on him and make sure that what- he hasn't stopped taking care of himself? He's unsure of why you do it, why you seem to think that he needs you to look after him, but he knows that even if he were to close the door in your face, you would leave the supplies at his door. With how hard it was raining, he knew it would ruin whatever you had purchased and he wouldn't allow food to spoil because of him.
So he takes a step to the side, his frown permanent on his face as he lets you walk past him and into his tiny home.
"I'm going to go put these things away, is that okay?"
He wonders why you ask when you make your way to his kitchen, setting the bag down to pull open the curtains on his window, letting the light in.
"You don't have to keep doing this." Severus says, and his voice is still damaged from the bite, harsh and strained. "I can take care of myself."
"I never said you couldn't," you reply as you set down a loaf of bread atop his counter. "I did it because I wanted to, because as hard as I tried I simply couldn't picture you shopping for groceries. Anyways I had a feeling you were running low. Figured I would save you the trip and take care of it myself." You said it like it was supposed to make sense, as if he was simply supposed to accept it and move on with his life.
But he couldn't, not when it made him feel so vulnerable and exposed. No one had ever cared about him enough to check in on him, to make sure that he had enough to eat, but you did and you did so without making him feel like he owed you anything in return.
Severus grunts, makes his way to at least help you. "How much was it all?"
"Not very expensive, don't even think about saying you'll pay me back. Would you put these away?" you hand him a small bag of potatoes.
He grabs them, biting his tongue so he's not tempted to remind you that you're in his house and he wasn't a fan of being bossed around. He takes the potatoes and places them inside the same drawer his mother always had. He watches you put the rest away, watches as you fold the bag and place it into the rubbish bin.
"Thank you," he says once you're done and the look of surprise that crosses your face has him wanting to tell you to leave. He hates the way some people act as if there's not a single cell of kindness in his body.
"For how long I've known you, I think that's the first time you've ever thanked me." You smile at him, and he can tell that you're not one of those people, that you genuinely appreciate his thanks. "You're welcome Severus. I will always be here for you."
Your words slither through his body, cling to that vulnerable part of him that's been exposed ever since he found the damned letter, and makes his heart beat just a decibel louder. He knows what you meant, but for some appalling reason his body reacts as if it's longing for something more, something he's not quite ready to admit.
He clears his throat, regrets it as soon as he can feel the pinpricks of pain against his scar. " I will make you some tea." he says, because he doesn't have much to offer you.
"I would love that." you reply and he can physically feel the warmth in your voice.
He lets you be, turning on his old gas stove and setting the kettle on top once its filled with water. He can feel your eyes on him as he brings back the teapot he had used and rinses it clean. It's a strange sensation, being the object of someone's focus and attention, but he finds that he doesn't mind it when it's you. It's almost comforting, in a way. Even though it makes his hands shake as he feels that pit of loneliness grow inside him.
He finds that he likes making you tea, likes the way your presence makes him feel less alone. When you leave the kitchen to, what he assumes is explore his home, he finds himself missing you, missing the times when he wasn't so afraid to leave his home and be around people.
The realization makes him rather dizzy, makes the small kitchen seem even smaller, the warmth from the fire all at once suffocating. His collar is too tight and he can't seem to loosen it. His fingers unable to grasp at the buttons. He gasps as the world around him starts to shift and blur.
Severus feels himself slipping, feels himself getting sucked into the dark depths that he can't ever seem to escape. He tries to breathe but it feels like he's breathing through a straw and his heart is about to burst out of his chest.
He calls your name, his voice trembling with fear. "Please, I need you." He doesn't even care that he sounds desperate, that he's revealing his weakness. All he knows is that he can't face this alone, that he needs someone to ground him, to remind him that he's not completely lost in his own mind.
The next few moments are all a blur for Severus. He can barely recall the way you had helped him to the floor, the way you had pulled apart his shirt, ripping the first few buttons off. He feels your hand on his forehead, cold and soothing against his boiling skin. He can hear your voice as you calmly ask him to say his own name. He doesn't know if he does it, he just remembers closing his eyes.
Severus is unsure if he passed out or not, but the moment he opens his eyes he sees you kneeling in front of him, your hand still pressed against his skin. He can see the worry in your eyes.
"Are you okay?" you ask gently.
He nods, unable to look at you anymore. He feels embarrassed, ashamed of himself. "I'm sorry." his throat is raw and it hurts to talk again. "I shouldn't have let you see me like that."
"Oh Severus," you say and he lets your hand push his hair out of his face. "Please don't apologize. There's nothing to be ashamed about."
He wants to believe you, wants to believe that it's okay to be vulnerable, but the years of conditioning have taught him otherwise. He reaches up, gently grabbing your wrist and moving your hand away. "I think it's time you take your leave."
He's so tired, always is after a big attack, and he just wants to go to bed. He wants to forget the way he felt when he called out for you, wants to forget that this whole thing ever happened. He doesn't look at you as you stand, ignores the hand you offer him and forces himself onto his feet. His body aches and that hole in his chest seems to grow the longer you stand in front of him.
"Please," he whispers, his throat going dry. "Just go."
"I can't leave you like this." You reach out to steady him but he moves away from you. "I don't want to leave you alone."
Severus shakes his head, in no mood for this. "I said go," he snaps, his eyes burning with anger and frustration. "I don't need your pity. I don't need anyone's pity." He scoffs, and he wonders when he got so angry
"Severus I don't pity you, I just-"
"Just what?" he interrupts, his voice rising in frustration. "What could you possibly want from me? You can't fix me, you can't make me whole again."
"I want to help you!" you snap, your own frustration rising. "I want to be there for you. But you're always pushing me away, shutting me out. Why won't you let me help you?"
He doesn't care that his throat feels like it's been rubbed raw, or that his head is pounding. All he knows is that he wants you gone. He wants to be alone, to wallow in his misery without anyone watching. He doesn't want you around, doesn't want his heart to soften at the sight of your concern. "I don't need your help," he growls, his hands balling into fists at his sides. "I don't need anyone's help. I've been alone my whole life, I don't need anyone now."
"Severus, that's not true," you plead, taking a step closer to him. "You don't have to be alone anymore. I'm here for you."
Severus is suddenly scared that if you get any closer, if you touch him, he won't be able to hold himself together. He takes a step back, shaking his head.
"You called for me." you remind him softly. "You called me and I answered. I will always answer."
Severus freezes at your words, his body tense with a mix of emotions. He remembers calling out for you, remembers the pain and fear that consumed him in that moment. But he also remembers the shame and vulnerability he felt, and he doesn't want to face that again.
"I didn't mean it," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "I was... I didn't know what I was doing."
"It's okay," you say gently, taking another step closer. "It's okay to need someone, Severus."
Severus feels his resolve crumbling at your words, at the gentleness in your tone. He wants to push you away, to tell you to leave him be, but he can't find the strength. He looks at you, really looks at you, and sees the worry etched on your face, the concern in your eyes. He hates what he's become. Hates that he thinks about the letter and the gaping hole it left in him.
Most of all, Severus hates the way he wants you to keep fighting for him. He wants to push and push and have you push back. He pictures the little girl from his dream and he thinks how lovely it would be if she were to have your eyes.
Severus slouches, physically giving up. He can't take anymore of whatever is going on with him. He's never been the type to get lonely, to fear being all alone in this house he grew up in. He's always been okay with silence, with being a man no one looks at twice, no one ever thinks about. Yet, ever since he read that letter and found out that at one point someone had loved him, it suddenly became crystal clear that he doesn't want to be alone anymore. He wants to be loved, he wants to love back. He's so very tired of the walls he's surrounded himself with, of the coldness he's become so accustomed with.
"Stay" he whispers, because what else is there left to say?
You nod, understanding the weight behind his simple request. You take a step closer, and this time he doesn't push you away. He lets your hand rest on his shoulder. "I'll stay," you promise softly. "For as long as you need me to. I'm not going anywhere."
He want's to tell you that's not true, that you have a life beyond him and eventually you will put your coat back on and leave him and once you will he will be left all alone, like he thought he wanted to be. But he doesn't voice those doubt's. He keeps his mouth shut and lets himself believe that this will last forever.
You made him tea for the second time that night and set it in front of him, telling him to drink up. You also made him dinner, but he doesn't want to think about how he felt as he watched you go about in his kitchen, taking out pots and pans and ingredients as if you belonged here, as if this was just as much your home as it was his. He doesn't want to admit to himself that watching you cook for him felt like a luxury he didn't deserve.
He was surprised when you offered, surprised that even as night came and the rain stopped you stuck around. He was so sure that you would leave, that the words you had said earlier would come with a time limit. But you sat across from him, in one of the many mismatched chairs he owned and sipped at your tea, your eyes glued to the fireplace.
It was getting late, yet still you made no move to leave.
"Are you planning on staying the night?" he finally asks, and even though his words come out harsh, he feels a sliver of hope that you will say yes.
You look surprised, as if you were lost in your thoughts and he managed to startle you. "Oh, you're right, I'm sorry."
Severus sets his cup down as he watches you stand, disappointed. "It's fine if you want to." he says and again his tone is clipped even though he's trying his hardest to be kind, to ask you indirectly once more to please stay with him. He likes the way his home seems to brighten up the longer you're here and he's not ready to give that up.
You look at him, studying his face before answering. "Would you like me to stay?"
He nods, not trusting himself to say anything more.
"I'll have to go back home to grab a few things, but I will be right back okay?" you say, and he swears he can see a hint of a smile on your lips.
"Alright." he says, trying not to sound too eager. That will give him enough time to fix up his room for you. He doesn't have the luxury of offering you a guest room, but he doesn't mind sleeping on his couch if it means not spending a night alone.
"I'll be back soon." you say and disapparate, popping out of existence in a swirl.
He sits there for a couple seconds, his heart racing. He doesn't know what made him ask for such a thing. But he knows that he doesn't want to let you go. That perhaps in his state he's attached himself to you and let your kindness start to fill the darkness that he's kept inside of himself for so long. Severus is unsure of what it is that he feels towards you- he's unsure if he's somehow come to gather some sort of affection towards you. But he knows that you've always been there, from the time he was a young boy back in Hogwarts to when he defected and took up the position of Potions Professor. You have always been a constant in his life. Present, but not invasive. He thinks to himself what it would be like if he had come to notice you earlier.
Perhaps things would have been different. Maybe he would have been able to open up to you sooner, to let you in and share his burden. But it's too late for that now. He'll take what he can get and cherish it.
He stands and takes his cup of tea to the kitchen. He needs to replace the sheets on his bed, needs to set out a towel and candles for you. He's always thought about fixing the electricity in his home, perhaps this will give him the motivation to do so. If he was going to open up and make you a part of his life- in what way he was still undecided- he wanted to make sure that you were comfortable. He could look into charming the place to be a bit bigger, more inviting.
Severus climbs the stairs, winces at how cold it is in his room and moves to light the tiny gas heater he keeps in the corner. He wants to make sure that you will have everything you need, but everything he has is outdated, he's unsure if he can provide for you properly.
It makes him anxious as he strips the bed and finds new sheets to dress the bed in. He makes sure your pillow is fluffed, that the quilt he drags from the closet isn't too old. He's nervous and thinks that perhaps he shouldn't have asked you to stay, suddenly embarrassed at how he lives.
He hears you apparate downstairs, and he lets go of a breath he didn't know he was holding. Of course you would return, so why did he feel such relief to hear you?
The walls are thin, not very well insulated, and he can hear you set something down on the ground, can hear you walk up the steps, probably following the light glow from the candles.
"Severus?" you call out and he has to force himself to step away from his room, to accept that he's done all that he could to make it presentable, and calls out to you.
He's surprised to see that you've let your hair down, even more surprised when he thinks that he rather likes it like that. It frames your face in a way that has him never wanting to look away. He doesn't know why he's just now realizing this, why he hadn't looked at you sooner.
He stops his thoughts from drifting too far, moves out of your way so you can enter the room. "I left a towel for you in the bathroom, just in case." He says, and this whole exchange is making him uncomfortable. He's not sure what he's supposed to do, what he's supposed to say. "I also turned on the heater for you, it should keep you adequately warm for the night."
"Is this your room?" you ask, looking around.
Severus is unsure why, but he bristles, watching as you walk around the tiny bedroom, using the soft glow of the candles to peek at the books he had stacked on top of his dresser. "Clearly," he responds curtly, trying to hide the irritation in his voice. He knew that it wasn't the best, that it was tiny and cramped but it was his. He didn't want you to judge him.
When you turn to face him he can see the confusion across your face. "Do you want me to sleep in here?"
"Is it not up to your standards?" he snaps, "Perhaps you would prefer a luxurious suite in a five-star hotel?"
"I didn't mean it like that," you say and the embarrassment in your voice, in the way your face seems to flush isn't lost to him. "I'm okay with the couch downstairs. I wouldn't feel right taking your bed."
Severus softens a bit at your words, feeling guilty for his outburst. "I'm...sorry. I'm not used to this, to having someone else in my space. I don't want you to feel uncomfortable...I know it's not what you're used to but-"
"There's nothing wrong with your room. I like it, it's cozy." you interrupt him, giving him a small smile. "But I don't think I can kick you out of your own bedroom."
"You expect me to let you sleep downstairs on the sofa? I couldn't possibly allow that," Severus says firmly. "I'll make do with the couch, you can have my bed. It's only fair."
"No. Whatever reason you think will change my mind is irrelevant," he says, cutting you off. "I won't have you sleeping on a couch when there's a perfectly good bed in this room. It's settled."
He watches you fight a battle internally before sighing "I'll go grab my bag."
Severus nods, satisfied that he's won the argument. He lets you go, taking this time to grab himself a blanket and pillow from his closet and his pajamas before heading downstairs himself. Why you would think that he would force you sleep on the couch when there was a bed available was beyond him. He may not be used to having company, but he wasn't heartless.
"Are you sure you're okay sleeping down here?" you say as he reaches the living room.
He sighs, setting his things down on the couch. It's smaller than him, but nothing the Engorgement charm couldn't fix. "I'm not changing my mind, the bed is yours for the night. It's the least I can offer you."
"Thank you." you say and do the one thing he never expected, you lean forward and softly brush your lips against his cheek.
The intimacy catches him off guard, has his mind reeling as you step around him and towards the stairs. You did it so casually, but the touch of your lips on his skin has his body on fire. He can't comprehend why you did it, why he's reacting in such a way.
"Goodnight" you say from the stairs, pulling him from his thoughts.
He turns to face you, surprise still etched on his face. "Goodnight."
You smile at him and he watches you head upstairs, the ghost of your lips still burning his skin.
Severus doesn't know why he thought tonight would be any different. He always had nightmares, changing where he sleeps wasn't going to prevent them. But he had been so hopeful, so sure that tonight would be different. He could hear you walking around upstairs, could hear the sound of the sink running in the bathroom. It was nice, not being alone, knowing that you were here with him. Those tiny little noises you made as you got ready for bed had lulled him to sleep, had made the night seem a little less dark.
But the nightmares came regardless, they crept up on him and tortured him until he had woken up in a panic, sweaty and unable to breathe. He had to toss the blanket aside, had to sit up to stop his heart from beating with such an intensity that he thought perhaps he was having a heart attack. In the haze of it all he had forgotten about you, had forgotten that he had given you his bed for the night. So when he heard the creaking of his stairs he felt ice cold fear, his hand reaching for his wand.
"Severus?" you whispered and it all came back to him. He let go of his wand, his hands trembling and he takes a deep breath, trying to remind himself that he wasn't back in the Shrieking Shack. That he was home and he was safe.
"Are you okay?" you ask him and he can hear the concern in your voice, the worry. He's grateful for the darkness of the room, that you cant see the way his face is contorted in pain, in embarrassment.
"I'm fine." he chokes out, his throat dry. "Go back to sleep."
You ignore him, of course you do. Instead you go into the kitchen and fill a glass with water, handing it to him. "Here."
He takes it with a shaky hand, takes a small sip and works the cool liquid around his mouth. He's grateful for it, for you, but he needs you to head back upstairs before he ends up breaking down in front of you. "Go back to bed" he tries again, pleading that you listen to him. He hates how weak he is, how you keep seeing him at his worst.
Instead you kneel down in front of him, right in between his legs and gently grab the glass from him, setting it down besides you. "It's okay. You're okay." you whisper, your voice the soothing balm he's always needed.
He feels himself slipping as you kneel there in front of him. "I keep making a fool of myself in front of you, I'm sorry." he whispers.
"Stop saying things like that already." you say, and he can hear how frustrated you are. "There's nothing to apologize for. You don't have to keep trying to hide your struggles from me. You don't have to pretend that everything is okay all the time."
He has to stop himself from flinching as you grab his hands, as your touch sends a bolt of electricity through him.
"That war affected everyone, even me. I have my own struggles, my own demons to overcome but that doesn't make me weak. So why would it make you weak?" you pull his hands against your chest, and he can just about make out your eyes in the dark. "Don't undermine your strength Severus."
Your words loosen something in Severus and suddenly, he feels a weight lifted off his chest. He had always thought that he had to carry his burdens alone, that showing any vulnerability was a sign of weakness. But your words, your touch, and your presence made him realize that it was okay to let someone in, to let someone help him carry the weight. He doesn't have to be alone, he doesn't have to suffer alone.
He pulls his hands free from your grasp and touches your face. He uses what little moonlight that filters in from the windows to look at you, to really see you. "I don't know what I did to deserve you," he whispers, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone. "But I am grateful for you." He's gentle when he cups your face, when he lets his fingers stroke your cheeks and trace the outline of your jaw. He tilts your head to the side slightly, feels himself starting to lean in towards you. He can feel your face warming as his hands hold you in place, as he moves to-.
Severus freezes, realizing how close his face is to yours, how he can feel your breath on his face. He had wanted to kiss you, had he not? He wanted to taste the kindness of your words, of your very soul. This close to you he can see the way you look at him, the way your eyes are asking him to keep going, to take that final step and kiss you. He sees how you genuinely want this and it terrifies him.
He lets go of you slowly, pulling away so that he's no longer leaning over you. "I'm sorry I woke you."
He notices how your eyes seem to linger on his hands before you look up at him. He was scared to see disappointment, to see rejection in your eyes. He doesn't find anything in them.
"I couldn't sleep." you say and stand up.
Severus tries not to notice how you're wearing so little, tries not to notice the fullness of your thighs, tries not to focus on the way he can tell you're not wearing a bra. He looks away, giving you the respect you deserve. He focuses on your words, not your body. "Are you uncomfortable?"
Suddenly he's worried that perhaps he had missed something while setting up the room for you. Had the heater died? Was his bed not soft enough? But you chuckle, shake your head.
"No. Like I said, you're not the only one struggling to make things go back to normal. I usually take a sleeping draught before bed, but I forgot to grab them."
Severus wants to ask you about your pain. Wants to know what's haunting you so much that you can't find sleep without the aide of a potion. What demons where you carrying? But he doesn't. He can't.
You stretch, bringing your arms above your head as you yawn and your shirt rises, exposing your midriff. He stares at that expanse of skin, thinks about reaching out, about running his fingers across it and pulling you into his arms. He wants to feel the warmth of your skin, your heartbeat against his chest. He wants your weight atop him, grounding him in place. But he's too afraid to do so, afraid of what will happen next. So he shakes his head, clearing his thoughts.
"I keep some in the drawer besides the bed. You're free to take one."
"You don't mind?"
"I can always make more." he says, wondering if perhaps you've forgotten that he was a Potion Master.
You giggle, and Severus wonders how come he's never noticed how sweet the sound is. "Then if its okay, I will."
"Will... will you be alright?"
He wonders what will happen if he says no, if he asks you to stay besides him for the rest of the night so he doesn't have to be alone. So he doesn't have to remember the feeling of Nagini at his throat, of his life slowly ebbing away that night at the Shrieking Shack.
"I'll be fine." He says, hoping to convince you, convince himself.
"You can come upstairs with me, we can share the bed."
Severus feels his breath catch in his throat at your suggestion. He wants to say yes, wants to be close to you, to feel your warmth and your presence. But he's scared of what might happen, of what he might do if he's alone with you. He doesn't want to hurt you, to make things worse for both of them.
"I appreciate the offer, but I think I need some time alone." He wants you to know that he's grateful for your kindness and your care, but he can't take advantage of it. Not yet.
You smile at him, "I'm here if you need me."
"Get some sleep." he says, watching you go back upstairs, the room no longer quite as warm as when you were in it.
Severus sits there, listening to the sound of your footsteps as you make your way back to the room. He doesn't hear the sound of the door closing and he knows you did it just in case he were to change his mind. He runs his hands through his hair, reaches for the glass of water and thinks about being bold enough to follow you upstairs, to sleep besides you.
He wasn't seeking anything else. He knew that you were probably already asleep. Or perhaps you were sitting in there, watching the door and hoping that he would walk through them and join you?
That was wishful thinking, Severus tells himself, shaking his head. But he remembers the way you had looked at him when he had almost kissed you, the desperation in your eyes. He finishes the water, hoping it would cool him down, cool down his thoughts so that he will think about anything but you.
He immediately remembers moving the potions to the bathroom, scared that he would get addicted to them if he had them so close to him. It was easy to take one every night, when all he had to do was stretch his arm out. He stands up, frowning because he knew that by now you would have found the drawer empty, so why hadn't you come back to tell him so? He was worried that perhaps you didn't want to bother him.
With a sigh Severus quickly makes his way upstairs, wanting to apologize for forgetting. He was right, you did leave the door open, and as he knocks he can see the soft glow of a light through the gap. He calls your name but you don't answer.
He softly pushes open the door and sees you sitting at the edge of the bed, the letter that had managed to overturn his life, to remind him of everything he would never have, is in your hands. There's a bitter taste in his mouth as he moves, snatching it away from you. He knows that there's not a single reason for him to be angry at you, that you hadn't done anything wrong. It was his fault for forgetting that he had stored it in the drawer, that any person would have picked it up and read it. But he's not thinking straight, embarrassment coursing through his veins at having you read such a personal thing.
"What do you think you're doing?" he hisses, grabbing the book from besides you as well.
He doesn't let you speak. "Do you make it a habit of snooping through things that don't concern you?"
"Perhaps you thought that was an invitation to help yourself to all of my personal belongings? Go ahead, let's see what else you can rummage through." He should stop, he can see the tears forming in your eyes. He knows he's being irrational, that he has no reason to lash out like this, but the letter suddenly feels like its made out of lead, weighing down on him, reminding him of all his insecurities.
"Please just let me-"
"Enough. I don't want to hear it. You just have to stick your nose where it doesn't belong, don't you? You can't even respect my privacy for one second." he continues, his voice dripping with venom.
You flinch at his words, your face contorting in pain. He hates himself for hurting you like this, but he can't seem to stop. The words keep pouring out of his mouth, each one more hurtful than the last.
"You're just a nuisance, always getting in the way. I don't know why I even bother with you."
He sees the tears finally fall and he knows that he's gone too far. That there is no way he can take back his words. The way he's lashing out now, it's unfair and cruel. But the damage is done, and he can feel the weight of his actions settling heavily on his chest. He needs to apologize, he needs to tell you that he's sorry, that the words he said were out of insecurity and shame, that he didn't mean them. He opens his mouth, reaching out towards you but you back away from him.
"I wrote the stupid letter!" you shout, your voice shaking from anger and hurt. "You have no right to talk to me like that. To say all those awful things to me. Do you know what it feels like being in love with you all these years, to have you blatantly ignore me, to have to suffer through these unrequited feelings that no matter how much I try just wont go away?"
Severus feels like he's being dragged underwater. The pain in his chest doubles, claws at his heart, at his lungs. The weight of his words, his actions, feels even heavier now. He wants to reach out, to apologize. But he's rooted in place, unable to speak, unable to move. He can feel the guilt and shame building up inside him, overwhelming him with emotions he's been suppressing for so long. The realization of how much he's hurt you hits him like a ton of bricks, and he can't help but feel like he's finally pushed too hard.
He should have known, should have realized sooner. "I'm sorry." he chokes out, taking a step towards you. "I never meant to hurt you."
"Why did you keep it?" you ask him, your shoulders slumping as you wipe at your eyes. "All this time you've known how I feel and you've acted so cold, so mean to me when I've been nothing but a friend to you!"
"I didn't know!" he can't stand it, can't have you looking at him like that anymore. If he could turn back time and realized how you felt about him he would. Yet he couldn't, he couldn't have known how you you were suffering, how much he was hurting you. Even know, he still did. "I had no clue how you felt, I'm sorry."
"You had the letter. For nineteen years dammit, how could you have not known?"
He holds it out to you, shows you that where you had signed your name was nothing but a blurred mess of ink. "I found it six months ago. I had left the book at home and my mother must have put it away. I never realized that there was something so important tucked between the pages."
He lets you grab it from him, lets you see exactly what he's talking about. He didn't expect you to start crying again, sitting down on the bed.
"You never read it." you say, and he feels a lump form in the back of his throat at the way you sound so heartbroken.
"I never knew." he repeats, letting himself sit down besides you. The bed sinks and he can't help but feel like he's sinking down with it. "I said a lot of things... things I really shouldn't have."
You stay silent besides him, wiping at your eyes with your wrist.
"I..." Severus swallows, pushes past the fear that's been keeping him from opening up, from allowing himself to let you in. "I saw you with that letter in your hand and I was suddenly so afraid that you would finally realize that I'm nothing short of pathetic."
He continues after taking a shaky breath. "I'm aware of what kind of person I am, of what my past is full of. I see how people look at me, what they say about me, about how I look, how I act."
He shakes his head, he doesn't want you to comfort him. He just needs you to listen, because if he doesn't say it now, he knows that he will never be able to open up. Not to you, not to anyone.
"I'm not a man that's meant to be loved. I've hurt people, done terrible things. And no matter how much I try to make up for it, to be better, I can never escape the person I once was. But when I found that letter, suddenly it felt like perhaps I had a chance, that perhaps I was wrong. If they... if you could have come to love that boy that I was...then maybe I could find someone that would come to love me for who I am now." He pauses when he feels your hand grab his, your fingers interlocking with his.
"I love you now. I always have."
Severus laughs, not because what you say is in any shape funny, but because you're too good to love someone like him, to have spent all those decades pining after him. "You shouldn't." he says, his voice shaky. "I don't deserve you."
"You don't. But it's always been you and it will always be you."
"I won't be able to make you happy." He whispers.
"You have to try. That's what love is after all, trying to make each other happy, to support and care for each other through everything." You lean in closer to him, your eyes never leaving his. "I'm not asking for perfection, Severus. I'm asking for you, flaws and all."
For the first time in his life, Severus feels the hole in his chest shrink. He's not sure what the future holds, but he knows he wants to face it with you by his side.
Where the reader finds out that Jonathan Crane is scarecrow and is horrified and Crane does his best to try and assure them that they are still the same person and this changes nothing
Hi hi! Loved writing this. I originally intended to write headcanons for this, but I finally thought it'd be more appropiate and fit to the request to write a full fic about this one. So, hope you enjoy, lovely anon!! <333
I must shamelessly admit that this was sleepily written at 3:30 am, so if there's any spelling/grammar error, or if this is not as detailed as my other fics; apologies!! Hope you like it anywaysss <33 ^^
(B/N) = Boss Name
QUICK NOTE: I assumed you wanted this for DK! Jonathan and not the Gotham! version. But I didn't specify anything other than him having a small lab and kept it as neutral as possible so you could imagine from whichever version of him you liked the most.
Noticing how hard you've been working non-stop to the point where you had dark bags under your eyes, your boss dismissed you earlier from work, and allowed you to have 3 free days, leaving someone to replace you while you were at home.
Exhaustingly making your way towards your home, you practically dragged your whole body, hoping to arrive soon and simply lay in the couch next to your boyfriend, Jonathan, and do nothing. Home was only 7 minutes away from work, so lucky you, it didn't take too long until you arrived to your gothic-themed house. Once you finally arrived, you quietly huffed while searching for the keys inside your bag, and swiftly opened the door, making a creaking sound. All lights were on, but it seemed almost empty; the presence of your boyfriend nowhere to be seen, leaving you to assume he must've been working on his little homemade lab.
"Jon, I'm home! I came earlier because (B/N) dismissed me since I've been working a lot and gave me three days." You called out for him hoping to catch his attention, but no answer to your comment. Confused, you looked everywhere, waiting for him to randomly appear and surprise you, like he usually did when you came back from work, but still nothingness itself was presented to you. "And where the hell are you now?" You quietly mumbled to yourself. With no other option left, you made your way towards the small lab he made to himself in one of the spare rooms. The closer you kept getting to it, the louder his voice was heard coming from it. You furrowed your eyebrows when noticing he was talking to himself, walking around the lab, and often hearing him grabbing some things that seemed to be on top of the lab table.
Unknowing what he was doing made your heart beat fast with anxiety, slightly getting nervous of not knowing what you were going to find. You took a deep breath, and gently knocked twice on the door, but left no space for him to answer as you immediatly opened the door.
"Jon–" Loudly gasping at the sight and dropping your bag to the floor, your eyes widened in shock by seeing a man tied on a chair, his mouth duct-taped, and he seemed to be unconscious as well. Nervously, your eyes turned to stare at your boyfriend, but to worsen the situation, he was wearing the Scarecrow mask. "(Y/N)! I'm sorry you had to see this, my dear." Desperation got the best out of him at noticing how anxious and afraid you were. He quickly took off his Scarecrow mask, leaving his hair to be all messy and wild due to the fast pace in which he took it off, and carefully walking towards you as to not make you any more afraid than you already were. Which each step he tried getting near you, you slowly walked backwards until your back reached the cold, closed door. Seeing how your lips were quivering, your eyes filled with fear, and your whole body trembling with terror shattered his heart. "Wha– How, are you–" It was as if a cat got your tongue, you kept slipping on your own words and mumbling incoherent things, nervousness filled in your mind.
"S-So you're...the Scarecrow." His tall figure towered over you, shadowing your own. Loudly gulping, you couldn't even look at him in the eyes. "Love, please, don't be afraid..." He began speaking. He used his fingers to gently lift your chin so you could be forced to look at him deep into his blue eyes, your body getting tense under his touch. "Please, don't hurt me." A knot in your throat formed with every word, his eyes widening in shock about those you being the one telling him that. "No, no, I won't hurt you! I could never hurt you." Your back harshly pressed against the door, you stared at him paralysed with horror. He never felt this way before – nervous; even scared. "I apologise for not having told you earlier about my double identity as Scarecrow. I just–" He briefly licked his lower lip as he made a short pause. "Ironically, I was too afraid of scaring you off and I didn't want you to hate, or even worse, despise me. I always kept it hidden because I didn't want to lose you." Your eyes started getting watery, due to the all the overwhelming feelings making you feel too collapsed: you were afraid, angry, sad, confused...too many emotions for a single person, in a single moment.
"I'm still the same person as always. The same person who cares, worries about you. The same person who will always protect you no matter whatever happens, the same person who cherises you in every possible way. I'm the same person who loves you very dearly, and I'd kill and get killed only for you." Tears unwantedly escaped through your eyes, running through your soft cheeks. He stopped using his fingers to lift your chin since all of your attention was now focused on him, and he lovingly wiped away your tears. "The fact that I'm Scarecrow, and that you know about it, changes nothing about how I feel about you and our relationship. I promise. I just – don't want you to be afraid of me, or think that I'll ever hurt you, because I could never do that."
You stopped staring at his eyes for a very brief moment, only to stare at nothingness itself while you quietly cried to yourself. Without being able to think clearly, you threw yourself at him, embracing him into a tight hug as you harshly pressed your face against his chest. "Thank you." You weakly mumbled in his face, tears now violently coming out from you as you sobbed. "What for, dear?" He didn't take long until he returned the tight hug as he caressed your hair and rubbed your back in a soothing way. "For your sweet words, and for truly caring about me. I was worried and absolutely terrified that you'd possibly want to–" Mimicking his previous actions, you quickly licked your lower lip and thought about what proper words to use. "Kill me for knowing about who you are." Your comment made him hug you even tighter. "No! I could never do that for anything in the world! No matter what happens, I'll always have my soft spot for you, my love. I will always be your protector." He placed a kiss on your forehead, trying to comfort you.
A few minutes passed, and you had just stopped tearing up a bit. After the moment having so wildly happening, you slowly unwrapped your arms around him, and a tiny blush appeared on your face at the sight of his clothing being a bit wet from your crying. He, being the very observant person he is, noticed it immediatly. "Don't worry about it. It really doesn't matter, and it'll dry up in no time, my sweet." The way he gently rubbed your cheek with his thumb made you giggle, and the blush to continously grow on your face. "You seem exhausted. You should go to sleep, you've been working a lot." He removed a strand of hair covering your face, tucking it right behind your ear as you weakly smirked at him. "I should." Not only being exhausted from work, but also, the adrenaline and all the rush from discovering his villain identity and the panic of believing he'd hurt you was beginning to take it's toll on your body. He gave you a side smile that quickly faded.
"I hope you can forgive me for this unwanted situation, my love. I wish I had–" you shushed him by placing your finger on his soft lips, and your finger was soon replaced by your lips carefully and lovingly crashing into his, melting into the sweet taste of each others lips. "No one needs to forgive or apologise anything. I understand you, and I support you no matter what." You mumbled in between the kiss, the air coming out of your lips tingled on his lips. "I will always love you, Scarecrow." The shock of the moment faded away with every inch you were near his lips as you placed a hand on his cheek. "My Scarecrow..." you mumbled, now smiling to yourself as you once again began kissing his lips, savouring the bittersweet taste of it. Even, tasting your own dried tears who previously rolled around your face.
The kiss lasted what felt an eternity, even if it was almost a minute. Softly breaking the kiss, you smiled at him, looking into his icy eyes, and admiringly caressed his cheek. Unwantedly, you sleepily yawned. "I'm going to bed, love. Just–" You shifted a bit your head to look at the still unconscious man tied up on the chair, causing you to scoff. "Try to not get hurt by him or...any victim, I guess." It was truly an unbelievable yet funny situation. Out of all the things that could happen in your life, you had the possibly called luck of dating The Scarecrow and randomly finding a beated-up man in the chair that was previously standing in your bedroom.
"I'll get less harmed than him for sure, love." He turned around to look at him as well, scoffing. His usual sarcasm never failed to provoke laughter on you, no matter the situation. "Now, rest, angel. You deserve it. I'll go to bed in a few minutes, yes?" Loking back at you with a gentle smile, he placed a hand on your shoulder – lovingly rubbing it – and kissed the top of your head. You weakly and sleepily nodded at his comment, melting under his touch and love.
"Alright. I love you, baby."
You kissed his cheek, and left his little lab, closing the door as you left. Puffing out your cheeks, you dragged your body to the shared bedroom. It had been pretty intense – and with this new information about your beloved one, you knew it was always going to be this level of intense with him. The thought of true love was a funny thing; truly loving someone meant loving him or her in any way possible, no matter whatever thing your partner did....and that included, finding out he was a feared villain in the corrupt city of Gotham.
You loved him that way. And you couldn't have preferred him any other way – you adored him just the way he is, and you knew you'd be sticking by his side for a long time.
A possible ROTTMNT prompt. Something something, mystic or magic shenanigans, something something, whoops, the turtle squad is unable to lie until the effects wear off. Surely no problems will arise from this.
Oh come ON you know I can't resist this! And you know what's even worse? Part two is on the way XD There was too much I wanted to add for it to fit in a one-shot, so keep an eye out for that TT_TT
Here we go!
She can tell something is off the second she steps into the living room.
The boys are squished on the couch, Splinter's chair and the beanbag, arms folded and glaring eyes staring straight ahead. That's nothing new. She's walked in on brotherly spats worse than this, where they'll sit and watch a movie in silence until they eventually sort themselves out.
But nothing is playing, not even music. The Lair is hauntingly quiet. And the boys—
“What's with the duct tape?”
Four heads whirl to face her, their muffled answers intelligible through the silver tape slapped over their mouths.
She stares. God help her.
It's an exhausted but smiling Casey who comes to her rescue with a tray of drinks because he's an actual angel. “The guys got hit by a powerful truth spell while they were shopping in the Hidden City,” he explains, offering her a cup of herbal tea that smells amazing. “They accidentally pissed off a witch, so she cursed them. It'll wear off after seventy-two hours.”
April nearly spits her drink up. “Seventy-two—three days?!” She whirls on the boys. “What the hell did you guys do to get cursed that bad?!”
Leo, Raph and Mikey all glare at Donnie. Said turtle rolls his eyes and painstakingly peels off the tape, leaving a pale mark around his beak. He makes eye contact with April and says in one dead-toned breath:
“It was a witch from Witch Town who recognized me from the incident two years ago, and we got into a debate about magic to which I, reasonably and correctly, told her that I have finally embraced my mystic heritage and abilities and found a way to seamlessly blend technology and magic despite my earlier hang-ups, to which she, closed-minded bint that she was, told me that I was in gross violation of the 'Old Ways' and a walking, talking sin against everything they believed in over generations of Witch kind, to which I countered—!”
Leo tears off his gag. “He told her to shove her 'Old Ways' up her old ass and stick her old face in an old toilet full of old shit.”
April gapes at Donnie. Casey snorts in surprise and muffles his giggles in the crook of his elbow. Mikey's shoulders shake with repressed laughter, loud even through the tape. Raph looks tired.
“My god,” April groans. “Didn't y'all just get back from being turned into toddlers three weeks ago?”
Mikey abruptly stops laughing and rips off his tape with a yelp. “Yeah, literally in the last one-shot, which turned into a two-shot because y'all couldn't get your crap together fast enough, and I swear to god I love you guys a whole lot, but the author was out for blood, and I was at my limit—!”
Raph gives in and tears his tape off without wincing. “Michel, what did we say about breaking the fourth wall?”
“He wouldn't have to if it weren't for this stupid freaking spell,” Leo snaps, glaring at Donnie. “And he has every right to be pissed off, given this whole thing is your fault, Donnie!”
Donnie rears back, slapping Leo's pointing finger away. “How, pray tell, is it my fault that witch couldn't handle being wrong?”
“What? I finally give in to the mystic powers thing, and I still get put on blast? How is that fair?!” Donnie cries, arms flailing. “Also shouldn't I reserve the right to stand up against bullies or abusive speech because that bitch was out of line, and I am tired, tired I tell you, of being the butt of every joke and having to take it in because people get all uncomfortable and—!”
He slaps the tape back over his beak and sinks into the couch, arms folded tight across his chest. His brothers look at him with wide eyes. Casey shuffles in place and bites his lip, looking at April as if asking for help.
Unlucky for him, April has no answers. Except for maybe one.
“Look, guys,” she says, setting her lukewarm tea on the floor and taking a seat in front of the couch, facing the turtles. Casey joins her and sits cross-legged. “There's no point in muting yourselves because clearly, it ain't workin'. From what it looks like, the spell compels you to talk no matter what you do, so you might as well ride it out and try—emphasis on try—to be civil about it. Who's right and wrong doesn't matter. It's done, so let's deal with it like we always do and push through, okay?”
The boys share a look followed by a chorus of half-hearted agreement. April nods. “Good. Thank you.”
“And hey,” Mikey says, perking up, “maybe this won't be so bad after all! We can all finally have an open, honest and unfiltered conversation about our feelings!”
A cricket chirps in the silence until Leo flicks it off his shoulder.
Mikey sighs and flops back into the beanbag. “Yeah, figured. It kinda sucks being the youngest and the family therapist all time, like I don't got my own hang-ups that nobody listens to 'cause my family is full of emotionally constipated oh frick!”
He shoots to his feet and sprints out of the room. His brothers stare after him with looks that wage war between shock and actual heartbreak.
April drops her face into her free hand and groans. This is gonna be a long three days.
Day One goes about as smoothly as April expects.
Against her better judgment, April decides to stay over until the spell wears off, ready to help Casey and Splinter play referee and peacekeeper for whatever crap storm rolls in on the horizon. With four freshly traumatized teenagers stuck under the same roof (or abandoned subway tunnel) for three days, April wagers it'll be rough.
Still, April has hope. Her boys, at their core, are the kindest and most loving people she's ever had the pleasure to know and have the honour of calling her little brothers. Their love for each other is the stuff of legend; their powers are fuelled by it, and they'd defeated Gods and alien monsters with it. A simple spell should be a cakewalk.
But she forgets that while her boys love each other, they're still boys. Of course they'd abuse the spell for their own gain.
It starts out innocently enough:
“Hey, Donnie, any idea why the pop-tarts are always kinda soggy and never have any icing?”
“I like the icing off and put them back in the box—son of a—”
“I KNEW IT!”
“Raphael, how is your eye today?”
“Really freaking itchy since I ran outta those drops you gave me, but I haven't said anything 'cause I thought I'd be totally okay without-- Donnie—!”
“Ayo, who ate the last slice of cake I was saving?!”
“It was Leo! He threatened me with an emotionally heartfelt truth to not tell you despite knowing the terms of the spell would render that promise ineffectual!”
“Donald, you absolute rat bastard—”
“How are your hands today, Miguel?”
“Take off the duct tape you fatherless waste of flesh and face your demise like a man.”
“OW! That freakin' hurt, man! And for one, we have two fathers, and for two, I said they're fine! I've been doin' the exercises like you said and checked in with Draxum last weekend to take notes on my mystic energy output, which is stable, thanking you very much.”
“... oh. That's—good. Thank you for actually listening to me, Mikey. Your health and overall well-being mean a lot to me, and I appreciate—”
“And I spilt orange juice on your bazooka blueprints on purpose, but I hoped to tell you later that it was an accident because I hate it when you make crazy dangerous weapons we will never use or let you use—Donnie, where did you get that bat--?”
“Batter up bitch it's time to die!”
“Leo, I swear to Pizza Supreme in the sky if you poke me one more time—”
“What? Whatcha gonna do? Can't do jack, 'cause you can't threaten me, all your threats are lies, Dontron, you ain't got nothin—criss on a cross did you stab me with a knife?!”
“I did not stab you, I poked you in the arm with minimal pressure with the wrong side of my craft knife. And I said it, so it is definitely the truth.”
“Dude, what the hell? I can't believe you actually did that!”
“I can't believe your tits are one polygon.”
“We're turtles! We have no tits!”
(Granted, hearing Leo scream that from across the Lair was hilarious. Donnie probably has it recorded, too.)
Aside from that, the newly dubbed Peace Squad only had to break up one major fight over Raph confessing to Mikey that he did lie about the trash monster that would eat him in his sleep. Dr Delicate Touch is a force to be reconned with.
Thus, Day One ends with only a few bruises and half-glares as the boys turn in early. Raph abuses the spell one last time to muscle Donnie into bed when the soft shell is forced to tell Raph outright that he had no plans to sleep, spending the night in the lab until he can't see straight.
Leo laughs so hard he cries when Raph slam-dunks his twin into bed, killing him instantly.
Splinter collapses into his chair, snoring immediately, and April and Casey retire to the guest room they share on the opposite side of the lair. The pair share a fist bump on a job well done and fall asleep in minutes.
Then Day Two happens.
And really, April should have seen this coming.
You can only take something so far until somebody calls you out for it. And Leo, being Leo, milks the spell for all he can.
It's mostly over silly things, like where Donnie had hidden the videos and photos Mikey took during their week as tots or where Raph keeps his stash of strawberry mochi. Or why Mikey keeps stealing his axe body spray.
In hindsight, April should have nipped it in the bud as soon as she noticed. It really was just fun and games, because that's how Leo copes with stress: make a game out of it, and hopefully, someone laughs. Even if they don't, their focus is on him acting a fool and not their stressful predicament. A spark of genuis April hadn't appreciated until it was nearly too late.
But still, Leo doesn't know when to stop, and it's Donnie who finally snaps.
And lord, does he snap.
“Dear god, Leon, shut the HELL UP!”
Leo's grin slips right off his face. The room falls into a startled hush, all eyes on the twins as one glares daggers of frustration into the other. Even Splinter looks troubled, golden eyes darting between his middle children from his comfy chair.
The slider raises his hands in mock surrender, trying for a smile. “Hey, take it easy, Dee, I'm just playing around—”
“No, you're being an insufferable prick, and I have had enough!” Donnie stamps his foot, and oh, dammit. The bottle has been shaken hard enough, and the cap's blown off. “It's bad enough that we're stuck under this stupid spell, and sure, I'll take responsibility for that, whatever, but you—Leo, god, you just cannot help yourself, can you? You just have to take advantage of a compelling spell that we cannot break or force down—do you realize how invasive that is?! We're brothers, but sometimes I like keeping my private thoughts private, and not sharing passwords for my super-secret-locked-for-a-reason digital vaults! This isn't funny, Leo, it's a goddamn nightmare, and you're making it worse for the rest of us with your bouts of incorrigible stupidity! Tee-ell-dee-arr: stop being a selfish asshole, and for once, in your goddamn life, just. Be. QUIET!”
Silence. Leo's eyes are wide. Mikey huddles behind Raph, hands over his mouth. Raph's beak twists with pain. Casey shuffles next to Splinter, unsure. April's heart thunders in her ears.
Then Leo scowls.
“Okay,” he says in that tone, and April hisses a curse. “Okay. Y'know what, that's cool, Dee. I get it. I can be an asshole, I'll take that. I've been abusing the spell a bit, I can take that, too. But, and I'm just putting this out there, you may recall how you've been doing the exact same thing to us. Badgering Mikey and Raph about their injuries, forcing me to own up about my nightmares last night—you don't think that maybe, just maybe, there's a reason I don't like talking about that shit? Maybe I wanna keep that information to myself until I'm ready to talk about it with you on my own terms? Don't put me on blast for being a dick if you're pulling the same moves!”
“Correction one,” Donnie holds up a finger and steps forward, eyes blazing. “I ask Mikey and Raph because I worry about them, and I know they'll keep it from me until it becomes too much to handle, and it goes from a mild annoyance that's treatable to a medical emergency that puts them in the medbay! Correction two,” He holds up another finger, “I asked you about your nightmares because they're hurting you now in more ways than just mentally or emotionally and I'm trying to help you, you selfish, prideful—!”
“Selfish?!” Leo stomps the last few inches and butts his forehead against Donnie's, ignoring Raph and Mikey's pleas to stop. “Did you—did you seriously just call me selfish?! Sure I was an asshole at first, but everything I did that day and every day since is for you guys! Everything I've ever done has been for this family! How freaking dare you—!”
“You are selfish! Throwing yourself into danger, risking your life without thinking of the consequences or the people you're hurting when you leave them behind—!”
“Guys, please stop!” Mikey cries, eyes shining, hands trembling. “Just—it's been a long two days, I get it, but yelling at each other in this state is only gonna—”
“Butt out, Mikey,” Leo bites without looking away from Donnie. “No one asked you to play family therapist. Give it a freaking rest.”
Mikey flinches. The tears spill over.
“Leo!” April gasps several beats too late. Splinter's fur bristles as he hops out of his chair and approaches Mikey just as Casey puts his arms around his shaking shoulders.
“Leonardo,” Raph hisses, stomping over to the twins and breaking them apart. “Knock it off. Both of you. You're mad, everybody's mad and tired, I get it. But don't you dare take it out on Mikey. He's just trying to help—”
“Well, no one asked him to!” Leo throws his hands up. “Just like no one asked you to jump in and try to parent us like we're still little kids! We get it, you have Older Sister Syndrome and our Dad was barely around, which sprouted a whole can of worms called 'issues' that we pretend don't exist. Pick a different character trait and move on!”
Raph rears back as if Leo had hit him. Splinter freezes, guilt and heartbreak flashing in his eyes for a moment before he shuts them and squeezes Mikey's hand instead.
“What the actual shit, Nardo?!” Donnie cries, shoving Leo in the chest hard enough that the slider staggers back several feet. “What, now that someone's finally calling you out, you retaliate like a sore loser with verbal attacks?! Are we witnessing Leo's Lowest right now? Freaking wow, bravo, peak leadership right here, folks—”
“Shut up with the leader thing!” Leo hisses back, hands fluttering by his sides, claws peeking. “I never wanted to be the leader, I never asked for that responsibility the same way Raph didn't ask to be our second parent for the first few years of our lives! And, I'm sorry, 'verbal attacks?' Like your screw-up with the Witch isn't the whole reason we're even in this mess?! If you're supposed to be the 'smartest' I'd hate to see what dumb looks like you narcissistic, eggheaded weirdo!”
Donnie nearly knocks April over when he lunges at Leo with a scream, taking them both to the ground. It's a mess of brutal punches, kicks, bites, hissing, Raph shouting, Mikey crying and Splinter trying to pry the turtles off each other. April can't get close enough to help, and turtle bites are lethal enough on their own.
“At least I'm not tearing my brothers down or acting like a baby,” Donnie spits, grappling with Leo pinned underneath him. “Or hiding things from my family after I threw myself into a prison dimension with a monster and didn't think about how everyone might feel about that—!”
Leo knees Donnie in the gut, yanking on his mask tails as he rolls them over, pinning Donnie to the floor with his forearm across his chest, eyes wild, livid and bright with hurt. “At least I'm man enough to admit my faults, unlike my beloved twin who has to turn everything into a drama to prove he's the smartest—!”
“—and for the last freaking time, you are NOT MY TWIN! We cannot be twins, it is biologically impossible, we are different species, GET THAT THROUGH YOUR DUM-DUM HEAD—!”
“FINE! If you hate being my brother so bad, maybe you really would be better off if I'd died in the—!”
April doesn't think. Her mind goes white, and she leaps forward and slaps Leo across the face.
Leo careens off Donnie, who has gone stiff, eyes blown wide. The Lair goes deathly quiet for the third time, and April, chest heaving and eyes stinging, can't tell if because of what she did—why did I do that, god, I hit him, I hit my little brother—or what Leo dared to say.
April looks at her hand, sore and red from the blow. She looks up at Raph, Mikey and Casey, staring between her and the twins in raw shock and, in Mikey's case, horror. She looks at Splinter, carefully helping Donnie to sit up with clawed hands that shake. She looks at Leo, slumped on the floor, cupping his swelling cheek, staring at her with wet eyes. His nose is bleeding.
“Leo,” April breaks the silence, her words choked, a hand reaching out for the slider. He flinches, and she yanks her hand back to her chest. Her eyes sting, lips trembling. “I'm—I'm so sorry, I didn't mean—I'm, I'm so sorry—”
April sees the moment Leo shuts down. He sniffs, wiping the blood off his nose with his arm, and stumbles to his feet. He shrugs off Raph and Casey's supporting hands and doesn't look at any of them as he stalks away.
“Leonardo, where are you going?” Splinter calls. April's already broken heart lurches when, in a flash of blue, Leo summons his swords.
“Away,” Leo bites out. His shell is facing them, but April can hear the tears in his voice. “Best of luck with being the only middle kid, Donatello. I'm outta here.”
“No, no wait—!”
“Leo, please stop—!”
“My son, don't—!”
Another flash of brilliant blue and Leo is gone.
Part 2 Coming Soon...
(Feel free to send more requests.
Reblogs are very appreciated <3)
I headcannon that each realm has their own individual timestream and you access other realms through space-time portals. Hence why Lilith can go to a circus with Belphie and then visit her lover in 3,000 BC.
The portals in the Celestial Realm are typically natural in origin. While time passes on both sides, the portal keeps pace so if you spend 24 hours in one realm you are deposited 24 hours after you left the realm you return to.
Angels aren't necessarily cognizant that they are in different time periods because portals typically appear in different parts of the world and they don't look at maps enough to know that the Romans' Gallia and London's France are the same area at different times.
After Barbatos comes to be, the Devildom stops reying on natural portals and locks in on a point in the Celestial Realm's and human world's timestreams. Most natural portals are destroyed to prevent unexpected visitors. Only a handful of portals remain, either because their strength was greater than his or because there was some argument against destroying it.
Since there is less conscious use of magic in the human world, fewer portals manifest and they expire quickly. Legends of visiting the underworld are often inspired by portals to the Devildom that are long gone by the time MC is born. Teleportation magic is the preferred way of traveling by humans.
Interworld teleportation magic, including summoning, requires invoking or creating a portal.
Summoning calls on the demon's power to invoke a portal based on their end. It is relatively easy, but is one-way and requires the cooperation or overpowering of the one being summoned. High-powered demons subconsciously reject summonings and require extensive amounts of power to pull across worlds, hence why Lucifer is impressed by MC managing it.
"Classic" teleportation requires creating a portal yourself and used to be the default. It is harder and requires more power than summoning, hence why it was suggested that MC focus on learning to summon before teleportation.
After returning to the human world, MC ends up learning a newer type of teleportation, the "duct tape" version that allows them to invoke a portal that they have used before/been in the vicinity of. It is substantially easier, but more prone to mishaps because they have to perform a simultaneous secondary spell to teleport themselves to their desired location and requires the portal the spell was built around to still be connected to their place in the timestream.
Pure headcannon, but that's how I make sense of OM's timeline.
points aggressively at this!!! SEE THIS IS A COOL AND INTERESTING WAY OF THINKING ABOUT THINGS!!! i have such a love hate relationship with obey mes ambiguity because on the one hand it means players get to make their own explanations (like this really interesting one) but on the other it means that we cant use any solid info (because there is none) to further characterise and understand the world these characters live in!! i dont have much to expand on because you summarised this SO well and put into words a lot of things i struggled to in my previous reblog on the subject!!
ooohhh may I request blupjeans with 25 or 27 from the fluff prompts if you are still accepting!!!
both both both!!
25. "I've missed you so much!"
27. "You're crazy if you think I'm letting you sleep on the couch."
The moon is quiet in the absence of the Hunger. There's broken glass pretty much everywhere, leaving gaps in the domes that have hastily been repaired with spells and, in some cases, fantasy duct tape. A good few walls have crumbled and for the ones that are still standing, the doors have been busted through. But the power is still on, flickering as it may be. The elevators still work, making the end of the world seem a little more serene.
The Reclaimers' Dorm was one of the only places on the entire moon that didn't look completely destroyed. The furniture is crooked and all their plates are smashed from when the Hunger slammed into the quad, but most of the heavier things are still in place. The shower works. The doors are still on their hinges. It's a mess, but a self-imposed one.
By the time Barry got out of the shower, it seemed like half the employees of the Bureau were asleep in the living room. He didn't know the majority of these people, but Magnus was curled up next to a dragonborn, and Davenport was propped up against the couch with another gnome man, so he figured they were at least people he could trust. Angus, who Barry had met very briefly earlier, was underneath a thick quilt and burrowed into the side of an orc woman.
Barry took about two steps towards the living room before a haze of red blocked his path.
Today had been... wild. Absolutely fucking wild. He still wasn't quite used to having a body yet, but luckily no one saw him try to phase through the bathroom door on his way out. He had spent ten years waiting for this- waiting for the Hunger to come again, waiting for a gap in Lucretia's plan where he could slip in, waiting to see Lup again, and now that it was here, that everything was done? Barry... didn't know what to do with himself.
"Babe, you're crazy if you think I'm letting you sleep on the couch," Lup said, spectral hands laying themselves on his shoulders.
And Lup. She was here again, she had always been here, just a few feet away any time he saw Taako. Just barely out of reach.
"I don't really, uh, have a bed," Barry said.
"Yes, you do," Lup said, pushing on his shoulders to get him to turn around. He let himself be guided past the living room and down the hall. A few paintings had fallen down and he carefully stepped past them. They reached an open door and Barry poked his head in to see Taako. He wasn't asleep yet, but he looked exhausted.
"I- I don't wanna take your space-"
"Get in the fucking bed, Barold," Taako said.
"Getting in," Barry said, slipping further into the room. He took off his glasses, placing them on Taako's crooked bedside table, and then tucked himself in beside Taako. They barely fit together, but Barry really couldn't find it in him to mind. His skin felt a little prickly when Taako adjusted and brushed against his arm. When was the last time he had had a hug?
"Big day, huh?" Lup said. She was floating a little above them, though she just looked like a red blob now that Barry had taken his glasses off. Taako snorted.
"That's one way of putting it," he said. "I'm fuckin' zonked. I'm gonna sleep for days."
"Yeah, uhm. Same," Barry said. Lup let out a little laugh and if Taako relaxed a little next to him at the sound, Barry wasn't going to comment on it. He turned flat on his back, staring up towards Lup. Taako was facing the wall now.
"Light off?" Lup asked.
"Please don't," Barry said.
"Still scared of the dark?" Taako asked. "You fuckin'... lived in a cave for ten years, my dude."
"I had a nightlight," Barry said.
"Of course you did," Taako said.
They lapsed into silence and Barry let his eyes close. There was an awful ache all over his body. The shower had eased it some earlier, but now it was just pounding away at his bones. He tried to think about something else, about anything else, but it always came back to the throbbing underneath his skin. He had skin now. He was alive. Taako was here. Lup was here.
Barry opened his eyes as Taako shifted in his sleep, ending up half on top of him. The prickling cascaded into an uncomfortable feeling of burning, something hot bubbling just under his skin. Forget a hug, when was the last time someone had touched him that wasn't just a punch? Maybe when they had given him a healing potion after the gerblins? No one even mentioned that being a lich would make you touch-starved.
But he still got touch. Not a lot, but more than Lup had in the umbrastaff, alone for ten whole years-
"I missed you so much," Barry whispered. Lup turned in midair, looking down on him. She floated a bit closer, pressing a hand to his face. It didn't feel like anything. Barry's heart hurt a little bit in his chest.
"I missed you too," Lup said. "Every day."
"I never stopped looking for you," Barry said, feeling a growing lump in his throat. He tried to swallow, but it stayed. "Never."
"I know," Lup said. "I'm... I'm so sorry, babe, I-" she sighed and her form seemed to deflate with it. "I'm here now, okay? I know you were trying. You can rest now. I'm here."
"I love you," Barry said and Lup's form crackled, just a little bit. She brought her hood down to his face and Barry wished so badly that he could hold her for real, that he could kiss her again-
"I love you too, babe," she said. "Sleep."
"You'll be here in the morning?" Barry asked and Lup was nodding before he even got the whole question out.
"I'm never leaving you again," Lup said. "I promise." She swiped a ghostly finger over his cheek and Barry realized he was crying. He wiped it away himself. Again, she said, "I love you."
"I love you too," Barry said and closed his eyes again.
The Saturday Routine
@febuwhump Day 7: Made To Watch + @badthingshappenbingo Square Filled: Hiding An Injury (card attached at the end). Also, will post on ao3 later. EDIT: POSTED!
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale & Stiles Stilinski & Eli Stilinski-Hale
Tags: Hurt Derek Hale, Hurt Eli Stilinski-Hale, Blood, BAMF!Stiles, POV Eli Stilinski-Hale, Sheriff Stilinski Makes An Appearance, Attempt at Humor, Spark Stiles Stilinski, True Alpha Derek Hale, Fluff & Angst, Happy Ending
The last thing he clearly remembers is watching his dad laugh.
They were in the locker room of the high school, after-hours, joking around as they normally do on Saturdays. His dad is a trusted man, the Sheriff's consultant, and an overall loved Beacon Hills citizen. Which means that the Principal of the school — Ms. Natalie Martin — has allowed them to use the school grounds for practicing, even if he isn't good at playing lacrosse (yet, says dad's voice in his head).
This is all routine. Waking up early on Saturdays, getting ready and having breakfast, going to the school, practicing lacrosse there for hours, and only leaving when it's time for lunch. What isn't is this huge gap of memory, his head pounding, and his ears ringing.
And, most importantly, these ropes.
He can't even speak. His throat is dry, he needs to drink, he needs to remove these ropes from his wrists and most importantly, he needs to know his dad is okay.
He coughs to clear his throat. Once, twice. "Dad-"
"Shh," he hears through the ringing in his ears, and thank fuck, that's his dad. He is fine.
"Eli, please shut up."
He shuts his mouth with a clack of teeth. He tastes blood, but it's okay. At least he knows now, his dad is here, and he sounds fine. Right? Right.
But where is he? Where are they?
This certainly isn't the diner they frequent for Saturday lunches.
He would just open his eyes and check, but as it turns out, he has blindfolds on, too.
He's 99% this is the work of hunters.
Wait... he hears chanting.
"Is that fucking chanting?!"
"Eli!" His dad hisses, somewhere from his front, but it's too late. A door opens with a loud creak, and it's creepy enough, but then the one who opened it has to speak, too.
"Aha! You wolves are awake. Good. Very good."
Cliché witch dialogues. His tata was right — these villains are very predictable.
As he's wondering about his tata and what he would do to escape — WWTD (what would tata do) — he's suddenly moved from his position. It's good, because he was starting to cramp.
"Eli!" His dad is shouting behind him, and he wants to tell him something, anything, just to reassure him, but then the witch slams over a duct tape on his face.
He knows the taste of it because of his many, many spent evenings working on his tata's jeep.
"Quiet, baby wolf. You are required for your purity, not for your tongue. I will not hesitate to cut it."
"Mmmphh!" They really are after virgins! He really should invest some time in his love life at this point. Hell, it won't even be hard to convince his parents to let him date — he just needs to find someone who matches his energy.
He's shaken out of his thoughts when he realizes the chanting is growing louder.
There are more of them?
His dad must have realized this earlier, because he's cursing them and growling, his loud, Alpha roar not too far away. He knows because he's heard it loads of times, and it's always as mesmerizing as it is terrifying (his tata always smells disgustingly horny when it happens).
"Get the Alpha now. He's angry enough to fuel the spell."
He was just the bait.
His blindfolds are taken off the moment he's put into the cage, large and glinting silver under the sunlight coming from the open roof of the cave.
There are six witches, standing in a circle, wearing grey and blue robes. Their faces are hidden, but all have the same tattoo on their necks: pigs. Who the hell tattoos that?
His focus only stays on them for a minute, though, because just then his dad's being dragged through the only entrance by the seventh member. His dad is in chains and tattered clothes, and he's huffing in pain, growling at everyone until he sees him.
"Dad! What the hell did you do to him?!" He directs his question to the circle, who ignore him until his dad is in the centre of it, eyes locked on him.
It's like he doesn't even care about himself, as long as his kid is safe. Eli hates it.
He wants his dad to be okay!
"A wolf will fight tooth and nail for its cub," one of the witches says, and Eli snaps his eyes to her. She is smiling at him, a crooked, cruel smile. "And your father? He fought well. Like an Alpha should."
"He is poweful," another witch adds.
"And he will be useful to us." A third one intones, voice heavy with expectation.
"You will not hurt my dad—!"
His dad says at the same time, "I will help you, but on one condition."
The attention is shifted to his dad.
Eli knows exactly what his dad is going to say — he starts protesting, but no ears heed his words.
"Release Eli, and I will do as you ask. His safety, for whatever it is you want me to do."
The witches tsk, admire, appraise.
Eli waits for their answer.
He sighs in relief.
His dad tries to move, to attack, maybe, but he can't. He's on the ground before he can, and Eli has to crane his neck to see — it's a fucking taser. To the back.
"You said you wanted a virgin!" He shouts. And the attention is on him now, even his dad's, who is writhing with pain on the stone ground. "My dad is not one. Obviously. He's a gross adult who does those gross things with my tata, they always keep kissing, it's all very teenage horror. Don't ask." He waves his hands around as he keeps talking. "Me, on the other hand? I haven't been kissed." He's not proud of it, but he's only fifteen.
Sure, his tata met the love of his life at sixteen, but on the other hand? His dad met his one true love at the age of twenty-two, and even then it took them years to figure their shit out.
Eli has hope.
The witches cackle as one.
"Oh," one of them says, "how precious. Are they not, sisters?"
"They are." They all echo. Fucking creepy.
"They think we need only one of them. How optimistic of you."
He is not just the bait.
He locks his gaze on his dad's. They're both panicking.
Eli can do nothing but watch as his dad is made to stand on shaky legs, their eyes still locked with each other's. The witches have once again formed a circle, and his dad is in the middle of it, and Eli can't take his eyes away.
Not even when they slice his dad's shirt, remove it completely. Not even when they put a knife on his chest and stomach, carve three lines vertically downwards. Not even when his dad cries out in pain, mouthing "Leave! Escape!" every second of it, his eyes as scarlet as the blood coming out of him.
All he can do is watch and cry, his wrists still tied, his wolf still sheltered.
His dad is unconscious, now, and he's too far for Eli to check up on. The only sign he's alive is his weak heartbeat — Eli can hear it, even if faintly. He wishes he was a better wolf, but unfortunately he is not.
That is what happens when you're a magical tree baby, half of both your parents, somehow. He's hardly a wolf and not at all a spark.
He's 100% useless.
He's crying, because that's the only thing he can do.
He doesn't even kick up a fuss when they come for him, next.
They don't tear off his t-shirt; they pull it up, just start cutting into him. One single slash across his abdomen, like they did his dad's: First in the middle; from the middle of his pecs to his belly button. Then the left side, below his pec till the belly button, and same on the right side.
The knife is on his left side, just about to slash into him, when the witches' robes suddenly starts flying like there's a huge gust of wind.
Eli's t-shirt falls into place right as the witches fall on the ground.
It's him. Weilding his gun and anger.
"Nobody takes my boys," his tata growls, a very good impression of his dad's, and every single witch is done for now.
They go down like nasty flies his tata hates.
Eli doesn’t focus on the whole fight, though. He knee-walks towards his dad, checks his breathing just to be sure, and cringes when he sees the blood and injury on his stomach. Its healing, but slowly — they must have used wolfsbane on the knife.
"Take him out to the jeep!"
He does as his tata asked, puts his whole strength on saving his dad. He almost doesn't make it; his dad is too heavy, he can't, he can't pick him up, but his dad can die—
He's a fucking Stilinski-Hale and he can do this. He's the son of two of the strongest people and he believes he can save his dad.
On the fourth try, he's able to carry his dad bridal style. His tata is still fighting, three witches on him at once, the other four thrown against the cave's walls, but he knows he can handle himself.
Eli puts his dad on the backseat of the jeep, and he's just secured him when his tata comes out, quickly taking the driver's seat and telling him to sit as well so they can run to Lydia. There's no space left in the backseat, so he sits on the passenger seat.
"Are you hurt?"
"No." He lies. Dad is the priority, not him. "Tata, he's not healing,"
"Shh, baby, shh. Your daddy will be okay," his tata brings a hand to his face, the other on the steering wheel, and it comes away wet. He didn't even realize he was crying. "He'll be okay. Your dad is strong, and you know him, he never misses a game."
"Granpops and him have a watch party tomorrow," he reminds himself. They have never missed one. Ever.
"Yes. He'll never miss it. Okay, baby?"
He's hated being called baby ever since he was four. He loves it now.
"Okay." And then because he thinks this is the last he'll every say: "I love you both. Sooooo much."
When he wakes up, his head is pounding, and he hears screaming.
It's his tata. And he's not yelling as so much as... venting.
"That dumbass kid didn't even tell me he had an injury! And not just any injury, a frockin' slash! Through his abdomen!"
His granpop's laugh. The belly laugh.
"It's not frockin' funny! Dad!"
"You did it again!" What did tata do again?
"I— your grandchild could have died and you are focused on your son saying made-up bad words? Seriously?" Eli imagines his tata throwing his hands up, and the fond smile that graces his dad's face when he does. He and grandpops generally just leave them alone at that point, because after that it's just a toin coss away from a make-out session or full-on sex.
"Kid, I had you as a teen. This doesn't even phase me anymore. He'll be fine, he's a strong kid."
Pause. Then: "He is. He is totally Derek's kid."
"And yours, Stiles."
"Nope," it sounds like he's aggressively cleaning dishes, a plate grating under his harsh hands, "today he's just Derek's kid. How the fuck — yes, dad, be proud of me for using actual cuss words, why not — they got kidnapped off of the school grounds when he's an Alpha, a True Alpha, and now they're both pretending to not be awake to postpone my wrath." Oh, so his dad's fine now. "And they're both wondering if the other is okay or not. Der, your kid is alive, and Eli, your dad is fine."
"That tone means trouble," his grandpops says, unnecessarily.
"Thanks for stating the obvious!" Eli shouts, and he hears his dad saying the same, and then they're both groaning, probably due to the stitches being pulled. Though his dad groans louder.
"Wow. You really know them."
"I just know your favorite son-in-law. His kid's literally just the same."
"Hey, now, you know Eli is your carbon copy."
Eli lets the conversation wash over him, the familiar sounds lulling him into sleep, right until he hears his name and being a Spark in the same sentence.
"...saw his eyes, they were purple."
"This was when he picked up Derek?"
"Yeah. It was so cool. His eyes then turned beta yellow."
His tata hums, and then it's silent.
Eli wants to know more.
He gets up from his bed, careful with his injury, and realizes with a start — this is his bedroom, on the second floor, and his tata and grandpops are clearly on the first floor, in the kitchen.
He's running at full speed right until he hits the landing of the stairs and bumps shoulders with his dad, who was doing the same.
They both groan as their stitches once again complain.
"Told you!" His tata shouts over them groaning in pain.
"How?" Eli mouths to his dad. He didn't hear anything.
"Notepad," his dad mouths back.
"Notepad!" His tata shouts from below at the same time.
"Okay, wow, you really do know us well."
"Kid, don't be so surprised," Grandpops says, and then, "Your tata is a Stilinski. And you are half Stilinski too. We do amazing things."
"Yeah," his dad says softly. Louder, "You three are amazing. Though, I have to say Stiles is something else entirely."
"No buttering me up will work! And no bribes either, house chores or... other means!"
Eli shudders. "Ew."
His dad gives him a look.
Grandpop calls out a greeting. "And that's my cue to leave. Stiles, leave Derek alive for tomorrow's game. We have never missed one and we won't be starting now. And don't be too hard on Eli, remember he's my favorite grandchild."
"I'm your only- okay, when will me shouting and groaning combo will end?"
"No promises, dad. And you two, don't you dare think of hiding out in your rooms."
The two of them walk downstairs, and even though he and his dad share a look of solidarity, they know they're no match against one Stiles Stilinski-Hale.
At least they're given smiley-pancakes after they have been thoroughly reamed (and hugged a million times).
* END *
my bad things happen bingo card —
Cassie on Crack presents:
THE NERF WAR
A/N: While I write part three of Rational Thinking, have this headcanon. Why? Because it's healthy to write absolute crack every once in a while. Here lies my Masterlist.
Head shot = you're out.
Leg shot, arm shot, chest shot, and back shot = Target joins shooter's team. (E.X: Hayley hits Marcel's arm, Marcel joins Hayley's team.)
Gut shot = Target has 10 minutes to take out as many players as possible. Gut shot enemies CANNOT be killed during this time, but die after their 10 minutes is up. If a team leader is the target of a gut shot, their team is disbanded and it's once again every man for himself.
Weapons and Ammo are hidden throughout the compound/mansion. Obtainment of weapons and ammo is up to each player. No freebies. Hiding one's own weapons and ammo stashe is completely legal.
If a team leader is killed or shot onto another team, their previous team is disbanded and the members thereof return to free for all combat.
Butt and groin shots are cheap... and absolutely legal.
Any magical modifications to any weapon is strictly BANNED. That means no homing rounds, no cloaked stashes, and no silencing charms. (We're looking at you, Freya.)
For those without enhanced senses, perception altering charms are legal, however such magic can only be used to dull footsteps, breathing, and heartbeat. NO SILENT RELOADS.
Rule breakers are out and forced to observe for the rest of the round and the next three games.
The last player or team standing wins!
How it Starts:
In an alternate universe where everyone is alive and happy, the birth of Hope Mikaelson inspires the whole family to do better when it comes to petty disputes. This decision brings about a new Mikaelson Family tradition... THE NERF WAR...
A war can be started at any time and they can last for days. (The longest was two weeks and where Klaus was hiding that entire time remains unknown.)
The cause can vary from a serious argument to an off-handed insult. Really, it just depends how close the nearest weapon is to whomever is involved.
This particular time, Rebekah tosses a snide remark at Kol - something about being the pop-tart hog - then suddenly Kol is reaching under the table. The sound of duct tape ripping pierces the air and a loud click rings out across the compound. Rebekah cries out, holding a hand to her cheek as a little yellow sphere rolls across the table. Kol grins.
THE WAR HAS BEGUN.
The lights go out and everyone scatters, some breakfasts remain on the table - unfinished though they may be - while others seemingly disappear as fast as their respective owners.
A teenage Hope, more than sick of losing to various family members, murmurs a quick spell to dull her footsteps and breathing before rushing to the kitchen.
There, atop the cabinets she has previously hidden a Nerf bolt-action sniper rifle and six packs of ammo.
She reasons this should be enough to get her through the first hour or so for she has grown up learning her family's strategies and now plans to use their strengths against them.
Hayley finds her daughter first.
The unsired hybrid is dangerous as she's rather unpredictable. She's smart and her aim is fantastic. She is NOT to be underestimated.
"You're exposed, Hope-ers," Hayley's voice calls out from the darkness, just beyond the kitchen doorway.
Hope dives behind the kitchen island as a foam dart whizzes past her left ear. She bites her lip to contain a laugh as she shoves her first clip into her rifle.
"Didn't think you'd be coming so soon," Hope replies, inching her way to peak around the corner. She sees a dark silhouette outlined against the door frame and peaks her gun out just slightly to aim.
"Think again!" Hayley says with a chuckle.
Two more darts fly past the kitchen island, one just a hairsbreadth away from Hope's hand wrapped around the handle of her rifle.
Knowing she has little chance if she doesn't act now, Hope empties her clip as fast as she can.
Two of the rounds tag her mother in the bicep and Hayley steps out from the corner with her hands up - she's holding a post-apocalyptic lookin' thing with four revolving barrels and a slide-action reload.
"Guess you're on my team now." Hope smirks proudly, standing up from behind the island.
Hayley hugs her daughter, pressing a kiss to the teenager's forehead.
"Guess you're right."
Both take a moment to retrieve their ammo before cautiously leaving the kitchen and moving into the lower floor sitting room.
"So who should we go for first?" Hope asks in hardly a whisper - talking any louder would draw more attention then they can currently handle. She knows teams are already forming and the mother daughter duo is unlikely to last long if their numbers remain as they are.
"Aww... My baby's all grown up and plotting world domination! I'm so proud!" Hayley snickers.
Hope rolls her eyes. "Thanks mom."
"Any time, princess. Anyway, we should definitely go for Elijah. We don't want that absolute monster of a drum sneaking up behind us. I think he'll probably still be in the attic by now," Hayley hisses back, checking behind an armchair for any hidden assailants.
Elijah is the strategic one of the family; he goes floor by floor and room by room, mowing down anyone who happens to fall into his path with the biggest gun the world has ever seen. Sacrificing accuracy for sheer firepower, Elijah's weapon bears more than one hundred rounds on its own. Not to mention the various slings and bags worth of extra ammo he straps to his person at the beginning of every game. Suppression Fire is Elijah's M.O.
"Okay." Hope nods, passing by the old dumbwaiter hatch beside the bookcase.
No one's used it in years, of course... At least, that's what a very certain someone wants the family to think.
Hope smirks and waves at Hayley who regards her with a questioning look. The girl presses a finger to her lips and points at the dumb waiter shaft. She carefully tip-toes over to it and wraps her hand around the handle. Hayley nods in understanding and raises her weapon. Hope begins mouthing a count down. 3...2...1
She throws the shudder open and Hayley opens fire, Hope joining in a second later. A voice cries out in surprise from inside the shaft as mother and daughter pummel the poor sod with round after round of foam darts. There is no mercy from them.
"Alright! Alright! You've got me! I yield!"
The family likes to refer to Hope as their miracle, but the real miracle is how her father manages to jam almost six feet worth of Original Hybrid into that miniscule dumbwaiter shaft.
Positioned in there like a spider lying in wait with his arms and legs curled up to protect his face, Klaus spends the next minute or so grumbling under his breath as he somehow dislodges himself from his hiding spot.
"One of you hit my knee first," He admits, brushing off his jacket.
"Thanks for the easy win, dad!" Hope grins.
Klaus opens his mouth to object, but Hayley shoots his arm.
"Bloody hell, what was that for? I'm already on your team!"
"That was for being a camper." Hayley smirks.
That's right, Klaus Mikaelson the big bad Original Hybrid is a camper. He's always preferred to wait for his enemies to come to him and, in all fairness, his tactic is extremely effective. He wins a majority of games simply by outlasting other players. But he'll always emerge and pounce when there's only a few players left. He also keeps an enormous stash with him wherever he's hiding.
"Fork it over, Klaus," Hayley says. He rolls his eyes and reaches back into the elevator shaft, drawing forth a huge sack of darts, guns, and even a few snacks.
"Santa Klaus," Hope mutters. Her father shoots her a scathing look.
"How'd you find me anyway?" He demands, swapping his rival pistol for a tri-shot weapon that looks suspiciously like a Winchester rifle.
"Well I know you have like 8 hiding spots that you rotate every game - this is the only one I've found, though." Hope says with a shrug. Klaus' expression softens.
"Clever girl." He nods. Hope smiles.
Moving on from the sitting room, the trio hope to find a safe path to the attic.
"Status report?" Hayley whispers.
No matter where he chooses to hide, Klaus - paranoid genius that he is - always finds a way to keep track of team compositions.
"No one's had the guts to confront Elijah yet, so he's still alone which means Marcel can't be far behind. Though, I believe he's on his own as well," Klaus says.
Predictable as his tactics might be, Elijah has never been beaten by any other family member on their own.
What Elijah doesn't know, however, is that Marcel tends to follow him as he clears each room, eventually picking one to hunker down in. He then proceeds to camp with almost the effectiveness of Klaus.
The Hybrid continues-
"I do believe Keelin has managed to locate her custom bow as she has shot Freya onto her team. Freya then shot Cami in the face, so she's out of the game."
Keelin's modified bow is the bane of just about everyone's existence as it is a legal silent-load weapon. She's customized it with a more durable string and a higher draw weight, giving it greater accuracy and range. It also hurts like a mother.
Freya typically uses a semi-auto Rival assult rifle. She's a scavenger when it comes to ammo, preferring to fill her weapon with the darts other players have been foolish enough to leave behind.
Freya's solo tactic is to go straight for the kill regardless of who she's facing, while Keelin prefers to build a small team - three people at most. (That way there's fewer people to deal with should she be shot onto another team.) When the two of them team up, they are queens of the corner rooms, using any and all entrances as extremely effective ambush points.
Poor Camille has yet to win a Nerf War. She tries to use the hallways as choke points but her aim just isn't the best. Although, she is excellent at turning on her former teammates should she be shot onto another team. Her skills of escaping are unparalleled. She's also the family's best cheerleader when she gets 'killed' early on.
"As usual, no one's heard from Finn," Klaus tells with an annoyed eye-roll.
Finn practically invented the term 'silent as the grave'. No one hears him coming. Ever. Preferring foam knives, axes and swords to guns, he hides out in the darkness of the basement/dungeon, waiting for a brave wanderer to enter his domain. Although he despises being a vampire, he's learned that his undead state is not without it's advantages, such as not needing to breathe. The man will actually stop his heart and hold his breath for however long is needed in order to lull other players into a false sense of security before silently slipping out to slit their throats or stab them in the back. He's won his fair share of games this way. Oh, and his knives, axes, and swords are weighted accurately to their more lethal counterparts.
Unfortunately, Finn's not that great of a team player. He does his best work from the shadows and tends to get knocked out pretty quick otherwise. He and Cami have had some pretty fantastic conversations from the sidelines.
"Rebekah is once again queen of the courtyard," Klaus reports. There's a simultaneous groan from his other two team mates.
Despite other family members casual use of long range rifles, the youngest Mikaelson sibling is the only true sniper of the bunch.
Rebekah's infamous use of sniper rifles has won her quite a few games, though more often than not it ends up being spectacularly annoying. The blonde's favorite spot is lying prone on the actual roof, looking down over the courtyard. Her aim is impeccable and she will not hesitate to shoot her brothers out. However, Marcel and any female who happens to wander into her line of sight can just as well count themselves as the newest member of her team.
So far, Keelin and Kol are the only ones who have managed to shoot her down from that position.
Although, Rebekah does have the unfortunate tendency to underestimate the amount of ammo necessary for some of the longer games. She's most vulnerable when she ventures down from the roof to restock on ammunition. That's when other players or teams usually wait to ambush her.
"And to everyone's great surprise, Kol has allowed Davina to shoot him onto her team for the sixtieth time in a row," Klaus finishes with a grimace.
See, those two are tricky.
Davina has somehow mastered just about every Nerf weapon ever made. She'll carry several on her person and will not hesitate to switch between them at any time. Her unpredictability makes her a tough adversary to fight as she roams the maze of hallways and staircases that make up the compound's second floor.
Davina's default weapon choice for her patrol is a double barreled shotgun paired with a foam knife. Though her small stature makes for something of a disadvantage against the actual mountains of Viking that are the Mikaelson boys, it should be noted that she can and will tackle and slit the throats of anyone and everyone who crosses her path.
Kol, on the other hand, has mastered the art of being an absolute nuisance. His primary weapon is a four barreled pistol that can split into two separate pistols on command. He's the third best shot in the family and the king of dual-weilding. The variable arsenal he packs on his body is also annoying, not to mention the Nerf gatling gun he keeps strapped to his back in case of emergencies. Whether it be hiding under the main stairway or dropping down from the ceiling of a seemingly empty room, the guy is always bringing some weird new strategy to the table. More on his insane tactics later.
On their own, the witch and former witch are extremely dangerous. But together? It's a well known fact that, these two are absolutely deadly.
Kol and Davina are undisputed masters of the Sword and Shield technique. They have used it to single-handedly win dozens of games.
Back when the Nerf Wars first started, Kol managed to obtain a S.W.A.T Riot Shield. You know, those huge full body ones? Yeah. One of those. No one wants to know exactly how he got it. He holds the shield with one hand, and uses that four barreled pistol with the other. Davina stands between him and the shield, either weilding two hammer-load pistols or a fully automatic assault rifle. Together they roam the halls mowing down anyone they can find.
However, this tactic leaves them extremely vulnerable from the back and slightly weak from the sides. During a particularly long and competitive game, Finn successfully snuck up behind the two. He threw Kol to the floor and stabbed him in the back no less than twelve times before throwing a knife at Davina's head. Kol and Finn on one team was nothing short of disastrous.
Now if Kol gets separated from Davina, then things really get interesting. Kol will intentionally try to get himself shot in the gut.
He's affectionately dubbed this tactic: BERSERKER MODE.
This is when the gatling gun comes out. Within the next ten minutes the best chance any other players have to survive is simply to find the best hiding spot they can and stay as quiet as possible. He'll gladly go about slaughtering as many players as he can find, all while singing Fulsome Prison Blues.
"That's just spectacular," Hope complains softly. "Do you think they'll go for Marcel or Rebekah next?"
"Definitely Rebekah. With Kol and Marcel on a team, they'll lose any element of surprise," Hayley snorts.
On their way up to intercept Elijah, the trio encounter Freya and Keelin in the second floor study.
Hope ducks and scrambles back as Hayley dives forward and rolls behind a couch. Klaus rushes in and takes cover behind the desk, standing up every now and then to open fire on Freya and Keelin who move to flank Hayley. Freya turns to shoot Klaus but misses and in the split second it takes her to reload, Hope pokes her gun out from the doorway and hits Freya square in the jaw.
"I'm out!" She declares, raising her hands and stepping aside.
Klaus grins and makes eye contact with Hayley, together they hop up and pepper Keelin with darts.
"Ha! That's a gut shot!" She cries out a second later.
"Oh, bloody hell..." Klaus and Hayley are out of there faster than Freya can cheer. "Hope, run!"
Luckily, the wolf has to gather her foam arrows before she can go after them so that gives the trio some time. They rush through the rooms of the upper floor, not really caring who they might alert to their presence. Barring themselves in the library, they take a moment for Hope to catch her breath.
They chose the wrong room.
There's a loud whirring noise just before a spray of yellow Rival rounds attacks Hope's legs. She jumps in surprise and dives to hide behind a book case. Her other team members follow her example.
"You guys just missed Elijah," Marcel's lazy New Orleans accent draws from his hiding spot. He's taken a page out of Rebekah's book it seems, laying prone atop a bookshelf. Hope wonders how he managed to climb up there without attracting notice.
"Yeah, well we were a little bit busy running for our lives!" Hayley exclaims. "Keelin's been gut shot-ed."
Marcel's chuckle trails off into a mutter. "That's gonna be a pain..." He's absolutely right.
"Come now, Marcellus. It's three against one, the odds aren't exactly in your favor," Klaus reasons. "You should just surrender now."
"Not a chance!" Another barrage rains down over Klaus who grins as the rounds fly by him, missing by inches.
Without warning, Hayley makes a mad dash for the center of the room and jumps onto a table, giving her the extra height needed to nail Marcel in the forearm.
He lets lose a string of curses and climbs down, like a grumpy, six foot Rapunzel descending from a very unsteady tower. The bookshelf nearly topples on him during his dismount.
"Alright, so aside from a gut-shot Keelin, who are we up against?" He asks as he picks up as many of his discarded rounds as he can find.
Hope counts off on her fingers. "Freya and Cami are out. Davina and Kol are a team - shocker, I know - but that leaves Elijah, Rebekah, and Finn on their own."
"Sounds like fun." Marcel grins and cocks his gun, fully loaded once more. "Elijah's in the billiard room, if we hurry, we should be able to catch him before he reaches the lounge."
"Yeah, I'm totally with Davina on the whole 'you guys live in the Clue mansion' thing," Hayley huffs.
They stop in the hall just outside the billiard room. There are no volunteers to enter first.
"Uncle Elijah, we have you out-numbered and out-gunned!" Hope announces, pressing her shoulder against the door frame. "Surrender willingly, or die a painful death - the choice is yours!"
"Are you sure about that, little one?" Elijah questions. "Because, from where I'm standing, the odds of any member of your team subduing me before I take out any number of you seems rather low. Out-numbered... Perhaps. Out-gunned... I think not." He sounded extremely smug. "Oh, and hello Hayley."
"Hi, Elijah," Hayley tosses back.
Klaus sighs dramatically before sharing a glance with Hope. "Tell my story," He says.
Klaus throws himself through the doorway, catching Elijah just slightly off-guard. He fires, but misses and is met with a shower of foam darts. He cries out and staggers back as Marcel pokes just his gun around the corner and shoots blind.
"That was an incredibly lucky shot," Elijah observes.
Hope peaks around the corner to see just what had happened. Elijah had apparently flipped the billiard table on its side to use for cover with only his gun resting on his leg sticking out from behind it. Marcel had hit him in the leg. Lucky shot indeed.
"And that was my eye, Elijah," Klaus bites back, rubbing at the injury.
"I do believe that removes you from combat, brother." Elijah smirks, hoisting his enormous gun over his shoulder. Klaus glares at him.
"Cocktails for the loser squad!" Cami's voice calls from downstairs. That seems to lighten the hybrid's mood.
"Ah, now there's a party I can get into." He walks off pretty quickly after that.
Elijah doesn't bother to collect his expended ammunition. He's got more than enough. "Where to next?"
All other eyes turn to Hope.
She shrugs. "I dunno, I didn't really expect to make it this far."
"Oh, that's a shame; you were doing so well."
Everyone turns just in time to see Elijah's head get 'lopped off' by a foam axe. Standing behind him is Finn, armed with a foam sword, an axe, several knives strapped to various places, and another axe slung across his back. He's ventured from the basement and is grinning like a mad man.
Elijah chuckles and follows after Klaus.
"So, who's next?" Finn asks. He throws the axe in his hand and it hits Marcel square in the chest and he immediately turns to shoot Hayley who yelps and dives for cover.
But before Marcel can fire a shot, a loud snap rings out from behind Finn. A rubber tipped arrow sails into the back of his head and he hisses in pain, glancing over his shoulder to see Keelin and her bow at the end of the hall.
"I'm back, suckers!" She laughs.
Finn sighs and walks away, grumbling about how he actually had a chance this time.
Hope is quick to shoot Marcel back onto her team.
"Gahh Dayum!" He complains. "Again? Really?"
"You better believe it." Hope grins though her face falls when she sees Keelin barreling towards them. "Yeah, time to go!"
At this point, however, they find themselves cut off. With nowhere else to run, aside from trapping themselves in the lounge, they're forced to risk an unprotected dash across the courtyard. It's a long distance to cross - even longer when they know there's a sniper waiting to rain fire on them. They make their break for the stairs anyway, skipping down the steps two at a time.
Exposed as they are, they dash across the length of the courtyard, aiming for the formal dining room.
"Anyone care to notice the lack of darts whizzing by our heads right about now?" Hayley points out as she and Marcel push the sliding doors shut.
Hope blinks, tallying up the fallen players in her head. "Wait, that means..."
Cami, Freya, Klaus, Elijah, Finn...
"Kol and Dee have Bekah." Marcel nods shrugging. "That's it, we're screwed."
"No, we're not!" Hayley smacks his arm.
"Either way, Keelin's got one minute 'till she's dead," Hope offers, trying to be helpful.
"Which means, we gotta be outta here by then 'cuz five bucks says those three musketeers are right on Keelin's tail... Which is probably where they've been this whole time!" Marcel groans, shaking his head. "Have I ever told you guys how much I hate Kol?"
"Only every other day." Hope smirks.
"He's a damn snake," Marcel rants. "Hiding right behind the most dangerous player until she's out of time? What a lousy move."
"You're just jealous you didn't think of it," Hayley says.
"I am not!" He protests. "See, I have better ideas, such as using the servant's passages to get outta here."
With time running out, Marcel's idea is the one they end up going with. The servant's passage leads them back to the kitchen, right where they first started.
From the kitchen stretches two hallways, one of which leads to the lower floor sitting room, while the other leads to a foyer-type space. As the trio emerges into the kitchen, they catch wind of voices drifting from the second hallway.
"Really feeling the sibling love here, Kol." That voice belongs to Rebekah and she doesn't sound too happy.
"I bet you are, sister," Kol hums, smug as a bug.
"Why do I have to be cannon fodder?" She whines.
"Because you're lucky!" Davina chimes in.
Hope waves what remains of her team forward. Once in the foyer-like space, they take up positions on opposite sides of the room, hoping to catch the other team in a crossfire.
A moment later, Rebekah appears from a side hall. She's armed with a Rival pistol, her sniper rifle is slung over her back.
"Well I haven't been shot yet, so I guess that means this room's clear," Rebekah huffs a moment later. She takes a few steps further into their trap.
Behind her, Davina steps out, full-auto machine gun in hand, and hair tied up in a ponytail. She's followed by Kol with that riot shield on one arm and his pistol in single-hand configuration.
"I dunno, Bex," Kol says. "I smell a trap."
Rebekah turns on her heel to stare at him, raising a brow. "You've said that in literally every room we've been in."
"Yeah, well which one of us hasn't gotten shot?" He quips.
"Me." Davina smirks and Kol opens his mouth to reply but closes it a second later.
From the way the three of them have positioned themselves in the room, only Marcel has a feasible shot at any of them. Hope sends him a meaningful look and he just winks.
Throwing away any and all chance at a surprise attack, Marcel steps out from behind his pillar with a lazy grin spread across his face.
He opens fire, and as for what follows...
Kol swears loudly as he moves to shield Davina and poor Rebekah is left to fend for herself. She dives behind a couch and turns her aim on Marcel. Kol and Davina also fire on him and he just manages to duck back behind the pillar to avoid being hit.
Just as Marcel takes cover, Hope and her mother move in for the attack. It's a pincer maneuver - the one thing Kol and Davina's sword and shield tactic can't handle. With fire incoming from two directions, the two of them are out flanked.
Hayley lands two shots to Kol's back and for a moment, the shooting stops.
"Wait Kol, are you dead?" Davina wonders.
The Mikaelson boy tosses his riot shield to the side and looks up with regret in his eyes.
"I'm sorry, darling," He says.
"DAVINA, GET DOWN!!!" Rebekah screams.
In one swift movement, Kol splits his gun in two, leveling one each at Davina and his sister.
Pulling out her sniper rifle, Rebekah uses it as a shield/baseball bat combo as she races to Davina's side. She twists and swings the bulky weapon, knocking Kol's darts out of the air with it in an excellent effort to keep both of them protected as she and Davina climb the foyer's staircase.
With Kol laying down covering fire, Hope, Hayley, and Marcel rush for the cover of a small doorway. Hope throws the door open and waves her team inside. There's a smaller, cozier study space waiting beyond. Hayley's in first, followed by Kol, and then Marcel.
Rebekah rushes to set up a shot from the catwalk adjacent just as Marcel closes the entrance. The doors are nearly shut when her dart streaks through the gap and tags Marcel right between the eyes.
"Well... Damn," He sighs.
Kol whistles. "Nice shot, Bex..."
Marcel smacks him upside the head and stalks off to join the rest of the losers for cocktails.
"That was quite the epic betrayal, Uncle Kol," Hope smirks, snatching Marcel's gun from where he left it on a sofa.
"It was perfect, wasn't it?" He grins.
Hope shakes her head. "Should'a kept the shield."
"Nah, that would have made this next bit far too easy," Kol says, waving a hand. "Now, I take it the two of you have something of a plan?"
"Oh, yeah, let's see-" Hope ticks the bullet points off on her fingers. "Shoot, try not to die, win... That's about it."
Kol nods. "Solid plan. Simple, easy to remember." He turns to Hayley. "We're going to die."
Hope answers his comment instead, shrugging. "Maybe, but if you purposefully gut-shot yourself, I swear I'll kick you."
"Ooh, somebody wants to win," He laughs, grinning cheekily.
"What can I say, I'm sick of losing!" Hope declares.
Before Kol can come up with something more to tease his niece with, a whooshing noise turns all three heads towards the back of the room where a dart flies out from the darkness. It hits Hayley's nose before she can duck.
Crouched in the dark is Rebekah, that alcove is one of those maze-like passengers of halls and stairs between the first and second floor. This is the counter attack.
Hope revs up her new weapon and aims at the shadowy figure, laying down suppressive fire as she and Kol make for cover. None of her shots seem to hit, however, and she crouches behind a bookcase.
Kol, who flung himself onto a sofa, is closer to Rebekah's hiding spot. He reaches one pistol over the back of the couch with the blind confidence of Jack Sparrow and fires two shots.
"Bloody hell! That was my throat!" Rebekah coughs a second later.
"You're dead, sister! Cry about it!" Kol laughs as he reloads his pistol.
Without warning, Davina flings herself over the back of the sofa, landing on top of her husband.
"What the bloody f-" He doesn't even get to finish his profanity.
"Hi." Davina grins.
Kol raises a brow. "Would you kill me, my love?"
She kisses his cheek as she drags her foam knife across his throat.
"Yep!" She cheers, jumping up to her feet again. She turns to face Hope, switching her knife out for a pistol and shotgun while Kol shuffles off to pout like a child.
"Just you and me now," Hope says, leveling her gun on her aunt.
"Just you and me." Davina's smile is razor sharp.
Then she turns, and high-tails it out of that room, screaming over her shoulder.
"You'll never take me alive!"
"That's the idea!" Davina laughs and gives chase.
Hope dashes into the kitchen as fast as her legs will carry her and hops up onto the counter, carefully aiming.
Davina rounds the corner hardly a second later and Hope, heart pounding, shoots first. The rival round bounces off Davina's cheek and all goes still.
"Di-Did I just win?" Hope whispers in awestruck delight.
Davina smiles and droops her weapons, giving her niece a hug. "That you did, Hawkeye."
Hayley wanders in right after with a loving smile. She gives her daughter a kiss on the forehead. "I think this calls for ice-cream," She whispers conspiratorially.
"Who said what about ice-cream?" Cami shouts from across the house and soon there are six or so voices arguing about where to find the best ice cream in New Orleans...
Tagging: @yn-ymn-yln @r13mar @rootbeerfaygo @iiskittles16ii @fandomrulesall-blog @dark-night-sky-99 @railingsofsorrow @apolloroid @thatweirdoleigh @misswe03
It had been enough time since she last visited Vex Bitty adoptions. Cinnamon and Saffron were now settled with their own nesting sites and had expressed the desire to get more friends. Atlas was now walking to Vex bitty shop with all her current bitties in tow. Her Felids were settled into a comfy bag happily chatting and having a flexing contest. She was flanked by both Nutmeg the Papy and Saffron the honey bo. Each holding one of her hands as Cinnamon the spicy little Coral napped in her hood curled around her neck like a sneklace. Without hesitation she opened the shop door ready for her new friends. She calmly moved to the counter and smiled “Hi there Vex it’s me again. Just coming in with the gang for some new friends. I’m looking for a corny, a king, a krait and a Firering today. I’m fully brushed up on my sign language and ready for my new friends.”
*It is very important to you to allow your Honey Bo and Coral to help select the new members of the family since they need to feel comfortable with these new lamias. You’re still chatting with Vex about the new lamias you’d like to add to your family when a Corny drops from the ceiling with a plop! A piece of duct tape is still stuck to his middle. Thankfully, Nutmeg the Papython prevents disaster by catching the Corny, but no explanation is ever forthcoming about why exactly the Corny was taped to the ceiling to begin with. Instead, he just grins lazily and apologizing for “dropping in.” Your other two lamias snort at the pun, so you consider the Corny selection a success.
*Your Felids are practically vibrating with excitement to meet a King, so you decide to stop at the King nesting area next. You watch as the Kings flare their hoods, bow, and begin their displays. Not to be outdone, your Felids hop out of their carrying bag to join in on the flexing and showing off. You notice that the King you’ve been eyeing (he’s so strong and handsome!) seems particularly enamored with the Felids. His eyes are sparkling with joy at their antics. You mentally check the King off of your list of adoptions as he helps you corral your rambunctious Felids back into their bag.
*Next, you’re looking for a Krait and FireRing, and from what Vex has told you, it’s easy to find these lamias already paired up. Your Papython is preoccupied with carrying the Corny who is exchanging jokes with Saffron the Honey Bo, but Cinnamon the sassy Coral is paying very close attention to the Kraits and FireRings as you approach them. A FireRing approaches you with a whiteboard, but when you introduce yourself in sign language his flames crackle with joy. Cinnamon watches the silent conversation before waving for attention and very slowly spelling out his own name, followed by a rather crude sign language gesture.
*You didn’t know that Cinnamon had learned a bit of sign language, and you’re proud of him, although maybe not quite proud of the fact that he has to include that particular gesture with his name. The FireRing doesn’t miss a beat, signing a friendly hello to Cinnamon, including the added the sign at the end of his name. The Krait with the FireRing waves shyly at your Coral, who nods in acknowledgement. Then Cinnamon does something very interesting.
*Cinnamon the Coral slither down from your hood to the front pocket of your hoodie. Staring directly at the Krait, he pushes the pocket open wide. You’re still conversing in sign language with the FireRing, and you watch out of the corner of your eye as the Krait sneakily slithers into the offered pocket. Cinnamon then returns to his lofty personal perch in your hood. The FireRings flames dance with amusement as you help him join his friend in the hoodie pocket.
*Stage 2 complete!
So I'm rewatching the last episode because I haven't watched it since Saturday.
And I'm just thinking about The Collector.
Not only do they have no problem with Belos killing and creating Grimwalkers and eating Palismen (which means they either have a very skewed moral compass or a complete lack of one), but @jess-the-vampire said something in their post that I think most people are forgetting: The Collector was locked up for a reason.
And not just 'exiled' or imprisoned in a simple jail cell or even killed. They were removed from their physical body, which was placed or trapped under the titan, and left to wander around as a two-dimensional entity for who knows how long until Belos needed them.
So what they hell did they do?
Of course, we don't have all the facts yet. Actually, we know next to nothing. What we do know:
Belos promised The Collector their freedom if they helped him with The Draining Spell
This deal is very loosely held together by a Pinky Promise which is like metaphorical duct tape.
The Collector is connected to King
The Collector has a group of worshippers who hunt and kill titans.
And that's it. We don't know anything about anything.
With four episodes left in the series.
Which is exciting and scary as fuck.
Because, in one of these last four episodes, we're probably going to get fucking flooded with information about this little shit and I'm not ready because I'm know I'm either going to cry or end up seething with rage.
oc posting time. i came up with all of these literally today-
Ice Bag (they/them): A plastic bag of ice of somewhat short height. The top half of the bag is tied up in a sort of pony tail. ice water pools in the bottom of the bag. their left arm is torn off, and where it should be there is a patch of duct tape to patch the hole.
after waking up one day missing an arm and with no memory as to how they got there. this is especially strange as they are a plastic bag in a magic world with a notable lack of plastic or anything resembling the 21st century we’re all familiar with. Now, with several other objects alongside them, they must figure out what happened to them, and where they even came from.
WyrmScale (he/him): A dull, red, scale, just like that of a Greater Wyrm. The scale is very very tough, and while still marked with several scratches, actually destroying the scale would be very difficult.
It’s one word, not two. The Scale part is capitalized though, make sure you get it right. Otherwise you might meet the sharp end of WyrmScale’s sword. WyrmScale is a high ranking adventurer, known for several great feats of killing monsters. While his skill with a sword is undeniable, being nearly indestructible makes an easy confidence boost, although maybe a bit too much, as WyrmScale will gladly rush into even the most dire of fights. he does technically have magical ability, however he uses all of it to boost his combat strength.
Tome (she/they): A mystical tome of the dark arts. The cover is a light purple, with strange, hypnotic patterns that seem to move if you look at them too long. contained inside are many dark and evil spells that are not for the faint of heart.
Tome would rather be ruling the world as an Evil Empress right now. And they totally would be, if they could actually read the spells inside of herself! since her eyes are on her front cover, she can’t actually read the spells written on her pages, but they hope to someday find a way, since nobody really wants to take a look for her. Despite not knowing the spells inside of her, they are quite brushed up on other magic for the day when they do actually learn their own contents, and they are the group’s spellcaster.
Broom (he/they): A simple wooden broom, with a sweeper at the top end.
Broom isn’t a particularly skilled fighter, nor are they exceedingly great at magic, but at least they’re fast! Broom has a natural ability to fly, a gift going back generations in their family. Broom really would rather avoid all fighting, but considering that nobody can catch them, he makes a quite good scout, which is their purpose in the group.
Potion (she/her): A round flask with a stopper at the top. contained inside is a green fluid. drinking this fluid would give the user the ability to jump quite high, although Potion has never let anyone do this. I wonder what it tastes like...?
A disgraced alchemy student, Potion has set out on a journey to prove themselves to the academy. While her own contents are strictly forbidden for anyone to touch, the other potions she can make are all vastly helpful to the group. She is additionally skilled other buffing spells, so while she doesn’t fight directly, her trinkets and spells make the group significantly stronger. she also contributes many of the plans for the group, because running headlong in to danger will get anyone but WyrmScale killed quite quickly
wow this was a lot uh. yeah :thumbsup:
Attack of the In-Laws
People of Metrocity, it's almost Thanksgiving, which means two things: first, Minion will be making gourmet versions of various Native American dishes along with equally fantastic takes on more typical holiday fare. Secondly, the in-laws are coming. Someone sound the alarm.
To be clear, not all of them are bad. I'm lucky in that my Mother and Father-in-Law are, honestly, pretty likeable people. Being a bit of a hippie, Roxanne's mother loves the fact that we honor Indigenous Peoples Day rather than actual Thanksgiving. (After all, the Green Corn Ceremony, along with the harvest aspect of Celtic Samhain, is what Thanksgiving was originally based on.) I think she's secretly also thrilled that her bisexual daughter married a real alien. You don't get much more nonconformist than that. Roxanne's step-father is an easy-going fellow who at least has a genuine interest in what I do since he's a retired police mechanic.
Even my wife's siblings are a good bunch. Her sister is one of the most open-minded and entertaining people I know, even if she does like to poke at her relatives just to see what happens. (Seriously, Heather, don't kick the hornets nest.) Her twin brothers, Vander and Xander, are cheerful guys, although as one is the outdoorsy type and the other is a jock we don't have a great deal in common. (At least the former is interesting. He's a zoologist and modern-day adventurer who's done work with National Geographic.)
So why am I complaining, then? Because, sadly, the guest list doesn't stop with the immediate family. I wish it did.
The rest make it clear how little they enjoy their yearly visit. Which makes me wonder why they bother showing up at all. But, despite my wife's polite hints that they really don't have to make that long trip, we'd completely understand if they wanted to do something different, they never miss our ann-you-all torture session. (I blame Minion's cool-in-ary magic.)
Also, I don't like to brag, but I think I probably deserve some sort of medal because, no matter how terrible they are, I never give into the temptation to dust off the old Doom Devices. (Hooray for me.) And believe me, they'd richly deserve it.
Cousin Haiylie (yes, it's really spelled that way,) and her third victim--I mean husband--are snooty, always asking about "business," by which they mean income, with thinly veiled contempt. They earn more than almost anyone else at the table, and they want to make sure you don't forget it. (Thanks to patents for several inventions now in production, I actually earn more, but I'm not going to tell them that. First, I'm not a money-obsessed jerk. Second, they might decide they actually like me. Perish the thought!)
Haiylie's daughter, Taiyler, (yep, still really spelled that way,) is moody and dramatic even by teenage standards. Not to mention spoiled. And rude. Her favorite comment when Minion brings out the spectacularly delicious results of his hard work each year is: "Ew, what is that stuff?" A close second is: "OMG, how many calories are in that?!" Her parents not only don't correct her, but jump down the throats of anyone who does.
The other set of cousins, Rod and Tiffani, are the complete opposite. They live in a run-down trailer. They're waiting for the day when the lottery makes them rich. They will fight you if you try to explain that wrestling really isn't real. Tiffani wears jeans three sizes too small, showing off a muffin-top, sweaters with no bra, and more makeup than an entire family of clowns. Rod is the only person I have ever heard say "get 'er done" completely unironically, and always tries to tell me how I could fix one machine or another with a heavy application of WD-40 and a lot of duct tape. He also likes making poop jokes at the table. A lot.
Uncle Quentin is ultra-conservative (which is fine because it's his choice) determined that everyone else should be too (which is not fine because it's not his choice,) and loves starting fights. He hates the way we do celebrate this holiday and says it makes me a Communist. Because anyone Quentin doesn't agree with is, apparently, a Communist. His wife Eileen hasn't had a sober moment in decades, and once she's well-lubricated ALL of her mental filters vanish. ALL of them. She's tells everyone exactly what's wrong with us--repeatedly--before moving on to relating nearly everybody's most humiliating childhood stories--loudly.
But the Queen of Complaints, the reigning Empress of Irritations, is Great Aunt Maybelle. No contest.
Maybelle--who glares at me if I dare to call her "aunt" to her face--is almost ninety and I am fully convinced that she has stayed alive out of pure spite. She hates everyone and everything. Except her obnoxious, yappy little dogs who she insists on bringing to the dining room so they bark endlessly for scraps and puddle all over the floor. If that wasn't charming enough, there are Maybelle's favorite topics of conversation: who's ruining the country this time--which is basically anyone who isn't white, upper-class, and heterosexual--how much she's disappointed in all of us, and how she just knows we'd all love to see her in some dingy nursing home or, better yet, her coffin. Oh, and of course there are the not-so-subtle hints about how unnatural it is to marry someone from a different species. That's always a fun one.
So, this year, when you're dealing with your own in-laws, just remember that it could be worse. You could have mine. As one Thanksgiving sufferer to another to another, I salute you. Good luck.
She is a good mechanic, and she knows it. She prides herself on her ability to fix whatever may be broken, to mend what may be rent. Her strong arms can lift entire robots, and her deft fingers can find the smallest crack. With a murmured spell, or a twist of her wrench, or, when all else fails, simple duct tape, she will fix anything broken that may fall in her path.
Today, what has fallen in her path is a job. A wealthy temple from the Ivory Tower district, has sent a malfunctioning SecuriBot to be fixed. She does not know why she, a barely twenty-year-old mechanic, only the third- or fourth-best in the city, has been tasked with this, only that her knowledge of programming, and wires, and everything technological will come in handy
A spectral figure hovers over her right shoulder, offering comments that, though they are helpful, she will dismiss as unnecessary.
CUT THAT WIRE
He points to a green wire.
“Absolutely I will not,” she says. “You do not know what that does.” She swivels to face the monitor on her left displaying the bot’s memory files. She clicks on the latest one, hoping to find out something as to what may have damaged the bot. The video begins to play, but quickly dissolves into static and white noise. She frowns and hits a few keys, trying to restore the image.
WHAT DID YOU DO?
“Nothing! Stupid ebanyj SecBot is not durable for to remember damage. I will have to see if memories are encoded.”
AND IF THEY ARE NOT?
“Then we run systems check until something turns up.”
“Well, if you’re going to be here, you might as well be useful and not just annoying, yes?”
I AM BEING USEFUL. I AM THE SOURCE OF YOUR POWER.
“Oh, fignya, you’re the source of my power. My magic runs in my veins and I am plenty good mechanic without, thank you.”
YES BUT YOUR MAGIC IS IN YOUR VEINS BECAUSE OF ME.
“Then remove it, I don’t give a shit.”
“You won’t though.”
I COULD THOUGH.
“Mhm. Is what I thought.”
She brings up the base code for the bot, but before she finds what she was looking for, a folder appears, labeled é̵̛̯͍̥̜̑̇r̴̺̄̔̔r̷̨͖̙̬͎͍͊̅́o̸̮͆ȑ̷̢̡̛̻̬. Intrigued, she clicks. A prompt flashes on the screen, asking for a password. Bewildered, she turns to the god over her shoulder. And everything goes bright, then black. Her ears ring, then she hears nothing. And as her heart is pierced by flying shrapnel, pain explodes throughout her body
I know I sent an idea for the hiatus drabbles already, but I saw someone else had pitched more than one idea so here's another. Idea - Some schools have a special day where a student can shadow a teacher or staff member and follow them around for a day. Let's put a Boiling Isles twist on that, and have Principal Bump select Amity or Luz as a 'hostage for a day' where he holds them captive in his office during a school day. Is that possible to do?
Hostage for a Day
Luz looked down at the rope tied around her. She sat upon a stool next to Principal Bump's desk while the principal himself looked over documents. Occasionally he would squiggle something on one or refer back to the other, hardly paying attention to the human girl held hostage next to him.
"So..." Luz said, adjusting herself on her seat, "Explain this to me again?"
"It's called 'Hostage for a Day,'" Bump explained, not looking away from his documents. "I take a randomly selected student and have them shadow me as I do my work."
"You tie your students up just so they can shadow you?"
"The rope stops them from escaping."
"Ah," Luz struggled against the said rope. Needless to say, it was still pretty tight. "What do you do when a student needs to go to the bathroom?"
"After five-hundred years of being a principal, only one thing remains constant," Bump said, "And that is students would sooner wet their pants than use the public restrooms unless they wish to make out and/or skip class."
"You know what? Fair."
A silence then passed between the two as Bump continued his work.
"...The ropes aren't too tight, are they?" Bump asked.
"Oh, no," Luz shook her head, "They're fine."
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah, no, it's alright."
"Because I can loosen them just a bit."
"I appreciate that, but, really, they're ok."
"Alright," Bump looked back at his work, "Just wanted to make sure."
"Thank you," Luz nodded.
Another silence passed. The only sound being the scratches of Bump's quill on the parchment and the ticking on the clock.
"...What are you working on?"
"Hm?" Bump looked up again.
"What are you working on?" Luz repeated her question.
"Oh, uh, I'm looking over the budgets of classes and electives. Trying to see what to cut and what to keep."
Luz looked at one of the parchments.
"You're cutting potion's class' ingredient budget but keeping the five-minute foot spa break for the grudgby team?"
"That foot spa break is a request from Boscha," Bump told Luz. "And we got to keep our star captain happy."
"But that doesn't seem fair."
"Luz, when running a school, you'll learn that sometimes, some things have to be unfair. Besides, the parents can still pay for their own children's ingredients."
"Hm..." Luz's eyes scanned the parchments again, "You're cutting the drama class' budget, too!"
"A foot spa is really expensive. And there's hardly enough room for the mini-sandwiches."
"Ok, now I know that's insane!"
"You can bring it up with Boscha."
"But drama class is important!" Luz protested, "How do you think I ended up the way that I am without the magic that is the theater!"
Bump looked back at the cut that he made.
"...If that's true, then perhaps I should take more."
"That's not fair! You can't just--"
But with a drawing of a spell circle, a strip of duct tape poofed onto Luz's mouth, effectively shutting her up.
"Looks like duct tape is going to be a new necessity for 'Hostage for a Day," Bump noted, going back to his work as Luz gave him a death glare.
What goes around comes around
( @lostxndbroken )
So when John was accosted on the streets, he normally took the trouble to make sure he already had muscle on the side, if not Chas then Oliver and everything would have been peaches and cream. Tonight just happened to be one of those rare times he threw caution to the wind, reckless perhaps since their recent encounter with the Bratva.
Whatever, he just wanted a peaceful night out at the pub with a pint and some footie, having noticed a man at the very back eyeing him but this was just another Tuesday for John. So fucking what.
He ignored the bugger, yelled obscenities at the referee, groaned when Chelsea vs Liverpool took 1-0 with Werner and Ziyech on full throttle offensive. Three pints was what the match cost him, three pints and a bit of ketchup on his tie from the sad soggy chips he forgot he ordered before half-time.
The frustration was enough for him to leave the pub wanting trouble, which was probably the real reason why he did not bother with precaution that night.
That said, he was followed the moment he stepped out onto the streets, lighting a fag and letting it be, at least until he sensed not one set of footsteps but three...no four, and that was not ideal at all indeed. John could have just slipped away into the shadows and left them stranded in the dark. He could have summoned a pit fiend to twist the spines out of their ribs. He could very well conjure a circle of fire so hot that the asphalt beneath their feet would melt. John didn’t do any of that. Instead he just kept walking.
“I know I’m gorgeous buh SoHo’s tha’ way, luv,” John said to his stalkers without even granting them a look, “I’m nah fer sale.”
Of course he’d garner no response, of course for their humour was as dead as how they were going to be in three, two...!
...one! He turned and aimed to jam his lit cigarette into the eyeball of the closest bugger.
John shoved the screaming one into the second one, but he didn’t count for the remaining two that jumped him. Whelp, if he were lucky he’d find himself awake in a tub of ice a couple hours later with his kidneys missing.
“Amen ‘ta tha’! Heh!”
CRASH! Oof, into the grimy street puddles they rolled, one of them was holding out a roll of duct tape and trying to secure his mouth first.
Which meant that they knew he was an adept. They knew who he was.
Too late. He socked one asshole in the gut and the other he kicked and grappled but how much can one do with a set of scrawny arms and lack of lungs, and now his spell silenced? One recovered and managed to tie him up with rope despite his struggling.
Goodbye cruel world, goodbye-