#who used all her strength to hold her down and stabilize her WHILE she stitched her up

[s-brant]

The Endless Summer (2/?)

(gif: @beccs) (PART ONE) (SERIES MASTERLIST)

Summary: A day out on the water goes awry and puts JJ, John B, and Y/N in danger. With tensions rising and the stakes higher than ever, JJ finds it difficult to control his feelings.

Word Count: 9.1k

Warnings: Angst, implied sexual content, strong language, graphic violence, and JJ being an emotionally confused asshat.

A/N: Welcome back! Thanks for the love on this series, I’m so glad you guys like it and I hope this part is just as good. Things get a little heated in this chapter, so buckle up. Let me know if you enjoyed this. Have fun!

JJ isn't sure why she did it.

He wasn't sure then and he isn't sure now, but he knows one thing for certain: there isn't any going back to how things once were now that the barrier between them came crashing down.

Sweat drips off of his skin from the relentless heat of the Caribbean that has made their recent lives hell with the painful tinge of sunburn atop their tans and heat exhaustion they must be careful to avoid at all costs. They were educated on both topics by Pope, their godsend of a survival encyclopedia in human form, who advised them to spend most of their day outside of necessary tasks like fishing and constructing stable shelter under the shady cover of the treetops.

The sole reason he and John B aren't hiding in the safety of the shade is that it's their day to fish, but he's not thinking about the sun. In fact, neither of them is. They're both wondering where their third fishing buddy is.

It took roughly ten minutes of spearfishing with him in comfortable silence for JJ to finally break and spill his guts about what happened last night. Though there was an unspoken agreement to never tell anyone that their hatred has turned into desire, he couldn't help it. He was going mad trying to unravel it in his head.

After all, he already had a conversation with JB about the recent shift in their behavior with each other by the ocean last night, so it seems fitting to pick up where they left off with the calm and clear blue water in front of them again.

He walks on the jagged outcropping of rock that serves as their perch to observe the fish without disturbing the pattern of the current they swim through with John B closely behind.

"One second she's pissed at me, the next she's all over me. It makes no sense. Then, she didn’t say anything to me after it happened," JJ says with his face hardened into a look of concentration at the fish he squints against the sun to aim at, "Not even "Fuck you, Maybank" or one of her weirdly creative threats. She just sat there all night and talked to everyone but me."

His gaze slips away from the water as his chosen fish disappears from sight before he can bother to throw the spear, eyeing up his friend's reaction to the news.

John B doesn't seem that surprised by it, because who else, aside from everyone else in Kildare who knows of their "hatred" for one another, could've seen it coming as much as he did? He considers it for a second, then props his arm up on the handle side of the spear he digs into the rock to lean against.

"I'm pretty sure that means she likes you."

JJ retorts, "That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard you say."

Why would anyone ignore a person they like? It makes no sense to him. Every time he wanted a person, he'd simply walk over and make it happen. It's never been difficult for him to pursue the people he finds himself attracted to...Well, except for her. For a guy that also ignored her for the rest of the night and pretended their moment in the woods didn't happen, he has some balls of steel to be chastising her for the same things he did.

John B shrugs and says, "I'm being serious, dude. Sarah wouldn't even acknowledge my existence when I worked on the Druthers, and I thought it was some stuck-up rich person thing but it wasn't."

They shouldn't be talking at all right now as to not scare away the fish, but they do it anyway. They both know he won't let it go until it's out of his system for good. He wouldn't allow himself to forget it if he wanted to, so its better to talk it out than turn stir crazy from ruminating over it 24/7.

Though it's, as he worded it yesterday, hot as balls out, being by the sea lessens the feeling of it by a landslide.

The breeze they crave whenever they work on their huts or forage through the forest for wild berries, coconuts, or potential building supplies blows on them without pause for the time they spend here, which almost makes it more dangerous. They stand under the direct harm of the UV rays frying them without truly feeling it burn yet, and he dreads the next few days in anticipation of the returning sunburn he just peeled off of his shoulders the other day.

JJ walks down the side to get a better view of the water, balancing precariously on the sharpened edge with the spear clenched tightly in one hand. The breeze is strong enough to threaten his balance, but he holds firm and digs his toes into the sedimentary rock for traction. His body sways in the midday sun with the struggle for stability, or, at least he suspects its midday.

Since being stranded here, time is a foreign concept to them. With no phones, clocks, or any guide to go off of other that the position of the sun above to display the hours that pass, they've lost complete track of what day it is, let alone how long minutes or hours truly are in comparison to the endless summer they live within. They suspect it's been a month since they were left here, but, in all honesty, it could be two. None of them had the sense to mark the days in a tally until it was too late.

He says, lifting his arm to throw the spear, "Well, she is a stuck up rich person, so maybe it's just—"

"You know I'm right here, don't you?"

The sound of her voice from a few feet behind them startles JJ into turning around to look at her right when he lets go of the spear.

Unfortunately for him, the jerking movement throws off his carefully distributed weight and skews his balance, making the feet placed on the edge slip from underneath him and send him slipping down into the water. His calf is the first body part to hit the rocks, and the groan of pain he lets out at the feeling of the jagged rock slicing through his skin could make her heart stop mid-beat. But what truly scares her is seeing the back of his head hit the ground too.

Before he can slide the rest of the way into the water, two pairs of hands are grabbing onto his arms and heaving him up with all of their strength. She and John B grit their teeth with the effort it takes to pull him back up, their muscles burning from the strain, and once his feet are over the ledge, he pushes off the rock to help them the rest of the way. Drops of his blood disperse into the water off the edge from where he cut himself, dripping until there's hardly any left.

Once he's safely laid back down a few feet from where he slipped, Y/N is kneeling in front of him in a matter of seconds. The rock beneath her knees opens small cuts into her skin, but she doesn't pay it any heed. She sits on her heels to lessen the minor pain and lean forward to inspect the damage he took with nothing on her mind other than worry.

Soon enough, John B joins her to kneel at his feet as he sits up and watches them eye up his injury as though it’s some sort of ghastly, life threatening thing instead of a gash that won't need stitches. He watches them against the glittering ocean, waves washing up on the rocks around them to sting his wound with saltwater.

"It's a scratch, not an amputation," JJ says.

She ignores him with a frown lining her pretty features and twists his leg by the ankle to get a better view of the wound in the sunlight. It extends up the entire length of his calf, almost from ankle to knee, and dribbles fresh blood onto her hands as well as the ground beneath them. From what he can tell, it doesn't look all too severe. No muscle or bone can be seen, so it's a simple, superficial scratch.

When he doesn't get a response from either her or John B while they're too busy checking out his leg, he says again, "Guys, I'm serious, it's fine."

This time, she doesn't hesitate to answer.

"Yeah, well you may not need stitches but you still have infection to worry about. This wilderness isn't exactly the cleanliest place," she says retorts with as much snark as usual, and he quietly rejoices in the fact that she's finally acting normal after what happened last night, "Not to mention, you hit your head pretty hard. There's no need to act all tough."

He shrugs.

"It's not an act, it really doesn't hurt that bad."

John B stands and smears the blood on his hands off on the front of his shorts.

"I'll be right back, guys, I'm gonna go get stuff to patch him up."

Just like that, they are left plunging into silence as he is running away down the peninsula back to the beach they've claimed as their own.

Silence has always been her least favorite thing to share with JJ. She'd rather anything over it—screaming, fighting, joking, friendly conversation, or even what they did together yesterday night. Anything is preferable over the tense and insufferable feeling of silence when they're alone together with none of their friends, or their playful hatred, between them as a barrier between them.

Instead of seeing the same pestering jerk she always used to when she looks at him, she sees the memory of how he looked at her in the woods. He didn't look at her like she was the worst person to ever walk the planet, or like she was his least favorite Kook "Princess", he looked at her like she meant something to him.

They sit together in uncomfortable silence in the time it takes John B to rush to the beach and back, careful not to slip on the rocks the way JJ did, with the supplies from the dinghy in his arms. It isn't much to work with, but at least it's something to keep the nasty wound on his leg protected from dirt and germs. She's sure he'd leave it uncovered and up to fate if he had it his way.

Before he can set them down on the wet rocks, thus ruining the gauze and bandages in craters filled with ocean water, she gestures at JJ with a stern command, "Take off your shirt."

His brows raise.

"Shit, Princess, take me out to dinner first."

She groans in frustration, "Can you be quiet for a second and actually listen to me for once?"

He catches John B's gaze with wide eyes, but complies nonetheless, reaching down to tug the tank off of his torso by the frayed hem until it's balled up in his closed fist to hand off to her. Her eyes only linger on his body for a quick second on accident before snatching it from him.

Her bloodstained palms lay the shirt out on the flattest stretch of rock she can find to act as a barrier from the small puddles of water to protect the supplies. One nod at John B has him setting them down atop the navy fabric as she glances up at JJ with a smug smile.

"Believe it or not," she taunts, unscrewing the cap to the disinfectant, "I didn't ask for it so you could sit there and look pretty."

The words throw him back in time to their conversation on the beach while they thatched the roof to their hut, and he wonders how long she's been waiting to throw that back in his face since he first said it.

He grins at her as he asks, "You think I'm pretty?" but before he can say more, she's pouring a generous amount of the hydrogen peroxide along the length of his cut without a warning for him to prepare himself. His leg jerks away on instinct to save himself from the burning sensation, but she grips his ankle tightly enough to force him to stay still.

His nose scrunches up with the urge to groan in pain, and he does a little. Through grinding teeth, he winces in response to the peroxide slipping into every cell of open skin and bubbling up like the white water of the waves as it kills the bacteria lingering in the gash.

"Does it hurt now?" Y/N asks.

She's looking up at him through her lashes with her lips curled into a smirk as she packs gauze onto the wound until it's covered to her satisfaction. And it should be the last thing he's thinking about right now after cutting up his leg and hitting his head hard enough to worry her about concussions, but he can't help it. Looking down at her like this, it's impossible for him to not think about the unfinished business they have.

Everything is the same as it was yesterday—the tattered white top, the red panties in place of a bikini, sunburnt cheeks, and a taunting look that he'll never get tired of seeing. But that's precisely why he's reminded of it. She's wearing the same clothes and looking at him the way she did on the beach before any of last night's antics occurred, and he can't keep himself from wondering if it'll happen again.

"Yeah," he finally responds.

Her smirk grows for a second before she gets back to work.

"Good."

JJ subtly eyes her up from where she shifts on her knees to set the open gauze wrappers under the peroxide bottle in exchange for the bandage wrap, but he isn't as subtle as he thinks. She can feel his stare no matter how sneaky he attempts to be. He may be able to evade John B's attention, since he dove into the ocean to retrieve the wooden spear that began to float out in the tide, but she never misses a thing. Not when it comes to him.

When he looks at her, he finds memories.

Her legs folded up beneath her bring him back to how smooth they felt on his palms when he lifted them up around his hips. Her rosy lips pressing into a line in concentration bring him back to the coconut flavor he tasted on them. Her nipples poking against the fabric of her shirt bring him back to when he lifted it up over her breasts to suck at the sensitive skin until he got a moan from her—There isn't a place he can stare without going back to last night.

Part of him hates that.

He can't stand that a girl who he spent the last five years hating has found a way into his daydreams. Why couldn't it have been anyone else? Why did she have to lure him into her trap? He supposes there's nothing he can do about it now, though. After hours of stewing over it, he's reached the conclusion that it was likely a one-time thing, a mistake made in the heat of the moment that she won't make again, and he should get the idea of it out of his head.

When she has to adjust her grip to hold the gauze in place while she wraps the bandage around his leg, he sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth and jerks away again. She glances up at him with her best, "Are you kidding me?" face. Didn't he say he was tough?

"I'm starting to think you're a sadist, 'cause it's like you're trying to make it hurt," he says.

She gasps, feigning offense.

"Me? Enjoying this? It's not like we've hated each other for years or anything."

And though he may not realize it, this is her way of distracting him from the pain of having her apply added pressure to his cut while she wraps the bandage into place. It has to be tight enough to keep water and sand out, but not so tight that it cuts off circulation, and while it may have been tolerable without her touching it, the contact is enough to make it worse for him.

He asks, "Uh, speaking of, why are you the one doing this? Isn't it some kind of HIPAA thing to treat patients you've threatened to violate with tree branches before?"

The sound of her laughter makes his stomach flutter with butterflies, and he wonders what the hell is wrong with him.

"That's not what HIPAA is, genius"—her eyes crinkle at the sides with her wide smile while she wraps his leg—"and I'm the one doing this because I know way more medical shit than the rest of you."

Even Pope.

"Ohhh right, I forgot. Your dad is this hotshot surgeon and that makes you think you know everything," he taunts.

The casual mention of her father makes her chest ache with something not many of the Pogues, excluding Pope, have felt since being stranded on this island. With their parents either disowning them, absent, abusive, or dead, they have no reason to resist the allure of living here for the months or years it may take to be rescued, but she does.

She misses him.

For the longest time since her mom died, it was her and her dad versus the world. In everything they did, they did it together, and before she met Sarah, he was the closest she had to a best friend. Since they had no other family to help watch her as a child, she grew up in the hospital with him, drawing with crayons on his office’s printer paper with her babysitter and picking up small things along the way from watching him for so long.

He could've chosen to leave her at home, sure, but he didn't want to miss out on seeing her more than he already did, so she spent the majority of her childhood in offices, waiting rooms, and the indoor playground of the PEDs wing.

She takes a deep breath to steady herself after the sucker punch of being reminded of her dad and says, "Well, I know enough and, thankfully for you, I'm the one doing this instead of John B."

From far away, twenty or so feet offshore where their friend is paddling through the water with the lost spear held in one hand, they hear John B shouting an offended, "I heard that!" back at her. It draws a soft chuckle from them both, and she silently thanks him for distracting JJ one last time as she finishes and secures the bandage so it won't unravel.

She wipes her hands off on her water-soaked thighs one more time to get as much of his blood off of her fingers as possible before she reaches out with both arms extended to offer him help to stand. He takes them with a murmured, "Thanks," as they both try not to show how affected they are by the casual touch.

It makes them feel pathetic that something as small as holding each other's hands makes them remember what they did and desperately wish to continue it. Her throat bobs with how she must swallow the lump in her throat at their close proximity, barely breathing now that he's standing close to her with less than a few inches between them.

For a second, they don't move away. They stay face to face, and all she can think of is how badly she wants to kiss him again. But she can't do anything yet, not when she hears someone screaming from the water.

"There's a shark!" John B screams as he paddles back faster than he's ever swam in his life, already close enough to the peninsula that they can see the terror in his eyes when they turn to look.

Surely enough, there a tip of a fin too pointed to pass off as a dolphin cutting through the surface of the water to alert them of the fish's presence, but if that weren't enough, the water is clear enough for them to see its outline.

Thankfully for him, it isn't huge. It looks about as long as he is tall, but that doesn't change the degree of danger. Just because it isn't as big as other sharks doesn't make a bite any less lethal, especially when their only form of medical attention rests on her knowledgeable yet inexperienced shoulders.

For once in his life, JJ is frozen with no clue of what to do.

He's always the man with the plan, the one who jumps into action when others choke up and sit on the sidelines, but this makes him falter. What can he do to help other than stand here and pray John B can out-swim a shark? He's helpless, and now that he's faced with the prospect of losing his best friend for a second time, he doesn't know what to do.

It was his blood in the water that must have attracted the shark, and he was so caught up in his own drama with her and the pain of his cut that he didn't consider the danger of John B jumping in to retrieve the spear he dropped. It's his fault. His best friend is about to be eaten by a shark and it's his fault—

The blurred image of her rushing past in his peripheral vision rips him from his stormy thoughts, and right when he thought it couldn't get worse, it does. Water splashes up around her body and swallows her under the surface after she leaps off the edge of the rock with the aluminum spear from the dinghy raised in her dominant arm.

"Y/N!"

Before he even realizes what he's doing, JJ is screaming out her name, screaming it like he cares, and damns the consequences to dive in after her.

While he was frozen, she sprung into action without thinking of her own life first. She knew he was close to the rock, but not close enough to swim faster than a predator designed for the conditions of the ocean. It took one glance at the spear resting to the side for her to lean down, scoop it up, and get a running start to jump out as far as humanly possible. Various joints and muscles ached from how she strained to push herself far off the rock, taking flight with nothing but their survival in mind.

She sucks in a heaving breath upon breaking the surface, but she doesn't take a second to pause with John B paddling up to her so soon.

"Go back!"

The only answer she gives him is, "Use your spear!" before she brings hers out of the water in anticipation of the grey figure bolting straight for them.

It's a stupid plan, but it's the only one she has, and if one of them is in danger, they'd all risk everything they have to protect them. After all, they're already trapped here with the threat of death every day. Is there anything more worthy of dying for than your friends?

Neither of them is necessarily trying to kill it yet either, they're trying to keep it at a safe distance or hurt it enough so it swims away from them, but she puts all of her strength into spearing the fish between the eyes anyway. Her legs kick tirelessly to keep her afloat while she and John B stab as accurately as they can, choking down a mouthful of salty ocean water from how her head sinks at the surface without the help of her arms to keep her up.

Blood stains the water with a crimson hue spreading out around their bodies—whether it's theirs or the shark's, she doesn't know—and she must keep her lips clamped shut to prevent it from spilling into her mouth, breathing solely through her nose. She can tell her legs are soon to give out on her, but then a pair of hands latch onto her body. Call her irrational or stupid, but even with the clear distinction of human hands on her waist, her mind reacts in instinctual fear.

The touch makes her jolt mid-stab and sobers her feral mind back to reality for a moment until she realizes it's a human touching her, not the shark.

It's JJ.

His arms wrap around her thighs and hoist her up out of the water as much as he can while still swimming, effectively pushing himself underwater with one last gasp for air.

The sudden shift in view has her gaze shifting around to take in the new sights with a gush of red water rushing off of her onto the splashing surface: a light grey tail whips around in the chaos, the shark's head oozes blood from the multiple puncture wounds that didn't push quite deep enough, and its jaws snap right where John B's arm is before he yanks it back.

After a fraction of a second, it clicks with her that there's no time to waste watching her friend almost get his arm chomped off while she takes in the unbelievable sight. Her slippery grip on the handle remains as firm as possible, and she raises the spear over her head with an improved accuracy she never could've had from where she previously aimed it before. All of their shots landed well enough, but with the height advantage, she won't allow herself to fuck it up this time with her friend's life hanging in the balance.

She hardly recognizes her own frantic voice shouting at him, "Spear it in the gills!"

Her hands bring the razor-sharp tip of the spear down into its head repeatedly, and she isn't sure whether it's the splashing water or tears wetting her face when she buries the weapon down into it for a final time right when John B lodges his wooden spear in its gills.

Whatever she did, it must've hit its brain, because the animal halts its thrashing. Its teeth no longer snap at her friend, nor does its tail whip around in the water as violently as it did a moment ago.

As quickly as it started, it drops off into a sickening calm that leaves the white bubbles dissolving into a puddle of bloody water surrounding the trio and the fish that dies with no small amount of guilt on her part. There was no choice but to kill it. It makes her ache on the inside, but how could she regret it if she knows it saved them? The guilt might ravage her for the upcoming days, but she can't bring herself to regret jumping in after him.

She hardly has the chance to process it before she's being pulled away by both of the boys, her view of the scene shifting drastically once more with the abrupt drop of JJ letting her down in favor of guiding her through the gentle waves. His calloused hand squeezes her arm enough to cut circulation off on their journey back.

Time rushes past her in the next thirty seconds or so it takes them to reach the peninsula again in a paranoid sprint away from where the dead fish floats. One of them, John B she thinks, tosses the aluminum spear he dislodged from the shark's head up onto the rocks and clambers his way back up on his own. The waves closer to land grow rougher than the tender current out where they killed the shark, and she grunts in pain as one sends her and JJ straight into the rocks. His body hits her back with a solid ‘thump’ and forces her to wheeze with the wind getting knocked from her lungs upon impact, nails cracking on the black rock from the desperate grip she uses in an attempt to lift herself.

Meanwhile, JJ can't seem to catch his breath either, nor can he think of anything other than her once he sees that John B isn’t injured.

As soon as he sees his friend is unmarked from the teeth of the shark after he's out of the water, he positions himself behind Y/N to help her out first. He places his hands on her backside to push her up as quickly as he can. Knowing that the carcass in the water will soon attract more sharks in the surrounding area into a feeding frenzy, he'd rather it be him than her. It's a thought that shoots by too fast for him to fully acknowledge the meaning or weight of it at a time like this.

Somehow within his adrenaline-crazed mind, he is careful not to push her onto the jagged edge that sliced his leg open earlier, then climbs after her with little space left between them.

She's coughing up saltwater onto the rocks as he scrambles over to her, eyes wild with the petrifying worry of anything bad happening to her. They scan over her arms, legs, stomach, and back, and he doesn't even realize his hands are reaching out to inspect her as frantically as she had with him when he got hurt.

His hands cup her face, petting over her dripping hair and forcing her to look up so he can see if she somehow got hit in the face. Never has his mind been so void of rational thought, and, knowing him and his impulsive tendencies, that's saying a lot. The confusion of his contradictory feelings for her muddle his mind. Worry and hatred, attraction and anger—they battle it out, but only two manage to reach him externally.

Worry and anger it is. Worry for obvious reasons. Anger because—

"What the fuck were you thinking?"

She has never heard him sound so vicious since the start of whatever odd relationship/friendship/enemy-ship they have. With his worried expression and how he checked her entire body for injury after helping her out of the water, the last thing she would've anticipated from him was anger. Especially not after she saved his best friend's life. Considering what she just did for him, she thinks he should be thanking her, not chastising her.

Behind her back, she can hear a collection of yelling voices and splashing footsteps over the water dripping from them. It can only be the rest of their friends racing up the peninsula to them, but she can't turn around.

She stares at him with utter confusion flooding her at his unexpected outburst. Speechless.

"What was I thinking?" she asks incredulously with her face still cradled between his hands, "I was saving John B's life!"

Their emotional distance and disagreement are made up for in abundance by how physically entangled they've become. It wasn't intentional. It was a result of him needing to get close enough to scour her exposed skin for any bites, but now that they're sitting so near to each other, they forget to back away.

John B is too busy to engage with them.

He's doubled over on the ground with the compulsion to vomit the contents of his stomach into the ocean, but he doesn't dare get close to the edge again after what they went through. Instead, he positions himself away from them and their approaching friends until the half-digested food is forced back through his mouth. The acidic bile scorches his throat and nostrils on the way out.

JJ doesn't have the opportunity to retort back something about her being stupid, because Pope is the first person to reach them and ask, "What the hell happened?"

The rest of the group isn't far behind. It's Kie who asks the next question, then Sarah, then Cleo. They all pop off in rapid succession before either of the three of them can answer.

"Are any of you hurt?"

"Why is he throwing up?"

"Is that a shark?"

The last question draws everyone's attention over to the half-sunken mass of fish bobbing up and down on the breaths of the sea with a wooden spear sticking straight out of its gills. Though it isn't the biggest, most intimidating shark to roam the ocean, its presence doesn't fail to make everyone who looks at it shudder with the realization of what must have happened.

John B wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and points over at her with his trembling arm outstretched.

"She killed it."

The four of them whip their heads in her direction, jaws nearly falling off their faces in disbelief, but she doesn't say anything yet. Because as soon as they feel the eyes of their friends burning into them, she and JJ realize, as though they're returning to reality from the hazy layers of a dreamscape, that they're still holding each other.

She's slumped halfway onto him from when he hauled her body closer to inspect her, so she's essentially sitting on top of him at this point. Her legs, bruised and scratched up from when the waves crested to send them crashing into the rocks, are entangled around his enough that they look back and forth between them and where his hands cup her face in surprise.

JJ doesn't know what came over him.

Now that he snaps out of it at the same time as her, both of them separating and nudging each other away until their bodies are no longer entwined, he feels his cheeks flush in embarrassment.

When he saw her leaping past him to jump into the water, his mind shut off. He wasn't thinking about himself, or the possibility of getting killed, or anything at all. He was only thinking of the danger she put herself in, then he dove in and the rest of his conscious mind faded away into pure survival instinct. Yet, even after he knew the immediate danger was gone, the adrenaline kept him on edge, desperate to get her back to land and pray none of them were hurt.

"It was trying to attack him," she rasps. Her throat is raw from the saltwater she choked on, and every word burns. "But we did it together."

She pushes herself off the ground with an exhausted sigh.

Muscles spent from the struggle in the water, her legs wobble beneath the weight of her upper body as she takes a few steps to help John B up from his position on his hands and knees. From what she heard, he has thrown up all he has left in his stomach and hasn't gagged again in a minute or so, so attempting to stand again shouldn't be too strenuous for him.

His hand is cold in her grasp from the water soaking their bodies, but it holds firmly enough for her to help him into his feet without their palms slipping apart. No patches of blood are visible on his shorts, nor are there any puncture wounds on him from the sharp teeth that snapped at his arm in the quick but vigorous fight.

They were very, very fortunate to have made it out alive, and when he looks down at her face, he feels nothing but gratitude for the girl he previously saw as nothing more than his girlfriend's best friend. They went into the water as casual acquaintances, companions of convenience and the happenstance of being forced onto this island together, but they've come out of it differently. Now, they're friends.

Now, she's a Pogue.

He smiles at her, glancing up at their friends as their questions die down at the sight of his crazy grin, and says, "That was some real Pogue shit right there, Y/N." His eyes come back to meet hers. "I think it's about time we officially make you one of us. What do you think?"

She's opening her mouth to respond when Kiara cuts her off. The rest of them are staring at the trio as if they have ten heads sprouting from their bodies for not immediately surrendering more details of their near-death encounter other than saying she killed it.

"I'm sorry, can we please rewind to the part where you got attacked by a shark first?"

"Ladies and gentlemen, can I get a drumroll please for..."

The campfire is roaring with the abundance of sticks, leaves, and branches thrown onto the pile to fuel it as she feels a strong pair of arms looping around her thighs to lift her into the expansive, star-flecked sky.

In a flash of haunting memory, she relives the moment where JJ dove into the water after her and lifted her body above the surface to give her the high ground over the shark. She relives its thrashing hunger, the water splashing on her, and the cloudy hue of blood around them that she hoped wasn't either of the boys. For a second, as the world grows taller with her new perspective, she is brought back to the sudden shift she felt then and feels her stomach drop in panic, anticipating the danger.

But then the sound of her friends laughing, as well as the surging fire and crashing waves, comes back to her and forces the frightful flashback away. Her hip fits perfectly in the curve of John B's shoulder, and she lets her head fall back in giggling laughter at how he hoists her up in the air as though she's a holy figure of worship for the Pogues to kneel to.

His voice can likely be heard across the entire island when he shouts, "The Shark Conqueror!"

The group erupts into a triumphant mixture of cheers and laughter that fills the beach, everyone celebrating in their narrow escape earlier today...everyone except JJ.

After John B divulged the gory details of what happened, from JJ's fall to her picking up the spear and jumping in to save him from the shark, they made their way back with enough conversation to last the month. They all asked questions and took peeks back at where it happened in morbid curiosity, wondering how on earth they managed to come out of the situation without a scratch.

The rest of the afternoon continued on with the same buzzing energy that can only be created from the thrill of being alive. She's felt it many times since joining Sarah's group of friends that seem to find trouble wherever they go, but she has never felt it as vehemently as she does tonight. It's a mixture of euphoria, shock, and soul-crushing guilt for having to hurt another living creature, even one that was intending to make a meal of her friend.

No matter how much she grows up or discovers more about herself as a person, feelings never stop being as frustrating as they were to her as a child. You can get better at processing and hindering explosive reactions to them, but they never simplify. She doesn't know why she feels so much at once. She doesn't know why she feels simultaneously on top of the world and thrown off the edge of a cliff, but she thinks it has to do with him.

Since they walked back to the beach and talked about what happened until the day withered into night, which led them here to the “official” ceremony of her being named a Pogue for life, JJ hasn't spoken to her once.

Suddenly, the shoe is on the other foot.

Much like how she avoided him all night last night leading into this morning, he doesn't talk to her. He tries not to look at her too from where he sits on the log of driftwood across the fire, but it's somewhat inevitable with the spectacle John B is making of her at the moment.

Painted in the warm tones of the firelight like a goddess in her own right, Y/N is impossible to look away from, and it makes him angrier than he already is. A handwoven circlet crafted from the hibiscus and hippeastrum flowers growing in the forest around their camp sits atop her head. It doesn't fall to the ground with the movement of her throwing her head back in laughter. It stays in its rightful place against the rule of gravity until her face comes back into view for him to quickly look away from.

It dampers her laughter to see him avoiding her gaze so adamantly, taking a swig of water from one of the small cups they carved from wood and turning to talk to Kie to keep himself busy. The distinct sensation of being on top of the world slips away with the feeling of his cold avoidance and John B lowering her back to the ground until her bare feet sink into the soft sand.

Before she can start sulking about it for the foreseeable future, Sarah steps up beside her.

The familiar touch of a hand on her shoulder brings her comfort amidst her confusion and hurt over the way JJ is acting, and when she turns to see a pretty face looking fondly at her, a warm smile finds her lips.

"Pogue for life?" Sarah asks.

The three words bring make her smile grow the same way it had when she was talking to JJ on the peninsula. It crinkles the skin around her eyes with its unrestrained happiness to hear them because, as much as she pretends to let JJ's comments roll off of her, tonight marks one of the first times she's felt at home with them.

That's not to say they haven't made her feel welcome in the past, they did, but this isn’t the same. This is closer, this is the type of bond that's forged in situations like these where people have no choice but to rely on each other or let their worlds collectively fall apart, and she thinks, for the first time, that she could live here with them forever if she must.

None of them know how much time has passed since they arrived here, least of all her, but it sure as hell feels like an eternity. At first, she could barely withstand the idea of living here for months with the intention of being rescued as soon as possible, but now...

She brings Sarah into an embrace tight enough to force the air from their lungs.

"Pogue for life," she echoes back with her face buried into the salt-scented tresses of dirty blonde hair cascading over her tan shoulders.

Would it be crazy of her to think that this is where they're meant to be? That they're her family and this place she has fantasized about escaping is now their home?

After all, the lush island provides everything they need to sustain themselves with the rationing, scavenging, and hunting routines they adhere themselves to. Freshwater runs down the land in a stream from a water source uphill, plenty of different edible plants grow in the forest, and there's so much left of the expansive land to explore; it's perfect. Everything here is perfect for them, calling out to them to make it their home, but there's one little problem as of right now, and he's sitting across the fire behind her back.

Sarah's arms squeeze around her shoulders once to bring her in even closer.

"Thank you for saving him," her voice is so hushed, Y/N can hardly hear it with her lips brushing the shell of her ear to whisper into it, "I'm not gonna get all mushy with you right now, but I don't know what I would've done if"—Sarah's breath hitches in her throat, and she shakes her head—"I just wanted to thank you."

When they pull apart, Y/N is looking back at her with a knowing expression, one that says everything she can't in the presence of the others, and Sarah can't help but mirror it.

It isn't long before the blonde-haired beauty is whisked away by her boyfriend to help him cook the crabs they caught closer to shore after their encounter with the shark. Not wanting to swim out or risk slipping off the rocks again with the dead fish promising to lure more predators to their area for the next week or so, they settled for hunting for shellfish and making good use of the fruits they find growing in wild abundance in the forest.

The night ticks away in swiftly passing minutes thanks to the humorous company of the people around her.

She nearly chokes on a mouthful of banana as Cleo tells a story from before she met them, when she used to live in Nassau and work jobs with Terence and Stubbs on ships. For such new additions to the group, they both fit surprisingly well with the lifelong childhood friends that sit around and banter with such ease together.

They talk, laugh, dance, and eat together, and there are moments when she feels happier than ever. There are moments exactly like when John B lifted her up and made her giggle at how their friends cheered on her behalf in indulgence of the silly "ceremony" they did, half out of boredom and half out of gratitude for what she did. But then she is reminded of the man sitting on the outskirts of the group with his features hardened into an expression of contemplation she wishes she could decode.

The night breeze feels heavenly on her perpetually overexposed skin. It blows into the fire and allows it to swell from the oxygen supply, crackling and popping embers out every so often like the spark of the zippo lighter JJ fidgets with in his restless hands. The movement attracts her wandering eyes while they should be focused on Cleo and Kie dancing around the fire with boisterous laughter while Sarah and Pope sing for them.

She keeps herself honed in on the opening and closing of the lighter under the guidance of his ring-clad fingers for the next minute or so.

They may have been pitting themselves against each other since they met, but that doesn't mean she doesn't know him well. If anything, the keen attention that her old hatred for him forced her to keep on him made her memorize everything there is to know. And she surely has picked up on the nervous habit of him playing with the lighter whenever he's thinking, whenever there's something crawling under his skin that he can't piece together.

He sits with his back to her, facing out toward the ocean so all she can see is the hand he uses to flick the lighter open and shut with. With a quick glance at the rest of their friends to see if any of them are watching or wanting to speak with her, she pushes herself up from the log and dusts her sandy palms on her shirt.

The tracks of her footsteps lead around the corner of the driftwood he rests against until her feet appear, sunken into the sand in front of him. It takes a lot of control to not allow himself to follow up the length of her body, panning up along her legs until he sees that infuriatingly tenderhearted set of eyes looking down at him.

However, he doesn't have a choice in looking when her hand outstretches in a silent invitation. His first glimpse of her in the last half-hour shows her jerking her chin in the direction of the beach curving around the bend of the island.

This morning, he probably would've taken her up on the offer. He would've done anything to get a few minutes alone with her, but now he can't see past his anger and doesn't know why. He doesn't know why it hasn't calmed yet, but, in truth, it has more to do with him than it does her idiotic yet brave decision to fight off a shark today. Trust him, it still has a lot to do with the idiotic shark thing, but the rest is lost in translation for him.

"Not in the mood," he dismisses her.

Her brows furrow and form a crease between them as she tries to find something to say but comes up with nothing. At least not until it clicks with her what he thought she was trying to do by inviting him to walk with her.

The last time they went off on their own together, it ended in an explosive encounter they have yet to erase from their minds. It's what greets them whenever they close their eyes for a second too long, existing in their wildest daydreams and fantasies whenever they have a spare moment to themselves. Hell, he can't stop thinking about it even when he's already occupied. It was the reason why he didn't catch any fish this morning before the incident that made him pissed at her in the first place. He couldn't stop thinking of her.

"Oh," she murmurs and starts to kneel down until her knees are sinking into the sand the same way she did when patching up his leg. Her eyes peek over his shoulder to ensure the others didn't hear them—"That wasn't what I meant...I was just wondering if you wanted to talk about today. It must have been a lot to process, since he's your best friend and all, and—"

JJ snaps, unable to tolerate it anymore, and stands up from his spot on the sand to move away from her.

"You don't need act all therapist with me, okay? I'm fine, and I don't need you to fix me if that's what you wanted. Today was fine. Everything's fine, so let it go."

Her mouth opens and closes like a fish with a loss for words. For the second time in the span of a minute, she is grasping blindly for something to say in the wake of him shocking her to silence. He's starting to walk past her but she doesn't let him. Her hand shoots out to stop him and holds onto his arm to turn him back despite his rudeness.

Underneath it all, her concern touches him deeply. It shouldn't trigger a reaction like this in him, so why does it? What about today set him off? He hasn't been this genuinely angry with her since before the hunt for the gold began, before she started to blend into their friend group and establish herself as one of them.

"Woah, woah, woah," she says, "I never said that. I thought that you needed someone to talk to. You know, as a friend."

Their friends start to notice their interaction tensing up now. Before, they didn't pick up on her stepping away for a second to check on him. Now, it's impossible to ignore what unfolds hardly six steps from where they watch as slyly as they can. The two of them haven't had a conversation as cold as this one in months, and what he says next takes it to a place that freezes over the connection they made last night and shatters the warm place it held in her heart.

He scoffs.

"We're not friends. If you think you gotta act different 'cause you threw yourself at me last night, don't bother. You hate me and I hate you. That's how it is."

No nicknames, jokes, or anything to act as a buffer, just cruelty. Rejection.

Though they truly were trying to pretend like they weren't paying attention, every single one of their friends stops and stares. A chorus of hushed reactions sound off from across the fire, and the faint sound of Kie muttering, "Oh shit," is the first thing to reach their ears. It's needless to say that none of them could've expected something so callous to come from him, not after what they saw when they ran up to them on the peninsula this morning.

With the way he was holding her then, doting on her and cradling her face between his hands even in the midst of his anger at what she did, they sooner expected the pair to admit they're dating than have a blowout like this.

In the delayed seconds it takes for her to realize what the fuck he just said to her, he watches her face shift from a look of concern to sadness, to flush-faced embarrassment, then finally to anger. Her teeth grind together, nostrils flaring on her inhale, and in one quick moment, she comes to a conclusion within herself.

She reaches up to rip the handmade crown of vibrant flowers off her head with flames to match the camp fire flaring up in her eyes for him. Before she can do anything, he already knows he crossed a line, if not multiple lines. It's evident in everything he sees, from the hurt look on her face to the force with which she shoves the crown into the center of his chest to send him stumbling back a few steps. Just like yesterday, except it couldn't be any more different.

"Fuck. You." She spits the words as though they're venomous, and he almost shrinks away under the intensity of her stare, “Go find somewhere else to sleep tonight, 'cause it sure as hell isn't gonna be with me."

Petals flutter out upon impact against his solid chest and float peacefully to the sand around his feet as he watches her turn on her heels and storm off toward their hut. Though, after what he did and what she said to him as a goodbye, it isn't really theirs anymore, is it? At least not for tonight, tomorrow, or the next day until he finds a way to make her hear him out for an apology.

He stands there, frozen, the entire time he watches her leave. Nothing can move him from the spot, not even Sarah knocking her shoulder against his with a pointed glare on her way past to follow her into the moonlit darkness.

He doesn't even resist the disappointed looks he gets, or the shoulder check from Sarah. This time, he deserves it. He deserves every ounce of their judgment. All she was trying to do was make sure he was okay and he was too consumed in his unreleased frustration from today to see it. And, in a way, he's still frustrated over it, but it's greatly overshadowed by the guilt seeping through him.

The shadowy shapes of the two girls disappear into the small hut further down the beach, and JJ is left with nothing to do but look down at the flower crown clutched to his chest in regret.

Tag List: @gabiatthedisco, @fangirlvoice, @black-syren, @apparrio, @particularcth, @planetdemon, @idk-ijustworkhere, @krisphann, @astrydis, @k-k0129, @zarahsloves, and @stilesflannels.

[beyfantasy]

Redesigned White Tigers from my BEYBLADE AU “Beyfantasy” in 2010.

One of the things I wanted to fix in the old 2010 art were the character poses. I made sure that the remake of the old artworks were more dynamic and having better energy! While Rai, Mao, and Kiki retained most of their designs- Gao had the most changes.

Champion Rai In the old art, Rai's front fist was covering one of the cool parts of his outfit- which was the pendant/neck area. I prioritized his punch over showing off the costume detail before, so for the new pose- the first goal in mind when illustrating him was to show off that area. I also designed gauntlets for him~

Another thing that bothered me were his pants. Back then, it was a fun idea to go all out on it. For the new design- I wanted to tone it down while retaining the Lion Dance pants element. I think the remade artwork has a better balance of the elaborate flair in his pants!

I wanted to keep his silhouette and scale as similar as possible in the old design so not much of the pose has changed. The way his hair flares out and the buff of his chest area were meant to show the strength and silhouette of a lion. His legs had to be spread apart to add to the lion impression, as well as match Lei's stance. His artwork is meant to be Lei's opposite and is drawn so that they look like a pair of brothers - Light and Dark. While Lei has a more fixed "perfect" stance, Rai has a more loose and wild stance. I also made sure to improve on his expression of rage as this says a lot about his story. 

His Lotus motif remains- representing perfection, and the season of summer. It also represents inward emptying and outward splendor- this can also refer to his release of feelings about Lei.

Berserker Mao Mao's design has always been one of my favorite Beyfantasy designs. Her first design was well-loved by many people too and I was happy with the color combinations. Her silhouette was meant to give the impression of a cat- hence the back part being longer like a tail. I originally intended to make her hair a little pinker towards a cool color that was closer to Magenta, but I remembered that a lot of people appreciated her "redder" hair in this design. It was also similar to her first colored manga art. While I was coloring, I realized that the redder hair blended better with the kind of pinks, blues, and golds she had in her overall outfit so I decided to scrap the "pinker" hair idea.

Looking back, one thing that bothered me in her old design were her shoes. I remember putting those shoes for "comfort" and ease of movement, with the bandages there to hold the shoes in place so they don't fly around. Considering her fighting style, the shoes might still come off when she would spin because the friction from the ground will overpower the area covered on her feet by the shoe. I decided to give her shoes that covered her entire feet with appropriate socks in place for better stability.

Her claws were drawn better since in the old one- it looked like they would chip off or lift when she would scratch. This time, she can use them to punch, claw, or defend. The armor on her gloves reaches until just below her elbow, but her sleeves and bandages conceal that.

The blue part of her outfit was cute, but I wanted to soften the edges since they looked a bit block-y. The ends now have a cute petal-y design framing the Peony embroidery. I removed the leaves on her Peony clip and had the strings form a ribbon instead with tassels on the end. Having the leaves around would be overkill, and would take away the focus on her eyes. The ribbon is a nod to her trademark in the anime. The Peony motif is kept on her - an exquisite flower symbolizing nobility and value. It is also associated with affection and female beauty. The Peony is also a flower of spring.

Lastly, I was very careful with drawing her face. It was tempting to doll her up with vibrant makeup, but I had to hold back a lot. I reduced the amount of eyeshadow she had, added a simple blush, and kept the lipstick more nude. While she is beautiful and her design is elaborate, she was still not the kind of girl who would bother way too much with vanity.

Thief Kiki I had to redeem myself from how I drew his weapon in the old art so this was my chance! I wanted to show off his transforming weapon- the three sections and the chain. While the way it is wielded in the art does not make sense at all in combat action, it does well for his character art and silhouette. I tried to incorporate a monkey-like silhouette for this remake by having him raise his arms that way.

Not much changed from the idea of his design. I did want to make him look more of a "youth on the go" so I made the yellow cardigan have a hoodie attached to it. His shoes were changed to something that occupied more of his feet. The waist sash remains in the same silhouette like a monkey tail. I did consider giving him darker/blue colors to match the "thief" theme, but it didn't work out too well. His outfit is also what he would wear in the tournament where he's revealed to be a weapons master and not just a run-off-the-mill thief. I stuck with the same color plan.

I was debating on whether or not I should make his transforming staff glow or not. Glowing weapons were more of the All Starz's theme so I decided to express its specialty by adding Chrysanthemum designs on it and giving it an unusual color. His motif Chrysanthemum, can be found on his weapon, his purple top, and on his back. This flower symbolizes a life of ease and is often given in funerals. The Chrysanthemum stands for the season of autumn. This cold flower could express the fact that Kiki had feelings for Mao, but there doesn't seem to be any hope for romantic success between them because of Lei so he tries his best to put these emotions at rest. It's ironic that his colors are more tropical/summer-like, but if you look closer there's still a coldness to some parts of his color palette.

Grappler Gao Gao is the character that had a lot of costume changes. I started off by picking the elements in his first design that I liked best- which were the colors, the waist sash, and the fur. His old design was greatly imbalanced in weight. I could not understand if I was going for a cool or warm outfit type. For the remake- I decided to go for a warmer and heavier type of outfit. I worried it looked uncomfortable since just looking at it made me feel suffocated. But I imagined him in a winter setting and thought of the “heavy weight” element I wanted so it cleansed me of doubts to go for it.

The metal weights were changed to more practical/modern looking weights. This shift to a simpler design was to balance out the changes in his more elaborate top's design. A belt was added to match his boots and top's stitches. This new iteration has a lot of leather and fabric that gives a good amount of friction.

The old artwork's pose was his default stance and I found it too lazy for a remake drawing. I wanted to express his character better by adding a lamb chop he's eating from! I did my best to make it look tasty.

The Plum Blossom motif can be seen at the bottom of his waist sash. During the winter season, the plum blossom grows flowers from seemingly dead branches- representing new life at the end of the said season. The Plum Blossom also represents courage and hope. In the Beyfantasy, Gao was a child nomad who found home in the White Tiger village and he started living a new kind of vibrant life with Rai and the others.

Those are the designer's notes on the White Tigers Beyfantasy Remake! As with the others, I rewrote some parts of their character descriptions. I am very happy with how they turned out and am also satisfied that I was able to give their backstories and profiles better clarity and color compared to before.

Thank you for reading ^-^

[ofaprilflowers]

- part 2: home? - 

warnings: descriptions of injuries, not too detailed.

tags: shout out to my first-ever requested tags, @sista7-7​  @softieus​ and @marrambles​ yay! Thank you for reading and sorry for the late update TT. Hope you guys enjoy :)

disclaimers: I am not a medical professional, this is all part of my imagination and totally made-up therefore is in no way accurate. If you find any part I could improve on, do tell. I would appreciate the feedback. Other than that, enjoy! <3

previous/next

It took another week for me to finally be discharged. A week of rehabilitation and physiotherapy (which Dr. Hwang said would be continued after my discharge TT). I had lost strength in my extremities and also my sense of balance. This, I found out after almost falling down right on my face when I attempted to climb out of bed for the first time. Almost, well because thankfully, he was there. 

My parents had arrived the night I woke up. My mother immediately cupping my face, tears brimming in her eyes while my father just took my hand in his and smiled every time I looked his way. 

It felt surreal, honestly. My family and I were close. But we were not exactly the type to be crying and holding each other, or professing our love for each other. We were the laugh-at-each-other’s-life-problems-cuz-I-had-it-worse-than-you type of family. Then again, for me it felt like I was waking up from a long nap, while for them, they didn’t know whether I would make it or not so, fair enough.

Turns out, the accident was pretty bad. My head had to be stitched up and so now there was a nasty gash above my left eye (it was definitely gonna scar but let’s not think about that right now). My arms where full of cuts and scrapes from the broken windshield. My legs and chest, badly bruised. Dr. Hwang said they had healed fairly well in the past two weeks, but I still cringed at how ugly they looked every time I caught a glimpse. He also mentioned that I was lucky not to have sustained any other serious injuries other than my head trauma. I was grateful of course, but losing my memory was deleterious enough. 

I woke up every morning feeling confused as to why the heck I was at a hospital and it took a few groggy minutes to remember. Sometimes it took seeing Jaehyun- either curled up asleep on the armchair or standing next to the window with a cup of coffee in hand- for me to come crashing back into reality. 

I learnt through my mother- who had attempted to fit the past 2 weeks of my unconsciousness along with the last 6 years into a 2 day crash-course- that Jaehyun was the only one who stayed at the hospital every day and night. My mother had stayed the first week, as my condition stabilised however, she opted to visiting daily. That also depended on whether my father was available to drive her 45 minutes to the hospital from home. You see, my parents were rational people, but I couldn’t help but feel a tinge of hurt. I mean I was laying unconscious on a hospital bed yet there were still other important stuff to be handled. Well, as they say, life goes on, right? Kind of made me think if I had just hallucinated the tears brimming in her eyes the other day.

While my mother would babble on about looking on the bright side and starting my life again, Jaehyun’s presence was like having a burden be lifted. I know I’ve lived most of our “acquaintence-ship” hating him, but I made a mental note to properly thank him for this in particular. On every occasion that my head felt like it was about to burst from the overwhelming information my mother was flooding me with, he’d interject, naturally bringing her focus to something other than trying to piece me back together. Often times he’d ask her to join him for a cup of coffee, or show her things he was currently working on. I’d close my eyes then and pretend to fall asleep.

“So, you’re saying, I should continue my life ‘as normal as possible’. Meaning?” We (the doctor and I) were currently in his office. By tomorrow morning I was finally leaving. Goodbye to the sanitary, boring hospital, hello to......well, life?

The doctor had explained all the procedures and follow-up appointments that were to come. Both to Jaehyun and I. Then, we talked about going home and that’s when I realised, home had changed. I don’t know how we had avoided addressing it, or maybe I was the only one in denial of it. I mean throughout the week after regaining consciousness, although Jaehyun was there, we barely talked. Mostly because I became a selective mute, and he, well I guess he was respecting my space?

Dr. Hwang had noticed the awkward silence that had passed after he mentioned about going home and quickly changed the subject, calling in a nurse to guide Jaehyun in signing my discharge papers or something. After he left, the doctor didn’t hesitate in putting on what I call his “uncle-face”.

“As normal as possible, meaning that it’s better if you return to your daily routines prior to the accident,” he explained for the nth time.

I fidgeted in my seat. “But, wouldn’t that cause me more distress? It’s a life a barely know.” “Astrid,” he began, straightening his back. “I understand how hard it my be for you to wrap you head around all this. 6 years is a lot. But it is your life. Your experiences and memories throughout that period were real, and you deserve to remember them. You need to give your life a chance.”

Well, damn. He had a point. He should’ve been a therapist instead.

“And, what if my memories don’t come back?” I prodded.

“Well then, at least maybe you’ll learn more about yourself.” Okay, then. Here we go, Astrid.

We live in a loft?!?!

Pretty sure my eyes were bulging out of my head but wow.

Eyes wandering around the space, I tried to take in everything at once. This was certainly NOT what I had expected. This can’t be real right? I must absolutely be dreaming.

“Welcome...home?” Jaehyun said.

My head snapped in his direction, mouth agape. He smiled sheepishly, his infamous dimples popping out, his hands tucked into his jean pockets, his shoulders lifted briefly. He looked like a child, shyly presenting to the world his greatest creation. I almost smiled. Almost. 

“You like it?” he asked.

I scoffed. “For real?”

My eyes turned back to the space he had referred to as home. Well, it didn’t feel like home (yet. Remember Astrid we’re giving this a chance), but yes, I absolutely love it!

I took in my surroundings again and this time, couldn’t help the smile that crept up my cheeks. 

The space was gorgeous. It was big, but not huge. It was small, but not tiny. It was spacious enough to have everything and more. There was an L-shaped sofa that could probably fit 5 or maybe even 7 people if squeezed in together. There were even 2 more smaller ones in front of it. Perfect for a small gathering. Opposite the living room was a kitchen, with a small kitchen island. God, I’ve always dreamed of having an island. There was another floor and at the stairs leading up to it were ceiling-high windows with a bumped-out seat, all set with pillows on one end and potted plants on the other. It looked like the perfect spot to read or stargaze at night. I walked into the living room, the brick walls were covered in framed movie posters and artwork, some smaller frames containing pictures which I guessed were probably a collection of memories.

I stepped closer and caught a glimpse of some familiar faces in unfamiliar settings. One photo caught my eye. It was a photo I remember, taken earlier this ye- I mean well, early 2017, right after graduation. I was sandwiched between Jungwoo and Ten, holding up a peace sign to the camera. Jaehyun on Jungwoo’s other side, hand around the latter’s shoulders. Others in the picture smiling widely, so many poses, so many expressions. Literally, it felt like yesterday. 

“You remember that?” Jaehyun probed. 

I smiled. “Yeah, just a couple weeks before Taeil’s birthday bash, right?”

Then, something flickered in my mind. Of Jaehyun, smirking at a table with his friends, of them exchanging words and laughter, of me hearing something I probably shouldn’t have. Jaehyun had many circles of friends, being the typical extroverted, super-friendly campus sweetheart. This circle was one I wasn’t quite familiar with, least to say I didn’t really like them. I felt my cheeks heat up as my blood boiled at the thought of that memory.

“You wanna see upstairs?” Jaehyun’s voice pulled me back into reality. I turned to look at him. He was standing right next to me, looking almost exactly the same as the Jaehyun I knew. The Jaehyun that I couldn’t stand being in the same room with. The Jaehyun that always had a competitive, mischievous glint in his eye. The Jaehyun that would take every chance he got to argue with everything I said. The Jaehyun that made me feel like I had to defend everything I had. 

There was a slight difference, though. The competitive, mischievous glint was somehow...softer. It made me confused, because I was angry, but looking at him now, I don’t know who to be angrier at. Me, or him?

“Ummm, I think, I just- I just wanna lie down,” I tore my eyes away from him and took a step back, putting just a little more distance between him and I.

I saw his fists clench and unclench a bit at his sides. A moment passed until he said, “Yeah. Sure,” walking back towards the doors he picked up my hospital bag and gestured towards a room behind him.

“This is actually, um, our bedroom, but don’t worry, I’ve moved most of my stuff upstairs so this space is all yours,” dropping the bags on the bed, he stepped aside to allow me in. It was a beautiful room, with slanted windows, decorated with some more plants. 

“So, feel free to look around, get used to the place and all. Oh yeah, um, this is the bathroom,” he opened a door on the left of the room, then gestured toward a closet in front of the bed, “Your pyjamas are in the top drawer and, uh, well, um, everything else is-”

“I’ll take a look,” I smiled at him briefly.

His eyes landed on mine for a moment, then quickly looked away. 

“Yeah, okay, so um, I’ll be outside, if you need anything just, um,” his hands, one scratching at the back of his neck, the other gesturing undecidedly, “yeah.”

“Okay,” I said.

“Okay,” he replied. He stood there for a second, then turned to leave the room.

“Jeahyun?”

“Hmm?” he snapped his head towards me, eyebrows lifted in question.

“Thank you,” I breathed.

I saw a bit of tension leave his body. “You don’t need to thank me, Astrid,” he replied softly. “This is- this is your home too.” With a tight-lipped smile, he closed the door behind him.

[iatethepomegranate]

Just a fic about Caleb buying a house in Rexxentrum with Beau and Yasha, and coping with that kind of change and newfound stability (and becoming Professor Widogast). Angst and fluff are at war in this fic.

Content warnings: lots of grief, Caleb's backstory, referenced child abuse

Chapter summary: The Nein goes shopping and Caleb is tired. The market offers up an expected memory, and the chance to hold a little piece of childhood in his hands.

Notes: Title is from Nine by Sleeping At Last.

****

Chapter 4: I let the scale tip and feel all of it, it's uncomfortable but right

Jester and Caduceus were a force to be reckoned with at the marketplace. They had already convinced Caleb to let them buy him a set of curtains for his side of the house. Thick fabric to block out most light and definitely any nosy neighbours. They were a soft yellow-green patterned with watercolour chamomile flowers, which they had figured out were native to the Zemni Fields behind Caleb’s back.

“These are so pretty Cay-leb,” Jester said, gently sliding them into the bag of holding with Fjord’s help as they stepped out of the shop. “We’ll put these up as soon as we get back, okay? Yasha promised she’ll help us.”

Yasha was a little way off with Kingsley, her arm over his shoulders as they looked at swords at a nearby market stall. Caduceus dragged everyone off to stock up on kitchen necessities and more seeds for Yasha’s garden. And a ton of baking supplies, because Yasha had begged Caduceus to teach her, even though everyone knew no one had to beg Caduceus for that kind of thing.

Essek, disguised as a half-elf with soft brown hair and eyes, held himself a little awkwardly here in the heart of the Dwendalian Empire, but he defiantly refused to complain. He had little input on Empire goods, aside from wine, about which Beauregard happily bickered with him. Caleb was happy enough to let the others direct him, even if he theoretically knew the markets better than they did.

He trusted them. And he was so tired.

So he quietly followed the Nein around the market and let them make decisions for him with minimal input. He must have looked wrecked, because Essek, despite his disguise and clear nervousness, held his hand to anchor him.

Fjord, Jester and Kingsley bought him a ton of high quality paper and ink for the study, with Essek’s subtle guidance. Caduceus picked out basic kitchen staples for Caleb that would keep him fed even if he didn't have much time to cook, in the event he couldn’t eat with Beau and Yasha. Veth found some orange-amber cushions that complemented the curtains. Yasha found an orange-white checkered tablecloth that she declared matched his hair and therefore was a necessity for the house. She and Beau bought two, one for each side.

Caleb, in a lucid moment, found a soft blue rug for Beau and Yasha’s bedroom and bought it for them, despite their objections. It was only fair he gave them something back after everything they were doing for him. He would have to work out the logistics of installing a real-world sex mirror later as a proper gift. He’d ask Essek to help, and Essek would do it, but he would hate every second of it. The one sex joke he had ever made in front of the Nein was 50% deflection. And jokes were very different from installing a sex mirror for someone.

Jester would be up for it. A little bit of gold dust would be enough for Caleb to hold it in place with Immovable Object while they secured it.

Caleb was pulled from his calculations about dimensions and weight for a ceiling mirror when Veth tugged on his hand. “Hey, Cay. There’s an old lady selling homemade quilts. Rexxentrum is very cold, and you are going to catch a chill if we don’t get you something better than that one shitty blanket. Come on.”

She led him over, catching up with the rest of the Nein. Jester was chatting with an old Zemian woman sitting behind the table behind piles of bright quilts. The stitching sparked an old, old memory in Caleb, and he found himself stepping closer before he had consciously thought about it.

“Ja, I make the trip up from Blumenthal every few months,” the old woman said in a thick Zemnian accent, much thicker than Caleb’s after all his time travelling.

Caleb froze for half a second, easing himself through the shock of that information. “Ah, hallo, grandmother. It is good to meet someone from home.” This conversation would be easier in Zemnian. Common lacked the polite Sie form that Caleb would typically have used for respect. But he wasn’t sure he could handle having this conversation in Zemnian, so it was probably for the best.

The woman smiled up at him, her lips wobbly with age. “Hallo, young man.”

Caleb’s knees ached a little, just to remind him some parts of him really were not young at all.

She held out a wrinkled hand for him to shake. “Call me Lisbeth.”

Caleb had a strange moment of indecision regarding his name, trying to remember if he had known this woman as a child but coming up empty; Blumenthal was just large enough that it was possible not to know everyone, and she may have even moved there after he was gone. “Ah, Caleb Widogast.” He shook her hand. “I grew up in Blumenthal. This stitching is…” Why was he just saying everything that came to his mind?

“Very traditional, ja.”

“Ja, my mother used to make quilts like these...” His was probably ash now.

He was dimly aware that the Nein were watching him, and that Veth had done an extremely visible double-take.

Lisbeth searched Caleb’s face for one terrifying moment, and he was convinced that maybe she did know him after all. But then, whatever she saw made her soften, and she reached beneath the table. “I like to save my best work for those who will appreciate it. Here.” She laid a thicker quilt on top of the others. “I made one like this for my grandson. He wears it like a cape around the house.”

The stitching was a little more intricate, and the squares were detailed with minimalist animal shapes. Mostly cats. Una had taken Caleb’s cat obsession to heart; the quilt she had made him had been similar. Painfully so.

Caleb traced the stitching of an orange cat, his vision blurring. Essek squeezed his hand. Caleb blinked until he could see again. Even with the disguise turning purple eyes to brown, these were definitely Essek’s eyes staring up at him with a familiar look of both affection and concern.

“We’ll take it,” said Veth. Veth, who had already bought Caleb a house, and cushions. This was… no.

“Veth.”

“Caleb.”

He sighed. “A word, please.” He took her hand, leading her a little away from the group. “Veth, this is too much.”

Veth’s eyes were wet. “No. No, it’s not. I saw how much this means to you. Caleb, you just talked about your childhood and your mother to a total stranger. That’s not…” She sighed. “I saw your face when she pulled out that quilt.”

“I cannot let you…” Caleb could barely speak. “Veth.” He swallowed. “You bought me a house. You are still buying things for me. This is… I can’t take this.”

“Why not?” There was an edge to her voice, but it was a genuine question. “I thought we were over this. Why is this the line?”

Caleb did not know where he found the strength to stay on his feet when all he wanted to do was fall in a heap. He stared at the dirt.

“Cay, look at me. Please.” Veth couldn’t reach his face, but she absolutely could conjure her mage hand to lift Caleb’s chin until he met her eyes. “Will having this make you happy? Or does it hurt too much? I won’t force you to take something that hurts you, but if this is because you don’t think you deserve it…”

“I don’t know, Veth.”

They had spent a long time alone together, relying on each other to survive. If anyone could read him, it was her. She stared at him for a few moments, eyes moving as if his face were a real book.

“I don’t think you would’ve struck up a conversation with a random Zemnian lady if this was the bad kind of pain,” she said. She rolled her shoulders back. “That settles it: you’re getting the quilt. I’ll get the Nein to chip in if that makes you feel less weird about it.”

It kind of did. And Caleb didn’t have it in him to argue anymore. “Ja, okay.”

Veth pulled him down so she could kiss his cheek and led him back to the stall. “All right, everyone give me your money.”

It was probably a sign of how bad Caleb looked that nobody questioned her. But when Essek reached for his pocket, Caleb reached out to stop him.

“No,” he said. “Not you.”

Essek frowned deeply with the half-elf’s face, but the expressions were undeniably him. “Caleb.”

“No. You need that money. Do not put me through this.”

Essek’s face softened. “All right.”

The rest of the Nein, even Kingsley who still barely knew Caleb from a bar of soap, coughed up enough coins to pay for the quilt. Lisbeth, a little teary herself, offered a discount, which they refused. Jester and Veth gave her extra gold that Caleb couldn’t count through his brain fog. Okay, he was very much not coping if he couldn’t even count things.

Veth was too small to pick up the quilt without dragging it on the floor, even after Lisbeth had gently folded it, so Yasha accepted it from Lisbeth and handed it to Caleb. Old muscle memory took over, and he buried his face in the soft fabric.

“Danke schön,” he said quietly.

Lisbeth smiled at him again, but it was sad. “You should come by the market and say hello before I go back home in a few weeks.”

“I will.” It would hurt a lot, but Caleb meant it.

“Take care, Schatz.”

No one had called him that in a long time. It hurt. It hurt so much.

Grief was funny like that sometimes. You think you’re getting on with things, doing okay, and then there will be a scent on the wind, an old term of endearment, stitching identical to your mother’s… and you break.

Caleb squeezed the quilt and barely held himself together as the Nein led him back home. Whatever shopping they had left to do… they had wordlessly agreed to leave it for another day.

****

Back home, Caleb asked to be alone for a bit. That meant Essek was allowed. They laid the quilt out on Caleb’s bed, Essek’s disguise abandoned. Caleb stopped fighting the tears, letting the sobs come as he smoothed out the edges, fingers catching on a stitched golden retriever puppy.

Essek pressed his palm between Caleb’s shoulder blades. “Sit. Please.”

Caleb lowered himself slowly, wholly convinced he would collapse if he wasn’t careful, and settled on the edge of the bed. Essek pushed him onto his back and curled up next to him, guiding Caleb’s head to settle against his chest. Limbs tangled together.

No more words were said for a while. Caleb drifted asleep at some point, waking with a headache. Essek left briefly to fetch him a cup of water. Caleb stretched and his back cracked a little bit. He felt hollowed out, but in a good way. The way you felt after a good, well-deserved cry.

Essek returned in a few minutes, wiping his own eyes on his sleeve, and made Caleb drink the whole cup. “You should eat something.”

“Soon.” Caleb still felt a bit queasy from the tears.

Essek tucked himself into Caleb’s side, arm around his waist. He squeezed, just a little, and kissed Caleb’s collarbone. Caleb pulled him in close and kissed the top of his head.

“Danke.” The word was not enough to express the depths of Caleb’s gratitude that Essek had lain here with him through his grief, that he had taken such a risk to stay at Caleb’s side in the market to begin with. Under better circumstances, Caleb would have been furious with Essek for that, but they both knew Caleb had needed him today.

Caleb slowly rubbed his palm across the surface of the quilt behind Essek’s back. It felt exactly the same as the one he’d had when he was little, which Una had repaired again and again over the years because he was so attached to it. She had made it last until he was seventeen. Until the night he had destroyed everything because of a false memory, primed by faux-patriotic indoctrination and horrific abuse. Caleb would never fully shake off the guilt. Not entirely. Whatever Trent had put in his head, it had been Caleb’s hands that set the fire. But it was getting easier to accept that Trent had engineered the situation very carefully, so that Caleb did not feel like he had another choice.

He was glad Veth had convinced him to accept the quilt. One more piece of his past reclaimed. One more piece that could become a comfort instead of a knife in his ribs.

Caleb felt better. The two of them slowly stretched out their limbs, rolled aching joints, and headed to Beau and Yasha’s side of the house. There was a scent of baking in the air. Not apple tarts--Caleb probably would have broken again if it had been, no matter how happy the memory. He could smell spices.

They stepped down the stairs into the living area. Beauregard was grumbling over some Cobalt Soul report, while Kingsley, notably bored, lazily slapped her leg with his tail over and over. Fjord listened to Beauregard’s complaints with a constructed look of sympathy. Veth was openly ignoring her, head in her spellbook once again. Yasha, Caduceus and Jester were notably absent.

“Oh!” Fjord was very quick to find an excuse to stop listening to her. “There you are. The others are baking biscuits that none of us can pronounce.”

Beauregard rolled her eyes. “I’m telling you I said it right.”

“Caleb, help us out,” said Kingsley. “They’re some kind of spiced biscuit dusted with sugar while they’re still hot. Normally for special occasions.”

“This is a special occasion,” Veth told him. “It’s got the same number of syllables as fluffernutter. I think.”

Caleb suspected he knew what they meant. “Ah. Pfeffernüsse.”

“Yeah, that.”

“Told you I was right,” Beauregard muttered.

“They’re very good,” said Caleb.

“I think the first batch is almost done,” said Veth. “You should be our taste tester.”

Caleb crouched beside her on his way to the kitchen, pointing at the book. “Veth, that rune is upside down.”

“Fuck!”

He found the spell she was copying out in his own spellbook and set it beside her. “Here. It’s easier with more than one source. I’ll be back to help you in a moment.”

Caleb then stepped into the kitchen, with Essek on his tail. Yasha had a pair of soft pink oven mitts on, pulling a tray from their dark metal oven. Jester held a bag of confectioner’s sugar, bouncing in anticipation while Caduceus tried half-heartedly to close the bag before she spilled it everywhere.

“You’re just in time, Mr Caleb,” Caduceus said, giving up. “The lady selling baking supplies at the market gave us the recipe. I am not going to try pronouncing it again.”

“Pfeffernüsse,” Caleb supplied again.

“Yeah, no.”

Jester snickered. “He kept trying to say it while you were upstairs. It was very cute.”

By now, Yasha had set the tray down and put another in the oven. “Caleb, Caleb, come here! Look!”

Caleb stepped to her side and gazed down at the cookie tray. They were a little less round than the pfeffernüsse Caleb was used to, but recognisable. Jester came over and sprinkled the sugar over them with far more grace than anyone had expected.

Once cooled a bit, they brought the biscuits out to the living area. They were soft like Caleb remembered, and the spice blend was excellent. “These are perfect,” he said. “Thank you.”

Yasha looked genuinely touched, and swept him into a huge hug.

“May I help you next time?” asked Essek. “I have never baked before.”

“Of course,” Yasha said. “Caduceus is going to teach us to make bread soon.” She held up her hands in a slow-motion shrug. “Goes well with soup?” Her voice went up at the end, making it sound like a question.

Kingsley, who had absolutely not paid any attention to the conversation, shoved an entire biscuit in his mouth, his eyes widening to a ludicrous degree. “What the fuck? This is the best thing I have ever tasted.”

“We are famous for our baked goods,” said Caleb.

“You’d think Zemnians would be a happier bunch if this is the shit they eat,” Beauregard said, her mouth covered in sugar.

“Depression baking is a cultural pastime,” Caleb said.

“Bro, what the fuck?”

“Do you think Astrid and Eadwulf eat these things?” asked Jester.

“Probably,” said Caleb. “We used to.” That reminded him; he needed to message Astrid and arrange a time to discuss the job offer. “Ah, one moment.” He pulled out the copper wire, sticking to Common for the sake of his companions. “Astrid, it’s Bren. The Professors delivered the offer. Do you have time to talk? I am a little nervous about it. Time and place?”

Astrid replied in Zemnian, “Do you remember Trent’s old office? I’m there now. Come when you are ready.”

Caleb re-upped the spell. “I will be there in half an hour,” he replied in Zemnian.

Still in Zemnian, Astrid replied one last time, “I look forward to it.”

Beauregard was the only one who could understand the Zemnian half of what Caleb had said. “Caleb, I don’t wanna be patronising, but are you feeling up to that?”

“I want to get it over with,” Caleb replied. He clarified for the rest of the group, “I am going to see Astrid soon, to talk about the job.”

“I’ll pack some cookies,” said Jester, grabbing the plate and rushing into the kitchen. Yasha chased after her before she could break anything.

“Do you want an escort?” asked Fjord.

“Nein. I’ll be all right.”

“You will call if you need us?” Fjord’s voice was firm; it wasn’t a question.

“Ja, of course.”

****

Caleb was out the door in a few minutes, carrying a cloth bundle of six Pfeffernüsse, all that had been left of the first batch. It was four in the afternoon, the air having chilled a little but it was still pleasant. Caleb didn’t mind the cold too much, as long as he wasn’t trapped in it.

Walking into the Shimmer Ward was less frightening than it used to be. There would always be a lingering hint of anxiety, but he had it well in hand. There were crownsguard stationed at the Academy gates; they silently let him pass into the manicured gardens of the campus.

Coming here as a teenager had been a dream come true, which had quickly become a nightmare. Maybe coming back here to teach would let him reclaim those memories, turn them into something useful. He headed to the nearest tower, where he knew most staff kept an office. Trent had rarely been in his, but Caleb recalled that Astrid had been teaching here, so it made sense she would make better use of it.

The tall marble archways and huge windows had not changed one bit since the last time Caleb had been here, not long before he murdered his parents. Maybe coming here was a bad idea, especially after the day he’d had. Or maybe he needed to get this over with. If he got emotional about being here, at least he could claim it was because he was tired.

Muscle memory carried Caleb to Trent’s old office. He felt nauseous. He knocked on the door. It swung open, seemingly of its own accord.

Astrid was seated behind the massive, heavy mahogany desk. Caleb knew from personal experience how sharp the corners could be. He was going to be sick.

Astrid set aside her pen, capping the inkwell front of her. “Hallo, Bren.”

Caleb swallowed before he spoke. “Astrid.”

Astrid continued in Zemnian, so Caleb decided to match her. “Sit down,” she said , gesturing to one of the three chairs. They looked spindly and delicate, but Caleb knew for a fact how sturdy they were. And how much force it took to break out of any bindings tying one’s arm to the arms of the chair.

Caleb took a deep breath through his nose, picking up the spices of the Pfeffernüsse. It helped. He placed the bundle on the desk. Astrid’s desk.

“Jester, Yasha and Caduceus are experimenting with Zemnian baking,” he said quietly, letting himself fall into a chair. “They’re good.”

Astrid raised an eyebrow, gently picking at the piece of twine holding the bundle closed. She lifted a biscuit from the cloth. “They smell right.”

“They taste right, too.”

Astrid split the biscuit in half, handing the larger part to Caleb. He wasn’t sure if it was affection or distrust. She waited for him to take the first bite but also quickly followed suit, so maybe a bit of both. Understandable.

“These are good,” she said, finishing the biscuit and rubbing a thumb across her sugared lips. Slowly. It had to be deliberate. “You look tired.”

“Long day.”

“How is the house?”

“Good. Different. I am...” He laughed, just a bit, thinking over the last couple days. “A little out of practice. I don’t know if you knew… I was homeless for a while. It felt safer.”

Astrid did not look surprised. “I know.” She exhaled through her nose, visibly rousing herself. “You wanted to talk about the job offer?”

“Alphira would have made a terrible Volstrucker.”

Astrid cracked a small smile. “She told me about your meeting today. I apologise for her clumsiness. You took it more gracefully than I would have.”

“I doubt it.” Caleb didn’t tell her about his breakdown behind the shop. “A shame the smut shop is gone.”

“Evidently their business fell apart without your patronage.” Astrid gave an extremely put-upon sigh. “Wulf found another place. Get him to give you directions.”

“Kingsley is curious.”

“Yes, I am sure that is your only motivation.” Astrid cleared her throat and visibly put her mind back on task. “Bettina needs a replacement. The Archmages are falling over themselves to sing your praises. They are, in some ways, full of shit. Hiring you will terrify them. I think you will like that.” She glanced at the now-closed door and lowered her voice. “Headmaster Zivan Margolin is a weak link to Trent, but a link nonetheless. Your presence will make his life very difficult.”

Caleb matched her volume. “Whoever decided the Headmaster of Soltryce Academy should be the same person as the Archmage of Conscription is…” He sighed, unable to put into words how much the deck had been stacked against him, Astrid, Wulf and every other child pulled into the Volstrucker program. And how much it upset him. “What the fuck.”

“Margolin is busy pretending he loves you,” said Astrid. “He’s become a little bold in his claims that he saw your potential from the beginning. The Martinet is growing uncomfortable with the implication and will throw him to the sharks to save his own skin. One word to the right people…”

Caleb knew Beauregard would carry the message to Yudala Fon in a heartbeat. “We need to be careful. Take it slow. We have disrupted the Volstrucker pipeline for the moment. We cannot afford to stumble now.”

Astrid leaned back in her seat, looking very much like a cat who had just eaten a bird it had been chasing for miles. She raised her voice to a normal volume. “So, you will take the job?”

“I might.”

“Bettina told me your demands,” said Astrid. “We’ll put them before the Archmages. See what we can do. If nothing else, making the demands will prove a point no matter what they do about them.”

“Astrid, I am serious. I want them fulfilled.”

“I know. Bettina has suggestions about the ethics lessons. I agree you should teach it as part of the Transmutation classes, at least for now. Would we have listened when we were students?”

“I think that depends on who it came from. And whether Trent had gotten to us yet.”

“I agree. I think you will make a more compelling speaker than anyone else we could find.” She smirked a little. “You were always charismatic, and you have the lived experience to make an impact.” She took another biscuit, chewing thoughtfully, eyes tracing through the air as if she was reading calculations. “You said you were nervous.”

Admitting that in the Sending had been an impulse decision, born out of an emotional day. He didn’t regret it. Outside the Nein, Astrid probably understood best that Caleb had always been an anxious person, even if he had handled it much more gracefully in his youth. When he eternally swung between deep insecurity and excessive arrogance owed to his skills, and the fact he had known very well how charming he could be. Anyway, Astrid and Wulf knew his old insecurities well. Now he had new ones, and Astrid was trying to be on his side as much as she could.

So Caleb voiced something he wasn’t sure he would ever tell anyone else. “I have always wanted to teach. You know that. But. It’s a lot of responsibility. Maybe Trent is still in my head a bit, but I am afraid. He said that I am not the only ‘one of us’ in the Assembly who went through similar trauma. What if I… turn out no better than he did?”

“He also said you were defined by your trauma, if I recall.” Astrid’s face had shuttered a bit the instant Caleb invoked Trent. “He likes to find our pressure points and push until we break. You know that.” She took a third biscuit and shoved it into his hand. “He saw what he wanted to see, and he wanted his vision of you to be what the rest of us saw as well. I… made an error. I misunderstood your ambitions. As did The Martinet.”

“What did Ludinus think I wanted?”

“Power. Like most others in the Assembly. Revenge. Like most Volstrucker who have thought deeply enough about what Trent put us through.”

“He would have been right. Once.”

“I know. The first time you came to me, you were still very angry.”

“I never stopped. My goals changed. I… learned better, I suppose.” Caleb owed so much to the Nein, especially his talks with Caduceus that helped clarify what he did and didn’t want in the end.

“I didn’t. You know I would’ve killed him if you hadn’t stopped me.”

“I wouldn’t have resented you if you had.”

“You were right to stop me. It was more satisfying to shame him in public and have him tossed in a dark cell with a silencing collar glued to his neck forever.”

“And his hands glued together for just as long.”

Astrid’s eyes softened a bit. “One of the most beautiful things I have seen in my life.” Her gaze lingered on him, just a second longer than either of them could dismiss as casual. “How’s your beacon thief?”

“He’s fine.” Caleb wasn’t sure he could handle talking about his current partner with Astrid of all people.

“Have you seen him recently?”

“I am not telling you that.”

“I won’t turn him in. It would not go well for me.” Astrid rested her chin in her hands, searching his face. “Are you two happy?”

“Yes.” Caleb did not offer further details, and Astrid did not pry.

“You deserve it.” She smiled down at the bundle of biscuits. “Tell your friends thank you for the Pfeffernüsse. Will you take the job?”

“I will.”

“Good. For what it’s worth, I think you will be a good professor. You and I both know how important that will be.”

Caleb matched her sad smile. “No more children on the pyre.”

“No more.”

Caleb felt better. He could do this. It would take more than one person to make change, but he could do his part. Astrid had her ambitions, but he knew her in a way very few people did. There were conversations to be had between them, more damage to stitch up.

But it had been a long, emotional day. There would be more days. More time to pull the vulnerable from the flames, to stand between them and the remaining elements of this government who would use, abuse and discard them.

And, he hoped, time to care for those had already been hurt.

[darks-ink]

Got My Reasons

“Doing the right thing for the wrong reason doesn’t make it good!” His glow flickered wildly, coalescing and twirling like flames. His eyes burned bright like a jack-’o-lantern’s. “Just because you helped me doesn’t make you the better person!” “You practically served yourself up to us,” she retorted, her voice flat. “What else did you expect, a heavily injured ghost unconscious in the vehicle of ghost hunters?”

Prompt: After being seriously wounded in a fight, Danny collapses inside the Fenton GAV to recoup. When his parents are called to the ghost sighting a few minutes later, however, they don’t notice who they’ve brought along for the ride Prompt by: @sapphireswimming Word count: 7,625

[AO3] [FFN] [more Phic Phight fics]

Content warning: descriptions of serious injuries, kinda terrible medical practice. The usual. But it’s all okay in the end!

---

The GAV screeched to a sudden halt, Maddie already half out the door before it had stopped. The ghost on the road in front of them roared, baring oversized fangs at the vehicle.

She rushed around the car, pulling open the doors in the back with force. A weapon. That’s all she needed. A weapon, ASAP.

The thought distracted her enough that she stumbled, almost falling over something out of place in the GAV. She barely caught herself on one of the shelves, already turning to scold Jack, when she saw—

“Phantom,” she whispered, feeling her brain grind to a halt.

Because it was, without a doubt, Phantom. The ghost seemed to be severely injured, splattered in green ectoplasm. It dripped over Phantom’s side, staining the wall of the GAV that he leaned against. One hand was pressed loosely against his side, but the ghost’s eyes were closed, and he hadn’t responded to her tripping over him, either. Passed out? But that wasn’t possible, was it?

She bit her lip. The ghost outside was a bigger threat. Maddie knew she had to focus on that one, first. Phantom was clearly in no state to leave, but…

Her hand touched the familiar metal curve of a Fenton Thermos.

Without another thought, she uncapped the device. Phantom was dragged in without another movement, not even stirring in the slightest. This was a perfect opportunity to study him, and the Thermos would preserve him until the right time.

With that settled, Maddie turned to grab a gun. Jack needed her. Phantom would come later.

---

“Uh, Maddie?” Jack’s voice rang from the back of the car, and she paused. “Why is there ectoplasm splattered all over the inside of the GAV?”

She blinked for a moment before realization struck. “It’s Phantom!” she yelled back, already turning to walk back. “I found him seriously injured and passed out in the back of the van, but we had to go deal with that attacking ghost.”

Now next to her husband, she clambered inside. The Thermos was still where she had left it, and she grabbed it. Let’s not get that one confused with the others. “I caught him in this Thermos. Not sure how bad his injuries really are, but this way he would be stable until we could look at him.”

“Good thinking!” Jack grinned, climbing into the GAV next to her to stow their weapons. “Passed out, though?”

“He didn’t move, not even when I tripped on him.” She frowned at the Thermos in her hand. “It was… strange. He was completely unresponsive, but he was still together. Leaking ectoplasm, but only from his injuries. Not destabilized.”

“Odd,” her husband agreed, clicking the last gun into its place. “I guess we have our work cut out for us!”

“Indeed.” She turned the Thermos, slowly, gazing at the meter in its side. It was startlingly full, a measure not just of mass but also of a ghost’s strength. Considering that Phantom was the only one in the Thermos… “Why don’t you drive us back, honey?”

His excitement would turn him in an even more reckless driver than usual, she guessed, but… she didn’t want to risk Phantom escaping.

Briefly, she considered clipping the Thermos onto her belt, but no. It felt safer in her hands, even as she had to take one off of the device to climb into the passenger’s seat of the GAV.

Their drive back home was… well. It was certainly fast.

Before she knew it, Maddie was clambering out of the GAV with one hand, the Thermos clenched in her other. “I’ll go prep the lab. Jack, bring in the spent weaponry and the other ghost, please?”

“Gotcha!” He bounded away to the back of the GAV while Maddie walked to their front door, quickly unlocking it. The house was empty inside—Danny was off with his friends, and Jazz away to the library—but that had become rather common these days.

At least she wouldn’t have to worry about either of them protesting their capture of Phantom. She didn’t understand it, the youth’s insistence that the ghost was good, but she certainly didn’t understand how her own children had fallen for Phantom’s tricks.

Well, it would be a problem no longer. Once she and Jack were done with their studies of Phantom, the ghost would no longer trick anybody.

Maddie left the Thermos on one of the mostly empty tables, quickly putting away the few things that were on it. She rolled a trolley over, paused. Rolled her eyes and emptied that, too.

By the time Jack had made it downstairs, their used weaponry stacked in a pile to the side—she made a quick mental note to make sure those were taken care of later—Maddie had finished preparing the table and the trolley. She had stalled out a large assortment of tools they might want or need for their inspection of Phantom.

There were no straps on the table—they had removed them due to the diversity in ghosts’ bodies—but she didn’t think they would need them, anyway. Phantom had been so weakened… He hadn’t even fought back when she’d tripped over him, when she’d captured him.

“Ready, Jack?” she asked, picking up the Thermos again. “We won’t know how he’ll act.”

“Ready,” her husband confirmed. He flexed his fingers, the metal ghost-proof gauntlets shifting with the movement. “I’ll hold him if he tries to escape.”

Maddie nodded, twisting the cap off of the Thermos. With a whir, it unloaded its contents, spitting Phantom onto the table.

The ghost groaned as he hit the surface, his limbs twitching slightly. He seemed slightly more awake than in the GAV, but not much. Didn’t even try to leave the table.

Ectoplasm gushed from several injuries all over Phantom’s body, the liquid spilling onto the table already.

“Not looking good, Phantom,” Jack commented, disengaging the gauntlets. Clearly they wouldn’t need them to restrain Phantom.

Phantom groaned again, a warble of sound that might’ve been intended as an answer. Definitely awake, then, but in poor condition.

She moved to roll him onto his back. Frowned at the deep slice in his side, right where the ribs would be on a human. The inside of the injury glimmered with fresh ectoplasm but it didn’t spill, not nearly as freely as she would’ve expected. No, the surface-level ectoplasm seemed… almost crystallized, a solid instead of a liquid.

Frowning, with one hand bracing Phantom, she reached in. The ectoplasm certainly felt solid under her probing finger.

Phantom groaned again, his left arm shifting slightly, like a weak attempt at batting her away.

“He seems to have some form of ectoplasmic bones,” she reported to Jack, finally rolling Phantom over all the way. The ghost twitched, his left hand wandering back to the slice. His eyes, he kept closed. “But his injuries are severe. He might destabilize before we finish our research.”

“That’d be a waste.” Jack frowned at the ghost on their table, too. “We’ll have to stabilize him. This is the first ghost with those kind of traits we’ve seen. We can’t risk losing him.”

That, at least, they agreed on. “We’ll need to close the injuries, stop him from losing too much ectoplasm. Can you get a needle and thread?” She looked back at Phantom, his complexion seeming to pale. “Fishing line if you can find it, but normal thread might be enough to tide him over for now.”

Phantom muttered something again, a whining noise that didn’t quite make it to words. It was odd. Maddie had been sure the ghost always spoke in perfect English, yet he seemed to be conversing in something else now. She was almost tempted to consider it a ghostly language of sorts, but why would such a thing exist? Ghosts weren’t intelligent enough for a society, let alone a language that drove such a thing.

“I found some fishing line, but not nearly enough for all his injuries.” Jack handed her the first aid kit, a sterile needle and clean thread, as well as a ball of tangled phase-proof wire. “… and I’ll have to untangle it first,” he added on, sheepishly.

“We’ll have to risk the normal thread.” She reached for the needle, then paused. Looked at Phantom. “It… His structure seems far more complicated than that of other ghosts. Should we see if he has a layer of skin underneath the jumpsuit? Stitching the two together might cause harm.”

Jack nodded, already grabbing Phantom’s right hand—the one not pressed against an injury. He hooked his fingers underneath the edge of Phantom’s white glove, carefully peeling it off.

As she had half expected, the glove came off entirely, damaged but not destabilizing even when removed from the ghost it belonged to. And underneath it, Phantom’s hand was… almost normal. The skin was the same cool tone as his face, a thousand small details she never would’ve expected a ghost to have, especially on a surface not usually exposed to sight.

“Let’s strip the rest, too,” Jack said, dropping the glove next to Phantom’s side. He reached for Phantom’s left hand, but hesitated. “The jumpsuit, at least. But, Maddie, what detail.”

“He’s unlike every other ghost we’ve tested so far,” she agreed. From this close, she could see the exquisite detail in Phantom’s clothing, too. A zipper hidden in the edge of his collar, which she tugged down to unzip the front of his suit. “And you couldn’t even tell from the way he acted! I wonder how many more are like this? Is it related to their strength?”

Phantom’s jumpsuit peeled apart to reveal a pale chest. Several smaller cuts littered his front, previously unnoticed due to the splatters of ectoplasm. The structure of it was, again, oddly detailed and human like.

Jack whistled, low. “What a scar, Mads! I wonder if it’s related to his death?”

“Why would he have scars of an event he doesn’t remember?” She zipped the jumpsuit down to his belt, working his right arm out of the sleeve. “I’d consider it more likely that it’s an old injury he got in a ghost fight. Maybe he kept it for intimidation purposes, to show that he won from a ghost with a certain level of power.”

“But then, why not show it off?” Jack asked, helping her by lifting Phantom up slightly. The ghost groaned, quietly, but didn’t try to stop them. “Why hide it under his suit?”

“He might’ve changed his appearance to appear more tame towards Amity Park’s citizens.” She rolled the right side of the jumpsuit down to Phantom’s hips, but that left the other side. “Jack, why don’t you keep pressure on that cut, and I’ll take off the rest of the jumpsuit?”

Her husband nodded, bustling over to press his hands against Phantom’s side. The ghost hissed, a strange warble and click to the sound, like a layer of audible static. His left hand batted at Jack’s hand, weakly, but it stilled quickly. The ghost went limp against the table.

“Did he pass out?” Jack asked, leaning over Phantom without taking his hands off of the injury. “Well, that’ll make our job easier, at least.”

She hummed as she peeled off Phantom’s left glove, slick with ectoplasm. His hand was sturdier than she would’ve expected of a ghost, a clear sign that his bone-like constructions extended into his hands. The skin was… surprisingly human-like, too cool but not as icy cold as ghosts usually were.

Maddie dropped the glove with the one already on the table, turning to lay down Phantom’s hand, when she noticed its appearance.

“Jack, look.” She held up the hand, her fingers tracing the extensive scarring. Its texture differed from the rest of the skin, rough and ragged like an actual scar. It seemed to originate in the palm, branching outwards from there, all the way down his wrist and into the cuff of his jumpsuit. It glowed, faintly, brightest at the palm. “Do you think it’s the same scar as on his chest?”

“Only one way to find out, huh?” Jack twisted his head to nod at Phantom’s face. “He has some kind of bruising on his throat, somehow. Green instead of purple, but you can’t mistake that kind of splotching.”

“At least we won’t have to worry about a crushed windpipe.” She twisted his arm out of the sleeve, feeling the bones in his shoulder shift with the movement. Definitely a human-like skeleton. How odd. “There we go. Definitely one large electrical scar, with the extremes in the palm of his hand and on his chest.”

Jack shifted his hands, allowing her to push the jumpsuit down to Phantom’s hips entirely. Now, they could see the ragged edges of the injury, the way it had torn Phantom’s… skin, for lack of better word, apart.

“Whoever, or whatever, he fought must’ve been something vicious,” Jack commented. Green ectoplasm continued to bubble up around his black gloves.

“Loathe as I am to say it, it was a good thing that Phantom dealt with it.” She looked over Phantom’s other injuries, but none seemed as threatening as the one on his side. “Something like this would’ve killed a human almost instantly.”

She picked up the needle, taking it out of its packaging. Using sterile tools might not be necessary, but Phantom was already defying what they knew of ghosts. Better not risk it.

“He must’ve caught it, at least,” Jack said as she threaded the needle. “If he was in the back of our GAV, the fight must’ve ended. Not sure where the Thermos went, though.”

Maddie gestured, and Jack shifted, pinching the injury closed instead of covering it up. She stuck the needle through, swiftly, but Phantom didn’t move.

“Definitely passed out,” she commented, moving to pinch the injury closed herself. “I’ve got this, Jack. Can you go look over the rest of his injuries?”

“Well, he has those bruises on his neck.” Jack paused, placing his fingers against the bare throat. “They seem… finger-like? Like someone tried to strangle him. A ghost my size, maybe?”

She threaded the needle through Phantom’s side again. “But why try to choke him out? That’d do nothing to him, he’s a ghost!”

“Maybe they were trying to snap his neck, instead?” Jack made an uncertain noise, moving up to Phantom’s head. “If he has something like bones, they gotta serve some purpose, right? So maybe breaking his spine would’ve disabled him, like with a human?”

“But as a ghost, his most important part is the core in his chest, not the brain.” She was making steady progress on Phantom’s side. The ghost still hadn’t stirred. He’d better not destabilize, not after all the effort they put into preserving him. “Unless he needs his head for some kind of offensive power, snapping his neck wouldn’t have done them any good.”

“There might not be any logic behind it, anyway,” Jack pointed out. “We’re talking about ghosts, after all. Maybe this wasn’t an attempt at strangling at all, but just the most convenient part for the other ghost to grab.”

He paused, gently probing Phantom’s head. “He definitely has some sort of skull, too. Very human-like, barely any flesh—or ectoplasm—over it. A cut on his temple, kind of deep. Looks like it bled badly, but it’s got some sort of crust over it, now.”

“Normal ectoplasm doesn’t crust… But normal ectoplasm also doesn’t form bone-like structures.” Halfway through the slice on his sides. The ribs still glinted crystalline against a backdrop of green so dark it appeared black. “No other injuries on his head?”

“None that I can see.” Jack hesitated, then ran his fingers through Phantom’s hair. The black of his gloves contrasted starkly against the white of Phantom’s hair. “There’s some dried ectoplasm in here, but I think it all came from that cut on his temple.”

“That’s good, at least. I’m not sure how his head injuries would compare to a human’s.” A few more stitches went into Phantom’s side. “None of the cuts on his chest seemed severe when I checked them out earlier, and I don’t think he has any on his arms, either.”

Jack hummed, walking past her to the other end of the table. “I’ll check out his legs, then.”

As she continued to stitch of Phantom’s side, Jack’s humming paused. His hands wrapped around Phantom’s left leg, gently probing the limb.

“I… think he has a broken leg,” Jack said, abruptly. “It feels like the bone-like structure doesn’t line up right. It’s not that way on the other leg.”

“We might have to set it, then.” Another stitch as she thought it over. “If his flesh injuries heal, his bones probably do as well. He probably doesn’t need his legs to walk, but having the bone grow wrong might stop him from forming his spectral tail.”

She paused, her hands stilling. “How does he form a spectral tail if he has bones?”

“I…” Jack halted too. “I honestly don’t know. He doesn’t move that thing like there’s any bones in it.”

“Maybe…” She continued her work again, pulling the needle through Phantom’s false flesh. “Maybe he can form and dissolve the crystal structures by will? To form bones and then make them go away when they’re a hindrance?”

“In which case we wouldn’t need to set his leg, because he can just reform it properly,” Jack pointed out. It was quiet for a moment as he, presumably, felt out the bones. “It feels like a clean break, at least. We can try waiting it out and offer him a splint if he needs it.”

“That might work.” She finished another stitch, looking over her work. Tied off the thread. “There, this should keep him stable for now. Let’s hope he doesn’t immediately rip it or phase it out when he wakes up.”

Which was baffling her, still. Ghosts don’t pass out; they don’t black out or sleep or go unconscious in any way. Even if Phantom had bones of some sort, what benefit could passing out give him?

“I’ll get a bucket and some cloth.” Jack had wandered off already, having finished his inspection. “We better clean all that ectoplasm off of him, make sure he’s not hiding anything more severe.”

She nodded, placing the needle back in its wrapper. It would have to be thrown out and replaced later; there was no sterilizing a needle so heavily stained with ectoplasm. Speaking of which…

Maddie stripped off her gloves, dropping them on a nearby table, and wandered over to the lab’s closet. It always paid to have a few jumpsuits on hand. One of the bins contained spare gloves, and she quickly pulled a clean pair on.

“I got the stuff!” Jack announced, bustling down the stairs. He had replaced his gloves with clean ones too, at some point. Hopefully before he left the lab and smeared ectoplasm on everything.

“Let’s get him cleaned up, then.” She took one of the cloths out of the water—warm, but not too hot—and pressed it against Phantom’s chest. The ghost made a soft noise, a staticky whine, his fingers twitching.

No further movement came.

They carefully cleaned the ectoplasm off of Phantom’s body; his scars seemed to glow even brighter when they were wet. As Jack finished cleaning off Phantom’s torso, Maddie moved over to his head.

Phantom still had his eyes closed, but they were no longer clenched as tightly. Thick globs of ectoplasm trailed down the side of his face, smeared through his hair.

Gently, she pressed the cloth against his head, just underneath the injury. If it had scabbed over, she didn’t want to reopen it. Phantom moaned, his eyes moving underneath the lids.

It wasn’t a sound, not a human one, but… Maddie could’ve sworn that Phantom called her ‘Mom’.

“Those noises are strange, aren’t they, Jack?” she asked, trying to distract herself from the not-word. Ghosts didn’t do parents; the concept of a mother should be completely foreign to Phantom. “I’ve never heard him speak anything but perfect English.”

“They’re so inhuman!” he agreed, as excited as ever. “The warbling, the almost static sound of them! It must be something lower than true speech, for Phantom to fall back into it when injured.”

Jack tapped on Phantom’s chest, right in the center of the glowing scar. “It’s almost like it comes from his core, sometimes, instead of his mouth. Fascinating, isn’t it?”

“But why would ghosts have a basal language of their own?” She rubbed the ectoplasm stains off of Phantom’s cheek, the ghost’s nose twitching when she brushed too close past it. For just a brief moment, she could see green gums, sharp teeth. “They’re not sentient, not even like animals. Right? They would have no need to communicate with each other.”

“Well, if they can learn human languages, I don’t see why they couldn’t have their own.” He shrugged, coming closer to Phantom’s head as well. “They clearly have some form of intelligence, even if it’s limited. They can conceptualize and plan, after all.”

He lifted Phantom’s head, and she started cleaning the ectoplasm out of the ghost’s hair. It was odd, the texture of it just off. A little too slick, too smooth. Not heavy enough, as it seemed to stir even when neither of them touched it.

“I suppose you’re right,” she eventually said. Phantom’s head laid limply in Jack’s hand, the other braced under the ghost’s shoulders. “They must go out of their way to avoid using it around humans, then. I can’t think of a single ghost using it before, not even the animals.”

“It’s definitely weird,” Jack agreed. “And, I was thinking… It doesn’t seem the echo the same way as their voices either, does it?”

She paused, the wet cloth pressed against Phantom’s head. No. No, it certainly hadn’t. “Huh.”

“Maybe they do always speak in it,” Jack continued. “Maybe they just layer actual speech on top of it, usually. Maybe that’s what causes the echo? A voice from their core, for ghosts, and a voice from their throat?”

“I suppose it might be possible.” The clumps of green had mostly been washed out of Phantom’s hair, now, leaving just faint green stains. “I think this is as good as we’ll get it, Jack.”

He nodded, lowering Phantom’s head back onto the table. The ghost stirred again, a little, eyelids clenching and relaxing again. It sniffled, oddly enough, face contorting.

Maddie dropped the cloth back into the bucket of water. They’d definitely need to get rid of all that, too. Ugh. The disadvantages of working with ectoplasm.

Phantom warbled something again. His fingers twitched against the surface of the table.

“Look who’s waking up!” Jack grinned at her, from Phantom’s other side. “About time, Phantom!”

The ghost jerked, suddenly, like a full-body flinch. He hissed, a sound filled with static and pain.

And then he was sitting up, fingers clawing against the surface of the table.

“No you don’t!” she told him, pressing a hand against his chest. Pushed him back against the table. “You’re not tearing those stitches I just put into you.”

His eyes moved to stare at her, the green dull and glassy compared to their usual brightness. He frowned, warbling something at her.

‘why’ her mind told her it meant.

“Down, Phantom.” She pressed harder, and he collapsed back against the table. There was more tension in his body, now. In his false muscles.

Or were they false?

“We found you passed out in the GAV,” Jack explained, tone dropping into something comforting. “You looked close to destabilizing.”

Phantom’s eyes seemed to sharpen, finally, as they darted from her to Jack and back. His left hand wandered to his side.

“Don’t mess with those stitches,” she told him, sharply. He flinched, but dropped the hand. “We didn’t clean you up just so you can wreck all our hard work, you know?”

He licked his lips, tongue vivid green against his pale skin. “Why?” he croaked out, layered so thickly in static she could barely make out the word.

“Why?” she repeated, quirking an eyebrow at him. “Well, you were too interesting a subject to pass up, of course. None of the ghosts we’ve studied so far had bodies as complex as yours. What a waste it would be, to let you melt away like that!”

Phantom pressed flatter against the table. His hands wandered, like he was looking for something. “Now what?”

“Well, there’s no straps on this table, if that’s what you’re looking for,” Jack said, looking down at Phantom. The ghost stilled immediately. Huh. Odd. Why would he know to look for those? “For now, you appear weakened enough that there’s no risk of your escape, but you’re awake enough to answer some questions. Mads?”

“Sounds like a good start,” she agreed. This was probably the most pliable they would get Phantom. “Let’s start easy, shall we? Your leg is broken. Lower left. Do you want a splint for that?”

“I…” Phantom blinked, apparently caught off-guard by her question. “Um. I think I’ll be okay.”

She nodded, watching him carefully. His eyes seemed to brighten, slowly, becoming greener and greener by the second. Even his complexion seemed to gain some color back.

“Did you catch the ghost who roughed you up so badly?” Jack asked, crouching a little so he didn’t tower over Phantom as badly. “Wouldn’t want them to try the same on any humans, after all.”

“No, he’s… He’s not a concern anymore.” Phantom tried to push himself up again, but paused when she glared at him. “He’s… He only has it out for me. Doesn’t really care about the humans.”

Well, that was good, at least. “Is there any risk of him breaking in to chase you?”

“No, I took care of it.” Phantom shook his head, slowly, wobbling a little. “He needs his suit to be a real threat, and I destroyed that.”

A ghost wearing a suit? Something mechanical, then. Maybe like that annoying electric one, which controlled technology, but he didn’t seem all that interested in Phantom.

Must be an unknown ghost. That was… worrisome. The possibility that there was such a dangerous ghost out there that they knew nothing about, running loose in Amity Park.

Phantom seemed uncomfortable, pinned down flat against the table. She supposed that she and Jack were kind of looming over him.

“You can sit up, if you want, but be careful.” She tried to ease her posture, to soften her glare. Phantom was just a ghost, yes, but he was voluntarily giving them information. No point in shutting him down so soon.

The ghost nodded, sliding his hands underneath himself. Slowly, he pushed himself up. Cautiously. His face strained as he did so, briefly, hand sliding closer to the stitches in his side.

Curious. A pain reaction. Could be faked, of course, but it seemed… it seemed genuine. The barely-there hiss of static through his clenched teeth, layered over an almost physical sense of pain.

Maybe that was Phantom’s big trick all along. The ability to make others feel emotions. To somehow convey emotions and feelings that he, himself, did not feel.

“Do you want painkillers for that?” Jack asked, also watching the ghost grimace, hands hovering over the stitches. “Or, uh… Some ghost equivalent?”

Phantom’s eyes slid back to Jack, then Maddie, and back to Jack. “I… If you’ve got some. I need more than a human, though.”

“You want some water to help that go down?” Jack grabbed the first aid kit, digging through its contents for the painkillers. “Or food?”

“Um. Water would be nice. Food…” The oddly mundane sound of a growling stomach. Phantom flushed bright green. “I’d like food, yeah. Um. Thanks.”

Jack handed her the painkillers, already turning towards the stairs. “I’ll be right back with a glass and something to eat. Maddie, you figure out how much to give him.”

She turned the bottle in her hand, searching for the instructions. How did Phantom compare to a human? Was his metabolizing faster? Stronger? Did his ectoplasm somehow form organs, as well as bones? Some sort of non-crystallized solid?

“Um. I probably know how much I’ll need if you tell me what kind that is,” Phantom said, interrupting her train of thought. Her eyes snapped from the bottle to him. His shoulders were drawn up, tense.

“What?” she asked, still working through the sentence. “Oh, it’s… paracetamol. We don’t usually need painkillers for this sort of stuff.”

He nodded understandingly, and Maddie wondered how much of it he really did understand. His structure was definitely more complicated than that of most ghosts. He had bones, musculature, apparently even organs. Was it really that far-fetched to think that he might have something like nerves, too? That he might feel pain, or at least understand it?

“The teen portion, but up it by half, then.” He opened his hand, and only then seemed to realize that he wasn’t wearing his gloves, because he froze up. Stared down at his bare, heavily scarred hand. “Wh— Why am I not wearing my jumpsuit anymore?”

“We had to take it off to check your injuries.” She uncapped the bottle of painkillers, keeping Phantom in her peripherals. “And you seemed to have a structure underneath the jumpsuit, unlike most ghosts. We didn’t want to risk damage by sewing the two together.”

Phantom hummed at that. “I… thanks. I don’t think that that’d be good, yeah.”

“Well, it would be a shame to let you destabilize just like that, wouldn’t it?” She shook out a few pills into his hand. This was just… a study. An ordinary ghost wouldn’t have any desire for painkillers, and it definitely wouldn’t be able to process them. But would Phantom be any different?

“Yeah…” He made a face, hand curling closed around the painkillers like she might take them away again. “Well, thanks anyway, I suppose.”

Jack’s thudding footsteps sounded, and he appeared down the stairs. In one hand, he held a glass of water. In the other, a plate with a few sandwiches. “Sorry, we didn’t have anything quicker.”

He walked up closer, handing the glass to Phantom first. The ghost took it in his empty hand, fingers carefully wrapping around it, slick with condensation.

“Thanks.” The ghost raised the hand with pills to his mouth first, dropping them all in before chasing them with a big gulp of water. He made a face, following it with several smaller sips of water. “Eugh. That stuff never tastes good, does it?”

“It’s not supposed to taste good,” she pointed out, quirking an eyebrow. “You realize that, right?”

“Of course I do, I’m not an idiot.” He leaned backwards slightly, emptying the rest of the glass in one go. “Doesn’t mean I gotta like it.”

He handed the glass back to Jack, exchanging it for one of the sandwiches. Didn’t even try to grab the whole plate.

“Are you sure you don’t want more?” Jack asked, gesturing the plate at Phantom. “Those are some serious injuries to heal from.”

“Yeah, I guess, but…” Phantom shrugged, taking another bite of the sandwich before continuing. “It’s getting late. Wouldn’t want to ruin my appetite.”

Maddie could feel her eyebrow raising. “Dinner plans, Phantom?”

“I… uh.” His shoulders came up, suddenly, as he seemed to remember where he was. “Kinda, yeah…”

He took another bite of the sandwich, dropping his eyes down to his loosely folded legs.

Phantom looked like a scolded kid. It was the only thing she could think off. The way he curled up on himself, the tension in his shoulders. It just reminded her so, so much of Danny, whenever she scolded him.

Her heart stuttered in her chest, and she cursed herself. She couldn’t feel sorry for him. He was just a ghost! He was— he was doing it on purpose, to make her feel bad! To make them let him go!

The ghost continued eating in complete silence. His hair hung down over his face, barely moving anymore. The lines of his shoulders taught.

“Look, Phantom…” She paused, looking over at Jack. He shrugged back, looking equally unsure of himself. “We’re ghost hunters. We can’t just… let a ghost go.”

“Especially not one as fascinating as I am?” he sneered back, bitterly. He looked up, suddenly, venomous green meeting her eyes. “That’s all I am in the end, huh? No matter how hard I try, no matter how much I let myself get hurt just so no one else has to! In the end I’m just some ghost, to cut up and experiment on!”

She flinched back, involuntarily. The glow around his body, barely visible before, had flared out with his temper.

“It’s not like that,” Jack tried, feebly.

“No?” Phantom hissed back, the warble of static layered heavily over his voice once more. “Then what is this, huh?”

“We’re helping you.” She straightened her back, her fists balling automatically. “We’ve stitched you up, given you painkillers, fed you.”

“Because you didn’t want to lose me,” he countered. His lips curled, showing her once more those green gums and vicious teeth. Fangs. He’d had fangs all along, and she had never noticed until he bared them at her. “Because I was such a precious study object! And the painkillers, the food—”

He flung out an arm. “I bet that all that was just a test, to see if I was faking any of it! Could I really process food? Do painkillers really work on me? Wow!”

“Would you have preferred it if we hadn’t done any of that?” she snapped back. “That we’d left you smearing ectoplasm all over the place until you destabilized?”

“Doing the right thing for the wrong reason doesn’t make it good!” His glow flickered wildly, coalescing and twirling like flames. His eyes burned bright like a jack-’o-lantern’s. “Just because you helped me doesn’t make you the better person!”

“You are the one who broke into our vehicle.” She took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down. Getting into a shouting match would accomplish nothing. “You passed out in the back of the Ghost Assault Vehicle.”

That seemed to take all the wind out of his sails. Phantom spluttered, but his glow dimmed significantly already. “I— That’s not what we were talking about!”

“You practically served yourself up to us,” she continued, her voice flat. “What else did you expect, a heavily injured ghost unconscious in the vehicle of ghost hunters?”

His shoulders came up again, Phantom halfway through curling up in a ball. He muttered venomously, some ghost-speak noise again.

And, again, Maddie somehow understood exactly what he said.

‘parents,’ he had hissed, from the very center of his being. An almost sardonic tone to it, somehow.

“Look, Phantom,” Jack said, picking up Maddie’s slack. “We’re ghost hunters. Supposedly, so are you. We found a potentially dangerous ghost in our vehicle without our knowledge, and we made the decision to patch you up. Regardless of the reasoning behind it, what else would you have wanted us to do? What would you have done, in this situation?”

“I…” Phantom sighed, blowing the hair out of his face. “I would’ve patched them up, too. But I definitely wouldn’t have told them that I saved them just because they were so fascinating, because I wanted nothing more than to experiment on them.”

“Would you have rather had us lie to you?” Jack asked, bluntly. “Would you rather have had us tell you that we patched you up out of the goodness of our hearts?”

“I… no.” Phantom shook his head, wrapped his arms around his bare chest. The picture of uncertainty. “No, because I know you would’ve been lying. You’ve been hunting ghosts for research for ages. Me, especially. There’s no way you would’ve patched me up out of kindness.”

“So then what do you want from us?” Maddie asked, shoving her thoughts to the back of her mind for now. “You didn’t want us to let you dissipate in our van. You didn’t want us to lie about why we helped you, but you don’t want us to tell you truth about that, either. What option does that leave?”

Phantom gritted his teeth, his glow suddenly brightening and immediately dimming again. “I don’t know! I just— Can’t you just be nice! Couldn’t you just fix me up out of the goodness of your hearts and mean it?!”

His fingers clawed in his hair as he curled even further into a ball, only the broken leg staying in its place. His shoulders were taught with tension, shaking lightly.

It sounded like… like he was sniffling.

Crying?

She grimaced, turning to look at Jack. He, too, seemed completely thrown off by the display.

It was just…

It was so genuine.

The shaking of the shoulders, the soft sounds of muffled crying, the barely visible glint of tears, the hitch in his breath, the soft keening of his core.

The hitch of his breath?

Hesitantly, Jack reached out. Placed one of his hands on Phantom’s shoulders—so big it almost covered the entire area. “Shh, kiddo.”

Phantom shook harder, but didn’t try to throw off Jack’s hand. The hitching of his breath was clearly audible now.

And Maddie…

Maddie didn’t know what to do. She knew how to comfort kids, and her heart clenched, demanded she help this teen, too. This kid that reminded her so much of her Danny.

But she didn’t know what to do. Phantom was supposed to be just another ghost. An ectoplasmic abomination that had lied and faked its way into everyone’s hearts.

Not this.

Not a teen, warbling “mom” at a stranger who cleaned his wounds. Not a teen who had hidden in their car when he’d gotten too injured to get away, searching for something that reminded him of his parents. For someone who’d keep him safe like his parents would’ve, should’ve.

“Oh, Phantom,” she said, threading her fingers through his hair. It was soft, still wet where she’d cleaned it. Still stained faintly green from his own ectoplasm. “Oh, honey… Why have you hidden this for so long? You are so… so human.”

He keened again, shaking harder under their hands. And in the sound, she heard ‘love acceptance warmth caring’ and ‘not me not mine not for ghosts’.

And for once, Maddie Fenton ignored her curiosity to focus on the crying ghost in their lab.

“Shh,” she told him, soothingly combing her fingers through his messy hair. “It’ll be alright, Phantom. We… It was our mistake. We were wrong.”

“We were so wrong,” Jack chimed in, rubbing circles on Phantom’s back. “We… You’re just a kid. How long have you been dead, kiddo? How old are you really?”

Phantom sniffled, and, voice warbling with emotion, said, “Two years. I— Sixteen.”

“Oh, sweetie.” He was so human, so young. He could’ve been her own son. “We’ve been so wrong. We never should’ve shot at you, never should’ve threatened you.”

“We let our assumptions lead us,” Jack agreed, quiet. Soft. “Phantom, we’re so sorry. Hey, shh. It’ll be alright.”

The ghost, so human and yet not, shook his head. Only slightly, just enough that Maddie’s hand didn’t dislodge.

“We’ll make it alright,” Maddie promised him, instead. Fierce, sharp. Determined. “Let us make it up, Phantom. Let us pay for our mistakes.”

“Don’t wanna,” he mumbled back, so quiet she could barely hear him. “Lemme leave.”

“Of course you can,” Jack assured him, still rubbing circles on Phantom’s back. “We won’t stop you, kiddo. We just want you to be safe.”

Phantom sniffled again. Slowly turned his head, until a single vivid green eye looked up at Maddie.

It was ringed with red, green-tinted tears still tracking down over his cheek.

“Do you?” he asked. He sounded… shattered. The echo of ghost-speak behind his voice wavered like glass in a storm.

“You’re just some kid in way over your head.” Maddie let her hand drop from his head, instead trying to convey her genuineness through her gaze. “You’re… barely a teenager. No one can—no one should—blame you for any of the damages you’ve caused, trying to help.”

“You’ve tried so hard, despite your death,” Jack chimed in, his hand stilling too. “You’ve died, and you’re still so good.”

“You’re so good, Phantom. I wish you were one of ours.” Maddie reached forward, slowly, wiping the tears off of his cheek. “If you ever need us, for anything, please don’t hesitate to come by.”

“I—” Phantom’s voice crackled, and he sniffled again. Wiped his own hand past the other eye. “I don’t— I can’t—”

“Please just promise us that.” Jack let his hand slip off of Phantom’s back, placing it on the edge of the table instead. He, too, stared pleadingly at Phantom. “We won’t force you to do anything, kiddo, we’re just asking. Let us help.”

Maddie slid the stained gloves over towards Phantom. “Phantom, we obviously remind you of your parents.”

The ghost hunched up again, slightly. Green spread over his cheeks like a blush. She pushed on. “You called me Mom when I cleaned off your wounds. You hid in the GAV because you felt safe in it, because it reminded you of your parents. They’re obviously not here, because you’ve died or because they’ve died or because of some combination of those, but you’re still allowed to want that comfort. And we are willing to give you that. It’s the least we can do, to repay what we’ve done to you, what we’ve threatened you with.”

“I—” His breath hitched again. “I don’t… I’ll keep it in mind.”

Well, she supposed they could hardly push for more. She didn’t think she’d be so open to accepting help from them either, if she’d been in Phantom’s place.

“Please do,” she told him instead. Patted him on the right knee. “Whatever it is, whatever you’re struggling with. You’re always welcome at our place. Okay?”

“Okay,” he whispered back. He wiped over his face again. “I gotta… I gotta get going.”

“Dinner plans, right?” She stepped backwards to give him some space. “You’d better eat well, young man.”

Phantom grunted, a noise vaguely underlined with acceptance. He stuck his arms through his sleeves, carefully pulling the jumpsuit back up over his upper body.

“And be careful with your injuries.” Jack handed Phantom the gloves, having apparently scooped them off of the table at some point. “Those stitches in your side will need some time to heal before you take them out, and your broken leg… Well, you’d know better than us how it heals, but still.”

“I know how to take care of myself,” Phantom grumbled back, pulling on his gloves. He grimaced at the left one, more green than white with his spilled ectoplasm. It had dried, crackling uncomfortably as he moved his fingers. “Despite the evidence of the contrary.”

He pushed himself off of the table, suddenly. Maddie jerked forward automatically, but Phantom hovered above the ground, his leg held limply.

The ghost raised further up, until he floated at their eye level. “I… Thanks. For helping me. And… the apologies, I guess.”

“It was the least we could do,” she assured him, crossing her arms loosely. “Please, Phantom, come to us if you need anything.”

“I’ll… keep it in mind.” He shimmered, turning transparent. Then, suddenly, he dove upwards, and then he was gone.

“Well…” Jack cleared his throat. “That… That happened.”

“Yeah,” she agreed, looking at the empty table. It’s surface was stained green with Phantom’s ectoplasm, a small puddle left where he’d bled the worst. “God, Jack. What have we done?”

“Something we’ve learned from. Something we won’t ever do again.” He looked up, meeting her eyes. “That’s all we can do, Mads. Make amends to the best of our abilities.”

She nodded, slowly. “We’d better get working on cleaning the lab. We’ll need to go through all our research on ghosts, strip it down to the base observations. Start over from scratch.”

“Yeah.” He rubbed a thumb over the edge of the stain on the table, absentmindedly. “But first, we should focus on our own kids, I think.”

Maddie paused. Turned to look at the clock. “Oh lord, you’re right. I’d better get started on dinner.”

“I’ll start on cleaning the lab.” Jack nodded at the stairs. “You go take care of the wonderful kids we already have, instead of worrying about Phantom.”

“Thanks, honey.” She pressed a kiss against his cheek, before turning to rush up the stairs.

He was right. They already had two wonderful kids. Worrying about Phantom would do them no good, not unless the ghost would accept their help.

The door to the kitchen swung open, and Maddie stared in the startled blue eyes of her son, the lingering sounds of the conversation she’d just cut short between him and his sister.

“Oh, kids, I’m so sorry. I’ll get started on dinner right away.”

“Something distracting in the lab?” Jazz asked, getting out of her chair. “Can I help?”

“If you could help me peel these potatoes, that’d be wonderful…” She passed a pan and a knife to Jazz. “And, yes, I suppose you could say as much.”

Danny laughed. She turned to look at him, at his cautious grin. “Must be something big.”

“Yeah,” she answered, watching him angle his head slightly. Letting his black hair slide down his face, parting just right for her to see a flash of dark red against pale skin. A scab on his temple, right where… right where Phantom had had a scab, too.

But… surely that couldn’t be?

No, it was just her mind playing things off.

Right?

[9r7g5h]

Teach to Learn, Learn to Teach

Fandom: Fantasy High

Rating: T

Genre: General/Friendship

Summary: Ragh and Tracker both have a lot to learn from each other. 

Words: 3269

AN: So, the topic of Ragh taking a level in cleric and Tracker taking a level in barbarian came up on tumblr, and I was so intrigued I had to write something for these gaybies. It will probably be three parts, one focusing on Ragh, one on Tracker, and one about them going home, or something like that. Just enjoy chapter one. 

Disclaimer: I do not own Fantasy High.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

They had both known, when Tracker first brought up her goal to Ragh, that it would be rough going. Fallinel wasn't the most welcoming of outsiders as it was, though at least High Elf decorum granted adventurers safe passage, so long as they weren't causing issues. But causing issues was the entire reason they were there, and Ragh's official adventurer certification he had received at graduation only did so much when he was helping Tracker constantly shoulder her way into temples of Galilea, trying to turn back the carefully placed lies the high priests had said to turn their goddess away from her wilder ways. 

The fact that she was actually making headway with the younger elves, the ones who saw how prim and proper their elders were and balked against that fate, only made things even worse for them. Add in the newly formed 'Pack of Galilea,' younger elves who not only wanted to worship the wild of the night but become wolves themselves, their leader constantly trying to convince Tracker to bite her so she could turn the rest of her pack and give more strength to the wild form of the goddess they loved, and, well. 

Honestly, they really should have expected something like this. Should have expected that the high priest would deem her a problem. Should have expected him to decide to end it. Should have expected him to know that only silver could hurt a werewolf, and armed the elf he had hired to do his will properly. 

Had they expected it, maybe she wouldn't be gasping in the back of their van, the silver poisoning from the arrow still stuck deep in her side seeping into her veins while Ragh tried to avoid the trees, putting distance between them and where they had been attacked. Had they expected it, maybe she would have cast Moon Haven earlier, ensuring their safety. Had they expected it, maybe they wouldn't have been goofing off, listening to music and chatting while their dinner cooked. 

Maybe, maybe, maybe she wouldn't be dying before she got to see Kristen again. 

"Ok, I think I lost them." 

She wasn't sure when Ragh finally pulled the van over, or how long it had been or how far they had gone, just that now he was besides her, talking. A knife in his hand, cutting through her second favorite shirt (damn them for that), pulling the cloth away from the wound. 

"Sorry sis, this is gonna hurt."

She barely felt him cut into her skin - the head hadn't gone all the way through, couldn't be broken off and the shaft pulled out, it had to be cut out and stitched up - but she did feel as he began to pull it out, the silver arrowhead brushing against the dying skin, making her howl in pain as everything within her wanted to flee. Flee the pain, the sheer burning agony of every single one of her cells dying, flee into the night and the moonlight until she could curl up somewhere that felt and smelt like home. 

But then it was gone. The silver was gone, she could think again, and though everything hurt, she could focus on Ragh's words. 

"Shit shit shit sorry sis, I had to get it out, shit. Fuck, god damn it, what was next? Think, Ragh, you know this." His voice fell to muttering for a bit as he pressed a cloth to the wound, looking through the medical kit. She wanted to say something, give him a hint or encouragement, but she was so tired. "Sterilize it, fuck, that's right! Where are you, you tiny little shit, you're hiding better then Riz to get out of PE... there you are!" He held up a small bottle triumphantly, used his teeth to undo the top, and splashed a generous portion directly into the wound. 

Tracker thankfully passed out immediately, her thoughts a dozen swirls of pain and Galilea thanking her for her efforts and wanting nothing more then to just sleep. 

It was morning when she next woke up. Her tank top had been replaced with a sports jersey, her side covered with enough bandages that she was almost sure she now classified as a large creature instead of medium, and the smell of burning fish covered everything else. Her stomach growled, despite the acrid smoke, and that was enough to get her moving, sluggishly kicking open the door to see what kind of trouble Ragh was in now. 

He was, surprisingly, doing well for himself. He had built a decent fire pit, had managed to grab a dozen fish or so from a nearby river, and only two of them seemed to have caught fire. The others actually looked amazing, and before she could even think the actual thought, she had grabbed one, sinking her teeth into the flesh, ravenous. 

Ragh just chuckled. "Good morning to you too, sis. I'm so glad you're ok. I was worried I was going to have to call Kristen and give her bad news, and honestly, your girlfriend scares me."

She couldn't help but laugh through her mouthful of fish, forcing it down so she could respond in a timely manner. 

"Full honestly, and I'll kill you if you ever tell her? She scares me a little bit too. Love her, but she has some weird shit going on with the gods that's just on a whole nother level."

She had been sleeping for two days. Ragh had done the best he could, keeping her comfortable and hydrated, just glad he had remembered enough from his mandatory healing class to stabilize her. He didn't know enough to actually heal, he had spent too much of the class mooning over a cute cleric guy in the front row, but cutting out arrows used knives, so he remembered that at least. 

"I just always relied on having a cleric," he admitted with a shrug. "Never thought much more about it."

"You thought enough to save me," Tracker pointed out, resting her non-cash covered hand on his shoulder. "Thank you." 

It took another day for her spells to come back, her energy finally high enough after gorging on fish and the few rabbits Ragh caught to finally cast a healing hand on herself. Ragh watched with a new found fascination as she unwrapped the wound, showing his shoddy stitches to keep her held together, only for the silvery light to flow from her hand, popping out the stitches and leaving her with healed, slightly pink skin. 

"Sis, you gotta teach me how to do that."

A raised eyebrow, a glance over at him as he half reached out, as if he wanted to touch her newly healed wound to make sure it was truly one, a tilt of her head as she waited for him to continue. He didn't, instead his skin flushing a deeper green as he shuffled his feet. 

"You want to become a healer?"

Ragh just shrugged, rubbing at the back of his head. They both needed to get haircuts soon, Tracker noticed and mentally filed away, watching as he felt the longer hair tickling the back of his neck and tried to move it away. Her own shaved side was growing out as well, much to her annoyance, though she quickly shook her head, forcing away the random thoughts as she looked back at her friend. 

"I know I'm not that smart," Ragh muttered, giving a shrug as if his lower intelligence score wasn't that big of a deal to him, "but even doing my best, there wasn't much I could do to help after, you know." He waved towards her and the pile of bloody gauze next to her. "I've never had to take care of someone before, someone else always did that, but now it's just the two of us, sis. What if it's worse next time? I don't know about all this religion stuff, but I've thought about it a lot over the last few days, and while I'm still gonna be the tank, it might help if I can also help take care of us." 

She wasn't sure what he was expecting, but Tracker could tell he wasn't expecting her to lean over and pull him into a giant bear hug, only to pull back a few moments later and punch him in the arm. 

"Don't sell yourself so short, big guy," Tracker said sternly, waggling a finger at him. "You kept me alive, which is the best thing you could have done. As for the healing, well, do you have a god in mind?"

Ragh immediately perked up, a half grin as he began to think. It would be a process, they would both soon find out - when he had come up blank, she had immediately begun with the most obvious of the gods: Cassandra and Galilea. Going over the pros, the cons, how both goddesses would easily accept him, though Cassandra might be a bit happier about it then Galilea was. But, eventually, neither of them just felt right to him, which was the most important thing. 

And so began their side quest - finding Ragh a god. 

"What about Tempus, god of war," Tracker asked one evening, gutting fish by the fireside as Ragh attempted to mend a hole in his shirt. "A neutral god, popular with a lot of fighters." 

It took him a long moment to answer, the tip of his tongue poking out from between his lips as he tried to keep his stitches straight. Tying off the line, he gave a small shrug. 

"Nah. I'm not much of a war guy. I like bashing heads, not overthrowing other governments for whatever reason I come up with, yah know?" 

“What about Gruumsh,” Ayda asked a few days later, pulling out the many goods she had brought from Riz’s borrowed suitcase of holding. She didn’t come often - Tracker had made it clear that this was her mission, and while all of their friends were ready to come the moment she said she needed help, she wanted to do this on her own first, or at least try. But every few months Ayda would show up in their camp with care packages and letters (Gorgug had made them satellite phones, but not all of them had planatar fueled vans to keep them charged with, so those were for emergencies only) and a few creature comforts they missed from home, stay for a meal, and then take back whatever they wanted to send with her, letters and keepsakes of their own to their own loved ones. 

It was always wonderful, getting the stack of letters from Kristen and Jawbone and the others, and this time she brought advice as well. 

“He is already the god of the orcs, which you are at least half of. I would need some of your blood to analyze the exact genetic makeup, and while that is a topic of conversation we will have to revisit in the future, for now I do believe Gruumsh would welcome you into his army.” 

Ragh was already shaking his head before she even finished, his nose wrinkled in distaste. “Nah sis, Gruumsh isn’t my kind of guy.” 

For a moment Ayda just stood there, watching him, her head tilted to the side. But then her eyes glowed just a bit brighter, and a look of understanding appeared. “Of course. You are neutral good. He is chaotic evil. Your alignments wouldn’t be compatible. I apologize for not thinking of this beforehand.” 

Ragh waved her off, giving her a fanged smile. “No harm, no foul, sis. I just get tired of people always thinkin orcs are evil, you know? I’m not, my mom’s not, Gorgug’s for sure not. So I really don’t want to get mixed up with an evil god if I can avoid it.” 

Ayda gave a deep nod of understanding. “On my honor as a wizard, and as both the mother and the daughter of the same quite wonderful half-orc, I swear to you, Ragh Barkrock, I shall not make that mistake again. Would you like an orange?” 

Ragh happily took the fruit from her outstretched hand, and Ayda gave a small, happy trill before returning to her unpacking, crying a few tears when he handed her a slice. 

“What about Talos, our lord of the storms and tempest that ravage our forests almost as well as you ravaged me last night?” 

Tracker could barely hide her eye roll and fake gag as she paid for their rooms at the inn, Ragh’s lately hook up hanging off his arm and batting his big elf eyes at him. She had known this was going to happen, again, and had warned him, again, that he needed better tastes in hook ups, but Ragh seemed to had a soft spot for elven twinks, and always ended up bringing one back to the inn whenever they were lucky enough to stay in one. She was just glad that they had separate rooms this time, and hadn’t had to sleep as a wolf in the nearest bush. 

“I’m not really a ravishing kind of guy,” Ragh said, trying to free his arm from the elfs’ grasp. “Sure, it’s fun to do every once in a while, but I’m not sure if I’m ready to commit to a ravishing lifestyle yet. What’s that, Tracker? We need to go?” Ragh looked at her with such desperation that she couldn’t turn her back on him like she had last time. 

“Come on Ragh, I have important things to do for Galilea.” 

“You hear the boss, important god cleric wolf stuff to do. I’ll call you, bye!” Ragh almost ran out the door past her, leaving the poor elf boy pouting at the table, wondering what Ragh meant when he said ‘call.’ 

“You need to work on your taste in guys, my dude,” Tracker said with a shake of her head as she slid into the driver’s side, glancing over her shoulder at the half-orc hiding in the back seat. “At least stop choosing the clingy ones?”

“Please, just drive.” 

In the end, it was Ragh himself who found his god, as was strangely right. 

The small town they had stopped in was, by far, their favorite stop so far. Mostly high elves, sure, but high elves strangely welcoming, much more like Adaine then the others they had met so far. A few other species were there too, half elves, a few fairies, and even a couple of gnomes that had taken residence in a nearby cave, turning it into a mix of apartment complexes and work stations. It was the most welcoming town they had been in; it almost felt like home. 

And, centered in the middle of town, were their shrines. 

It was common for towns this small, Tracker had learned, to not have a temple dedicated to every single god worshiped in the area. While for some towns that meant only one temple, maybe two if there were multiple families with influence, other towns had too many to count, each family or inhabitant following their own deity. So, instead, they had a shrine building instead, each deity with their own table and candles and cushions in front of them so those who worshiped them could pray. 

It was there, after he had gone missing for hours on end, that Tracker finally found him. He was just sitting there on one of the cushions, staring at the flickering candle, eyes both vacant and seemingly touched with a new found peace. He didn’t even notice when she sat down next to him, only starting out of whatever trance he seemed to be in when Tracker put her hand on his shoulder, gently shaking him. 

“This is him,” Ragh immediately said, his face lit up with almost the same happy glow as whenever he reminded people he was gay and was met with acceptance instead of the hatred he thought he would find. “I was curious what was in here, so I walked in and thought it was some kind of weird like, massage parlor, but I found my guy, and this dude totally rocks, Tracker!  Hoot growl, up high!” 

Tracker immediately gave him his high five, giddy with excitement for her friend. And taking a look at the shrine they sat before, she couldn’t help but agree that it fit. Torm, god of courage and self-sacrifice, a provider of protection. Symbolized by a white gauntlet raised against a coming sword. For her bodyguard and best friend, yeah, it felt right. 

Of course, finding the god was only the first step in becoming a cleric. Then there was the training. 

Not all clerics were as blessed as she and Kristen were (though, of course, no one was as blessed as Saint Kristen Applebees, chosen and denier of Helios, creator of the planatar YES!/?, healer of the Goddex Cassandra). Some clerics had to work to gain their deity’s blessing, to prove that they were good enough vessels of the gods’ holy power. Some were just pains in the asses to get a hold of. 

Luckily, Torm seemed to approve of Ragh. 

It took a while, a few days after they left the town, Ragh standing between her and a weird lizard creature neither of them could remember the name of, for Torm to finally respond to the prayers Tracker had been teaching him. An almost imperceptible white light seemed to surround Ragh's hand as it came down against the lizards' jaw, just bright enough that Tracker's wolf enhanced eyes caught it as she bit deep into the creatures' tail. And each time he fulfilled his role of protector, showed courage as he walked by her side into the temples of Galilea, took up his weapon to protect her against whatever else Fallinel had to throw at them, it grew a little bit brighter. 

Until one day, without even thinking about it, he cast a Sacred Flame at an enemy on the other side of their camp site, the burning bright light zapping into the creatures' side, sending it scampering back into the wilds of the untamed woods in the far reaches of the country. Together they quickly finished off their enemies, Rahg wielding his weapon and a new found spells with an enjoyable ease, taking joy in the blessing of his god. 

She remembered that feeling, the power and joy from being blessed by one of the gods, the sudden innate knowledge of exactly what to do to make everything perfect and wonderful and right. 

The fight eventually ended, Ragh having taken the brunt of the damage, though one of them did get a slice at her flank. Before she could shift back and heal it herself, Ragh had reached out and touched her shoulder. Another burst of brilliant white light, something she would have to teach him to control later, raced through her veins and across her skin, invigorating her and closing most of the wound, leaving a scratch where before there had been a gash. All while Ragh stared in awe, eyes and smile wide, though clearly he was exhausted from the small use of magic. 

Another moment and she was back in her human form, healing him herself as he sat back, staring at his hands as his wounds closed around him. 

"Tracker..."

She raised her head from examining her work, making sure there wasn't something she had missed. 

"This fucking rules." 

An easy smile shared between them, Tracker knowing exactly what he meant. 

"Yeah it does."

[real-jaune-isms]

Volume 7 Chapter 3 Review

My first time with this, it’s probably gonna be longwinded and awkward...

Starting off with 3 scenes basically happening at once is interesting. The airship flying them in to start the mission, Ruby and Jaune getting briefed on it, and the whole crew getting their gear upgrades. The briefing conversation plays over shots of them all getting their personal briefcases of stuff, and of some normal soldiers fighting smaller Grimm in the tundra. The new clothes scene is most important though. We see: Their happy faces, Blake and Jaune both pondering haircuts while Jaune runs his hands over the sash he kept from Pyrrha (ow my heart), Yang attaching her arm upgrade, and Ruby getting at a new cape before Oscar approaches her. Oh, and on the briefing screens RWBY and JNR are registered as civilian Huntsmen. They have their licenses!!!!

Let’s talk about the cape for a sec. Her red cloak has been an heirloom she’s kept for 6 volumes now and about 17 years. The last vestige of her mother. So is it really such a good idea for her to get a new one and just go with it? Is that abandoning the sentimental value and very essence of the original cape? It’s been worn and weathered since Volume 4, so an replacement or a stitch job would be good, but the latter would be ideal. I don’t really mind the new one so much because she asked for it and clearly she had a reason for that. It’s the exact same in every visual way as far as I could see, and she’s keeping the old one. The message is still alive in her wearing it, and times must change. It’s better to get a new one than risk damaging the original any more.

Anyway, after we see the few shots of them prepping for this mission, a very old Geist possessing a bunch of ice and hiding in a Dust mine, the airship doors open and we see the team in all their new glory. They jump out accompanied by the Ace Ops, and all make stylish landings. Ruby only uses her pogo gunshots to slow her descent, and Blake swings her weld fixed Gambol Shroud to Spider-Man swing around the buildings to land. But Weiss and Yang use their semblances to do it, and the aura percentages on Blake’s scroll later represent that accordingly. Good attention to detail. And we hear from Weiss that using your Aura can keep you from freezing, a good reason why they can all wear such stylish clothes and not die of frostbite.

After Clover checks in with all the groups about keeping in contact and keeping an eye on Aura levels, Blake catches Yang staring and they have an adorably awkward exchange about Blake’s haircut and how Yang likes it but doesn’t know how to express that. Marrow seems annoyed he has to watch a high school love story unfolding in front of him, but Harriet teases him about being childish and that shuts him up. They head toward the mine entrance, but Team RWBY hangs back to discuss how uncomfortable they all are with having lied to Ironwood last episode about Salem and the lamp. But Ruby reasons that they don’t know if Ironwood is in the right mindset for that bombshell right now and they WILL tell him soon. Fair enough. A flashback to Oscar’s interruption earlier reveals he’s pretty torn about it too since it’s exactly what they hated Ozpin for doing to them. Either way, they enter the mine and a comment about the path being blocked leads to a chilling realization. This is the mine that caved in and killed Ilia’s parents. This is why her life went so terribly, and it’s a major reminder of the awful relationship between humans and Faunus and how bad things can get. That prompts Weiss to try and apologize for her own bad attitude about it all in Volume 1, and some harsh truths from Marrow about complacency with injustice for the sake of living free of making those hard moral choices. Wise words, a lot to think about with this world and even our own.

But there’s no time for thinking about changing the world’s prejudices, they need to send Blake through a dark opening in the rubble to see if it’s safe for them to blast a hole big enough for everyone or if there’s any nearby Dust they might agitate. I get the whole faunus seeing better in the darker area of the cave thing but... couldn’t Marrow have done it too? Or was he too big and thicc and they had to send the lithe teenager? I tease, I tease. Height and muscle mass may be the legit reasons, plus her weapon is also less bulky. Before she goes in, both Blake and Yang see the SDC logo printed on some discarded boxes, likely a reminded of the last place they saw it: branded on Adam’s face. Not a good memory to recall in a tight situation, but it shows they’re still dealing with that. Good news is, when Blake goes through there’s no Dust on the other side. Bad news, the Geist gives a legitimate jumpscare that literally makes Blake jump back in surprise and pull her weapon to shoot at it. That of course clues the others in that she found something, and we see Harriet’s weapon as she deploys mechanized armor to go over her arms and boost her punching strength. Reminds me of the controls for a mech, fake arms you wear and move in the cockpit to move the real giant ones. But these have plenty of power all on their own and bust open the wall of debris. Makes sense to boost her upper body strength to counterbalance the power in her legs.

They chase the Geist into the mine until they encounter the new Centinel Grimm burrowing up from the ground. Team RWBY gets to show off their weapon upgrades/new moves as they dispose of them: Blake does a lot of slashing and stabbing as usual and Weiss does mostly the same plus shooting ice at the bugs and using glyphs to stop them from lunging. But the real stars seem to be Yang and Ruby. Yang added sticky bombs to her gauntlets’ arsenal, and Ruby can now spin Crescent Rose’s blade 180 degrees to slice a severed centinel half on her backswing. Cool. But Marrow shows off his own party tricks with his rifle that becomes a large blade edged boomerang and the ability to stop two Grimm still with nothing but a snap and the word “stay”. Clearly a reference to dog obedience training and possibly showing the power words can have, a reference to The Boy Who Cried Wolf, which I still believe he’s based on. All that kid had to do was say the word and the entire town came running to face a supposed threat. However, I’ve also heard that his inspiration is actually “A Dog and it’d Shadow”, which might suggest he’s going to go down a bad path for the sake of his own benefit... Regardless, Harriet zooms up and tosses the centinel against a wall, which seems to stop it. They report sighting the target and engaging with further hostiles to the others, who take that as a cue to speed things up. When next we see them, Harriet runs past Weiss and Ruby to take down the last Centinel with a single punch before Ruby had time to even take a shot at it. Instead of being petty about a kill steal, our little rose goes gaga over Harriet having a speed semblance like her, while the Hare of course boasts she seems to be faster based on Ruby’s reaction time. They suddenly hear Clover announce he’s fighting the Geist with Qrow, and when it eludes them too everyone converges in a central cavern.

Now let’s talk about JNR’s section of the mission until they meet up with the others. They make their jump too, Jaune having added Hard Light Dust to his shield and using it like Link’s paraglider in Breath of the Wild to float down gently, and then gravity Dust from the central crest to negate the final impact and bounce into a flip landing. Stylish~ We don’t see how, but Ren and Nora landed fine too. And their accompanying Ace Operatives Vine and Elm give rather indirect compliments, much to Jaune and Nora’s annoyance. As they walk through an ice tunnel and Vine reports its stability and their approximate time of convergence, Nora gushes about how exciting it all is before turning her enthusiasm on Ren. He handles a direct compliment about his new outfit about as well as Ren handles any show of emotion... he does not. He just tries to redirect the topic to the mission. Annoying to all the Renora shippers, absolutely, but also kinda his MO. His semblance, his very nature since the tragedy of Kuroyuri is to not get emotional because that can get them in trouble if it’s at the wrong time. He still needs to learn there are plenty of right times to have emotions, LIKE WHEN YOUR UNOFFICIAL GIRLFRIEND WANTS YOU TO RETURN THE COMPLIMENT!!! He better learn from that mistake... But at least there’s dense as a rock Jaune to compliment Nora instead and miss the point of what she was doing. The good boy is trying his best to be nice.

When they hear RWBY’s squad announce the fighting has started they start booking it and slide down an icy slope that’s revealed to have Centinels emerging at the bottom. Vine uses his semblance to stretch out and grab hold of the walls and Elm uses her’s to root her feet in the ground, both so they can stop moving toward the enemy. But that’s not JNR’s style, so they charge right into the Grimm and take them out quickly. A gravity burst shield bash from Jaune, new grappling hook mode for the blades on Ren’s guns, and Nora just bashes some skulls. This approaches earns another indirect compliment before they took finish the journey to the main mine cavern.

Meanwhile Qrow is with Clover and looking very cool in his new digs. They head in and discuss Qrow’s history of teamwork and how he doesn’t really do that anymore... cue sad STRQ vibes. Also he almost trips and Clover catches him, a perk of having someone at your side. After he gets the rundown from Elm, we don’t hear from thes two until they’re chasing down the Geist. It reaches its icy armored body, and gathers extra pieces from the walls around them. Qrow notices one bit it’s trying to get will pull down a support beam and warns Clover to stay back... just in time. The Geist gets away, but in its wake the two men share a conversation about Semblances. Qrow reveals his misfortune and how it burdens him to solitude or else situations like that one could go way worse. But Clover surprises him with the fact that his own Semblance is, of course... generating good luck.

The look Qrow gives him... a lot of people say it’s gay panic as he falls head over heels for this charming military man who can balance him out. I’ve come to see it a bit differently thanks to another post I saw. It’s regular panic. Panic and self-loathing, because he sees his perfect mirror image. Clover is sober, charismatic, a good leader, doesn’t ruin things with his very presence, and has skill and wisdom beyond anything Qrow has been able to demonstrate. This is everything he wishes he could have been for the kids from Volumes 4-6, the kind of huntsman he wants to have been at Beacon... a version of him who might have been able to keep Team STRQ together. But it might also be him getting a crush on a charming guy who balances him out. Regardless, they call everyone to meet up in the middle.

And meet up they do, the various types of Dust in the large central chamber having such effects as floating the dirt their boots kick up and evaporating a drop of Jaune’s sweat when it hits the ground. Cool set piece, though they need to be careful with how they fight otherwise they could set off the Dust and ruin the Amity Satellite launch site... and kill them. The Geist is hanging from a giant piece of ice jutting from the ceiling, and when the teams spot it the big boy dramatically drops down to fight them. Ruby panics upon seeing it added Dust to it’s body so they’ll have a harder time fighting it safely, but the Ace-Ops kick into action almost immediately. Elm and Vine use their Semblances to keep it in place and expose the Grimm joints between its ice limbs, which Marrow throws his weapon to sever. But that leaves some Dust crystals falling through the air, so the Flash gets the lightning in his eyes and speeds in to catch them before they hit the ground... Oops! I mean Quicksilver does his Days of Future Past thing to move around the falling debris at superspeed and grab the Dust... DAMMIT! I mean Harriet gets the lightning in her eyes and pulls a Days of Future Past to move around the falling debris at superspeed and grab the Dust. But the boomerang cuts another part of the arm and knocks more Dust off out of her reach. Lucky for them, Clover is there to catch it just in time. He passes the crystal to Qrow and jumps into the action.

The Ace-Ops continue to run around the Geist and to distract and disorient it, and they get the other arm off. With a flick of his lucky charm, Clover jumps up and loops his fishing line around the Geist’s mask face, and it actually hooks. What comes next brings a look of astonishment to Team RWBY’s faces. He pulls the Geist out of the ice by its face, and Harriet runs up its torso to give a jumping Shoryuken with her mech fists to kill the Grimm. But that leaves a lot of Dust crystals falling through the air, and the Ace Ops scramble to grab all of them. One remains and Harriet runs to get it... it’s a close call... and Ruby beats her to it. Who’s faster now?~ But much to Ruby’s surprise, upon seeing her in action Harriet claims Ruby’s Semblance is unlike any speed Semblance she’s ever seen, that there’s probably more to it than she realizes... or we do for that matter~ I can’t wait to see what they do with that. Yang points out that Ruby has an awful lot more going on in terms of power than Harriet realizes, earning a grin from Weiss and a very cute giggle from Blake. Regardless, mission accomplished and Qrow and Clover have a little banter over if Ruby’s catch was luck or talent. Glad to see the Atlas MVP’s acknowledge our Team has some skill of their own. Even happier to see Elm effortlessly put Ruby on her shoulder and carry her around to celebrate while Yang and Nora start dancing.

Next thing we know we’re back in Mantle as the police ship drops Forest off. He goes into an alley, where Tyrian suddenly appears under a flickering light to creep us all out and kill a short lived fan favorite character. RIP, good good protest boy. 

And that’s pretty much it. Sorry it took a while.

[hopelessromanticspoonie]

To Keep You Safe

Title: Stay with him if you can, but be prepared to bleed

Chapter: 18/?

Author: hopeless_romantic_spoonie

Summary: Life as the assistant to Tony Stark was busy, but boring. All of that changed when I touched something I shouldn't have and woke up with strange new abilities. If I thought that trying to figure out my new place in life as an Avenger was tough, I had no idea what was in store for me once I ran into the frustrating God of Mischief, Loki.

Rating: E 

Notes: Friendly reminder that this is un-Beta’d, so please excuse any typos or grammatical errors I no doubt missed during revisions!

Also on Ao3 here :)

Warnings for this chapter: Violence, blood, needles, language

~~~

Turns out Loki shouldn’t have been the only one disguised.

Screams pierced the night air and mingled with the faint bass coming from inside the club and the cacophony of never-ending traffic. It all faded into the background as I stared down the barrels of six guns. In one smooth motion, I reached out toward the street and wrenched a door off of a passing car to hold in the air in front of both of us as I stepped out from behind Loki. My wide eyes shot over to him and my heart stopped in my chest when I watched a bullet bounce harmlessly off of his chest. I was never going to wrap around the fact that he was basically bulletproof. Fiery pain lit up my side and legs, and I recognized the familiar agony on my side as that of a bullet shredding through my flesh. One had made it through the window of the door, and it pulled my attention away from the intimidating god drawing daggers next to me and back to the men actively trying to kill us. I clenched and bared my teeth against the rush of pain and warmth, determined to ignore it until we weren’t in imminent danger.

Loki had already taken out two of the assailants, who sprawled unmoving on the street with his knives sticking out from their foreheads. I shuddered at the grisly sight and tore my gaze away from it to the next man doggedly coming for us. I ripped out a park bench from the concrete and wrapped it around him. A guttural shout ripped from my lips as I used all of my strength to shove it and the man trapped within deep into the sidewalk with a dramatic wave of one arm toward the ground while the other remained poised in front of me to hold up my makeshift barrier.

In the time it took me to take care of that one, Loki had finished off the remaining men. I waited, levitating the door in front of us with one hand while I looked to see if anybody else was coming for us. Instead, I was met with the sight of a quickly-growing crowd of people creeping closer to us, their phones blocking their faces as they recorded the mayhem we just unleashed. Shit. I dropped the door and stepped closer to Loki to take his hand.

“We need to get out of here,” I said urgently, trying to move my mouth as little as possible as I took in the cameras all pointed toward us.

The rage died down from his eyes and he followed my gaze darting around us, recognition dawning on his features. His leathers melted away in a flourish of green light back to the black fitted suit he had been wearing earlier. He kept a firm grip on my hand as he prowled over to the valet who was cowering behind the podium, demanding to know where they parked the cars. I hissed through my clenched teeth as the adrenaline left my system, leaving me to fully feel the exhaustion flooding my system and the wounds marking my thighs and side. Loki somehow caught my tiny sound of pain amidst his interrogation of the poor valet and he frowned, easily cradling me in his arms as he made his way to the parking garage. I didn’t protest--doing so would be pointless when he was in such a state--and closed my eyes to the oncoming blue and red flashing lights.

It wasn’t long until we were at the car and I opened my eyes as Loki tucked me carefully into the front seat. I frowned at the blood on his shirt. It was such a nice shirt, but it wasn’t like he didn’t have ten other black button-up shirts just like it hanging in our closet. What was really worrying was knowing that I was going to do much more damage to Tony’s very nice car that Loki had commandeered for the evening. There wasn’t much to be done about it, though.

He slid into the driver’s seat, his jaw clenched in a worried frown as he took in my shivering, bleeding appearance. “Will you be alright until we get back to the Compound? I would rather not take you to a standard Midguardian hospital. They’re not…” he trailed off, obviously torn.

“Safe,” I finished for him, reaching over to place my hand on his lean thigh. If Hydra had managed to track me down in such a big city in the span of a few hours, they had to have people waiting for my injured ass to show up at a hospital. “I’ll be safest at the Compound, and I’ll be okay until we get there. Just take me home,” I pleaded softly, squeezing his leg once before removing my hand so I could bunch my dress up enough to use it to put pressure on the graze on my hip. It was bleeding the most out of all my injuries, and while I wasn’t going to bleed out from it, I still liked to keep as much blood inside of me as possible. Before Loki began driving he conjured a thick green blanket over my legs and reached over to tuck it under them, doing his best to be as gentle as possible.

I turned on the radio once we started driving. The distraction was needed since Loki was too deep into his own thoughts to say anything. It wasn’t a short trip back to the Compound.

“-ers on the scene say that the male appeared to be the very same man, Loki, who attacked New York in 2012. He and his unknown female companion were seen engaging in a battle with armed men outside of a local nightclub. There were six deceased left on the scene, and police are looking for the pair and suspect they may be a possible threat. If you see either of these two, proceed-”

I turned off the radio, slumping back in my seat and running my dirty and bloody hands through my hair. “Tony is going to be so pissed.”

~~~

Tony was pissed.

He was waiting for us as we pulled up and yanked my door open as soon as the car stopped. He made to jerk me out of the car but Loki stepped in between us, firmly pushing him back so he could unbuckle me and gather my blanket-covered body back into his arms.

“What the hell was that? Videos are all over the internet of you two fighting those guys!” Tony shouted, jogging after Loki as he walked swiftly into the building to take me to the infirmary.

I wrapped my arms around Loki’s neck for stability, winding a hand through his hair and scratching at his scalp to try to keep him as calm as possible. His agitation was set in the line of his jaw and the tension in his neck, and I didn’t want him getting too angry while he was holding such precious cargo. Besides Tony, Nat and Thor trailed after us.

I kept my eyes on Thor, trying to reassure the worried King with a pained smile. “It was Hydra. At least I think so. They were dressed like the ones from before but I didn’t see the logo anywhere.”

“Are you hurt, my lady?” Thor asked, coming up to stand beside me as he easily kept pace with his brother.

The worry he felt as he glanced over my blanket-covered body was palpable, and I had the strongest urge to reach out and pat his arm comfortingly. My arms were currently helping to stabilize me against Loki’s quick steps, so all I could do was shake my head briefly.

“Just a few scratches,” I lied through my gritted teeth.

Loki’s arms tensed beneath my body and his eyes bored into the side of my face. The God of Lies seemed awfully unhappy with my pitiful attempt at one. “She was struck in her side by a bullet and has broken glass embedded in her thighs.”

“A bullet? F.R.I.D.A.Y. get a hold of whatever doctor we have on-call for tonight,” Tony ordered, following us into a room.

“No, F.R.I.D.A.Y., don’t. It was just a graze. I’ll be o-okay,” I winced, letting go of Loki as he carefully sat me down on a cold metal table. He peeled the blanket away from my legs, the fabric had gotten stuck in the drying blood of my more serious wounds and caused them to bleed more as what little scabs they had created were taken with it.

“Shit, Jen. That is going to need stitches,” Nat said, her eyes wide as she took in the blood slowly pooling beneath my thigh on the table and the soaked fabric of my dress.

Loki was in front of me, clearly uncomfortable with everyone crowding me as he carefully unzipped and pulled my boots off of my feet. The tension hadn’t left his upper body since the attack, and his eyes shifted between the others in the room as they crowded around us. Thankfully the clothing I did have on had offered some protection, and there was only about a hand’s width of exposed skin on the middle of my thighs that had small pieces of glass sticking out of it. That was going to be fun to remove.

Tony slipped on a pair of glasses that he pulled from his pocket, and I could barely make out tiny bits of text and images flickering across the glass as his eyes shifted behind them. “Now that people know Rock of Ages is back on Earth, we’re going to have some damage control to do. Poison Ivy, you’ve only been seen as my PA, so they probably won’t connect those dots for a few days, so they’re just going to assume that you’re in league with him. I’ll have Pepper-”

“Enough!” Loki shouted, causing everyone in the room to startle at his sudden outburst, myself included. He cupped my cheek gently, his gentle touch a complete juxtaposition to the rest of his rigid body that hovered protectively beside me, silently apologizing for frightening me as he glowered at the rest of the inhabitants in the room. “Unless you know how to mend the wound she sustained from the bullet, I would like you to leave. Now.”

Tony, Nat, and Thor looked at one another, their eyes wide in the face of his protective outrage. Nat stepped forward, shoving Tony and Thor toward the door as she did so. I offered them an apologetic grimace, the best I could do against the pain and wearing overwhelming my mind and body. I was grateful for his outburst, to be honest. I wasn’t in the mood to try to figure out damage control for the situation that we hadn’t had any control over ourselves. That could wait for tomorrow. I turned my head to press a light kiss to his palm before slipping my fingers through his to grasp his hand in my lap. I needed his touch just as much as he seemed to need mine. He was still on edge as he watched Nat move around the room to gather the supplies she’d need to tend to me, but I took the soft exhale that he gave when I shot an exhausted smile his way as a small improvement.

“She’s going to need to take her dress off so I can fully get at that graze,” she said matter-of-factly, arranging everything she’d collected on a metal table that she wheeled up next to where I was sitting.

Loki slipped my leather jacket from my shoulders, folding it and setting it next to me. He helped me shift enough to get the dress out from beneath me before carefully tugging it off and tossing it into the trash can. My heart sank to see it trashed, but it wasn’t salvageable, ripped and blood-stained as it was. It was one of the few dresses that I would actually wear again, if only because it had been a present from Loki. My arms automatically wrapped around my middle against the chilly air of the room.

She didn’t seem to be fazed by my state of undress as she grabbed a pair of tweezers from her collection of medical tools. Her face was set in concentration as she bent forward and made to begin removing the glass from one of my thighs.

Loki stopped her with a firm hold on her wrist. He moved it to linger over my hip before letting go. “I will tend to that. Just the stitches, primitive things they may be.”

I didn’t miss the slight catch in her breath when he grabbed her, and I unwound an arm from myself to awkwardly pat her hand. “It’s okay, Nat. We can get the rest.”

She nodded, setting the tweezers back down and grabbing some antibacterial solution. She was methodical as she shook the bottle onto the gauze pressed over the opening. When she had the gauze prepped, she paused with it inches from my skin, looking up to Loki who remained standing over me like a specter I couldn’t shake. “When I get to the stitches it’s going to hurt like a bitch. If you could keep her from smacking the hell out of me, I’d appreciate it.” She shifted her gaze to me with a sympathetic frown. “We’re out of painkillers and numbing agents. You ready?”

I suppressed a shiver of fear that threatened to run down my spine, not wanting to appear weak in front of the two badasses currently watching me with nothing but concern and worry. I wouldn’t be so freaked out if she hadn’t told Loki that he was going to have to keep me from punching her out. But, the sooner we started, the sooner it would be over with. I dug my fingernails into my palms, took a deep breath, and nodded to her.

“It’ll be easier to keep her still and get at this thing if you lay her down.”

He grunted softly in reply. One of his large hands settled on my shoulder and the other in between my shoulder blades to help ease me down. He let go of me briefly to cushion my head with my discarded jacket before kneeling behind my head at the table. His arms were like iron bands around my waist and over my arms, pinning me down in preparation. I shivered from the in anticipation as he let his cheek come to rest against my temple to offer some small sort of comfort as he restrained me.

I was reminded just how strong Loki was when Nat cleaned out the wound, having to rub and tug forcefully at it to get it done properly. “Fuck, Nat!”

“That’s not the worst part. You got her?”

Loki’s chin rubbed against my cheekbone as he nodded, his arms tightening minutely around me. I closed my eyes, trying to focus on his thumb caressing the bare skin of my stomach and his breath fanning out across my face as I waited for the bite of the sutures.

“Shit,” I groaned out, the burning in my side coming to a head as the needle pierced through my skin. I tried to arch my body away from the touch but I couldn’t move an inch thanks to Loki’s secure grip holding me down. The chill of his skin against the hot blood that trailed down my side and the electric pain singing my nerves made me break out in a cold sweat. My body didn’t seem to know how to react to so many differing sensations at once. I felt like my teeth were going to shatter in my mouth from clenching them so hard, and I could faintly hear the tinkling of broken glass over the rushing in my ears.

“Breathe, little one. Breathe.” Loki exaggerated each exhale that blew across my flushed skin for my benefit.

The excruciating tugging and piercing of my flesh went on for an eternity. I became nothing more than a creature of sensations, all thought lost to my exhausted and strained body. Loki’s calloused fingers softly stroking my ribcage. The sharp pierce of the curved needle into my ragged flesh. The agonizing fire of thread pulled taut. The chill of the table beneath me only slightly colder than the Frost Giant fixing me to it. The blood and raw power flowing through my veins and roaring in my ears.

And finally, the sweetest relief when cooling ointment was smoothed over the neat row of stitches and covered by a thick bandage taped to my skin. My eyes rolled open when Loki lifted his body from mine to brush his lips across my sweaty forehead. I let my head fall limply to the side to watch Nat stand up and toss her bloodied gloves into the garbage.

“Hey, Nat?” I called softly, lethargy taking too much of my energy to speak any louder.

She smoothed her hands across her thighs as she walked back over to me. Weariness and unease weighed heavily on her beautiful features, and I allowed myself a brief moment to collect my thoughts. I hadn’t even considered the possibility that she was trying to double-cross me or use me while she had been stitching me up. Somehow, she had begun to take back the role of best friend that she had held before Hydra had placed those doubts in my head. I didn’t have to shove away the nagging fears that lingered on the edges of my thoughts with her.

“Thanks for patching me up.” I lifted my heavy hand from the table with a small smile.

She took my offered hand with a matching smile. “Next time don’t use something with a big window in the middle of it, ‘kay?” We both chuckled quietly. Her eyes flicked over to Loki as he stood by my side. “You sure you can handle the rest?”

I can only imagine the look he must have given her, as she smirked and put her hands up in mock surrender. She flashed me a wink before turning and making a hasty exit.

I struggled to sit up after she was gone, but I was stopped by Loki’s hand gently pushing my shoulder back to the table. His eyes were filled with guilt as he moved his soft touch to wipe away an errant tear from my cheek and brush a lock of sweaty hair off of my forehead. I hated that look in his eyes and blamed myself for showing such weakness. He didn’t deserve my pain on top of everything else we were going to have to deal with shortly.

“Rest. I will take care of you,” he insisted, stroking his hand down my arm to lift the back of my hand to his lips before releasing it.

I let my arm fall over my face to shield my bloodshot eyes from the harsh glare of the white lights blaring down on me. My silence and stillness was my response, and I flinched when his hands touched the tops of my thighs. He pulled away quickly, and I forced my arm to flop out to the side so that I could look at him. His piercing eyes were flying over me like I would break just from the gentlest of touches.

“It’s because your hands are cold and I’m half-naked on a metal table that is also cold, in a room that apparently doesn’t have a working heater,” I explained wearily. When he didn’t move I pulled my arms back so that I could prop myself up into a half-sitting position on my elbows. It stung a little and I exhaled softly from the sharp ache of it, which made the lines between his brows only deepen. “I need you to help get that glass out of me and then take me up to bed. Help me?”

It was cheap, to play on his protective instincts to pull him out of a spiral of guilt, but it worked. He managed a nod before the worry lining his face was joined by a serious concentration tightening around his eyes. His hands ran tenderly over the ruined skin of my thighs and the familiar warm tingle of his magic flowed out from where he touched me. When his hands trailed down to my knees I was able to see that the glass previously embedded inside of me was nowhere to be found. He methodically applied the same ointment Nat had used, making sure not to put too much pressure on the already tender and smarting cuts.

“How?” As soon as the question passed my lips parted in awe I knew it was pointless to ask. He was, as Tony and Thor put it, a witch. Making some glass disappear was probably something he’d learned hundreds of years ago.

A small bit of pride slipped into his low voice and tugged on the edges of his lips. “I am a god of many talents,” he stated, eyes smoldering as he spread my legs just enough so that he could wrap clean gauze around both of my thighs. With so many tiny scrapes and cuts it was the best option of protecting them until I healed in a few days. That look of hunger should be outlawed it was so potent, especially paired with his fleeting touches on the inside of my legs.

Finally finished, he placed a strong arm behind my shoulders to help me sit up. He shrugged off his suit jacket and settled it on my shoulders before picking me up off of the table. He levitated my jacket to rest in my lap and provide that much more privacy in my state of undress as he carried me out of the room. I felt a bit bad for leaving it bloodied and the windows smashed in, but there wasn’t much to be done about that. I faintly pushed against his chest, only for him to curl the fingers beneath my knees and around my back tighter against me.

“I can walk,” I grumbled, even as I fought against the impossible weight of my eyelids.

“Damn it, woman. Stop being so stubborn and allow me to care for you,” he said, frustration edging into his tone. “I will not have you undoing our hard work for your foolish pride.”

On theme with the night, I gave in to his earnest demands. I wrapped my arms around his neck and let my head fall heavily onto his shoulder as I closed my eyes. I couldn’t find the energy or will to open them when I heard my fellow Avengers cry out at the sight of us. We must have been in the main living area for so many to have spotted us at one time. It almost took too much energy to even put individuals to voices as they cried out at once.

“What happened to her?” Steve.

“What the hell?” Sam.

“Is Miss Jennifer alright?” Vision.

“She’s going to be fine.” Nat.

“Brother, do you require assistance?” Thor.

“I will care for her.” Loki’s voice rumbled over me.

I sagged deeper into his arms with each swaying step, rocked deeper towards sleep with his gentle movements. The burn of my injuries had already lessened considerably, possibly due to just how exhausted I was. I gave in to sleep just as I heard water beating against shower tiles.

~~~

A groan slipped through my lips before I was even fully conscious, the burning and itching on my hip pulling me from my blissful dreamless sleep. I sighed in relief as I felt a large cool hand close over it to ease the worst of the discomfort. My bleary eyes slowly blinked open, taking in the empty bed before me. Loki shifted beneath the covers at my back. His body enveloped mine more thoroughly, curled against me from hip to shoulder, and his nose nuzzled into the soft skin of my neck. I stiffened and put my hand into my hair expecting to feel it encrusted in dirt and blood from the night before, but found nothing but clean--albeit tangled-- hair.

“I made sure to wash the gore from you before putting you to bed. I did not want to ruin my shirt that I had dressed you in for sleeping,” he explained, his lips brushing the sensitive skin behind my ear. Of course he would think to do that. One of these days I was going to make sure I was awake for him performing such an endearing and intimate action.

I relaxed and my hand fell back behind his head to tangle in his own disheveled dark locks. He hummed contentedly. If only I could bottle up this quiet moment; even with the injuries and aches and pains, I would live in it forever.

That’s not how life with Tony Stark worked, though.

“You two. Out here. Now,” his curt voice blasted throughout the room.

“Ah, hell,” I grumbled, wishing I could rip the speaker from the ceiling. It seemed like his favorite hobby was interrupting my happiness with the man currently burying his face into my hair. “Time to go get our asses handed to us.”

“He will do no such thing. Not to you,” Loki growled, leaving me abruptly to stand up and stalk over to the dresser to pull out his clothes for the day.

“My face is probably plastered all over the news already,” I countered, slowly following him, wincing at the tug my movements made on my hip and thighs.

He violently threw down a button-down shirt, keeping his back to me. “Because of your association with me,” he spat.

His frustration and doubt twisted his elegant features as I watched him in the mirror propped up on the dresser. He glared down at the piece of furniture like he wanted to rip it to pieces, as if it was the cause for our places in this mess. I reached out to smooth my hands down the taut muscles of his back. “I would bet my bottom dollar those men were Hydra. I’m sure that’s what Tony is going to say when we walk out of there. And if that’s the case, they weren’t after you. You were disguised, Loki. I wasn’t.”

He jerked away from my soothing hands, whipping around to tower over me with wide eyes. “You were there because of me!”

Even though I wanted to tremble beneath the full brunt of his fury, I ignored that urge, reminding myself that he would never hurt me; he was only lashing out in the face of emotions that he didn’t want to handle. I tilted my head and did my best to make him see reason. “Because you planned a wonderful night for me, Loki.”

“It is my fault,” he seethed. The fury raging in his eyes slowly crumbled in the face of my calm persistence to reveal the anguish and guilt he was trying to hide.

I picked up his discarded shirt and slipped it over his arms and shoulders. I allowed my fingers the pleasure to run down the middle of his torso as I lined up the buttons, and once aligned, I began fastening them for him. He was wound so tightly with his warring emotions that he didn’t react to my featherlight touch. “You can’t blame yourself every time I get hurt, love. It comes with the territory.”

All anger drained out of him with a shaky sigh. His pale features were haunted and drawn as he desperately looked over my calm face. “It is my duty to protect you.”

There it was.

I finished buttoning his shirt and reached behind him to grab the sleek pair of black pants he had ripped from the hanger earlier. “I’m not some damsel in distress, Loki. I can take care of myself,” I promised, holding the pants out to him. “Your job is to stand by my side. Maybe do that handy Superman trick where you block bullets for me.” That drew a tiny smile from him. “But I never expected you to take on the responsibility of playing bodyguard around the clock.”

Loki accepted the pants and then let them fall to the ground so his hands could bunch into his large t-shirt that draped down to barely my thighs. He brought his lips to my forehead and inhaled deeply, breathing me in. “I promise that I will make them pay for what they did to you.”

“And I’ll be right next to you when that happens,” I replied, tilting my chin to leave a tender kiss on his neck.

“You are everything. I don’t know what I would do if…” he trailed off and his Adam’s apple bobbed before me as he swallowed thickly.

“Hey, hey, hey.” I looked up at him, taken aback by the unshed tears shining in his emerald eyes. I’d never seen him this way. There was an actual ache in my chest at witnessing him so close to breaking, so vulnerable and raw. “You don’t need to find out. Not right now and not for a long time. I’m here.” I cupped his sharp jaw in my hands with a warm smile. “And I’m far too stubborn to go anywhere. You’re stuck with me. Got it?”

He turned his face to kiss my palm softly. “If you insist,” he replied, the smallest of smirks tugging on the thin line of his mouth.

It wasn’t a major mood improvement, but I’d take what I could get. I kissed him soundly before taking his pants from the floor and shoving them into his arms. “Now go get ready. I don’t want to piss off Tony anymore than I already have.”

He rolled his eyes. “Yes, because the worst scenario either of us has faced is an angry Tin Man.”

~~~

“It has been confirmed that the couple who fled the scene of the attack late last night was none other than Loki Odinson of Asgard and Jennifer Thompson, former Personal Assistant to Tony Stark. Eyewitness accounts and CC Television captured them acting very close before the six, now deceased, men opened fire on them. We have footage of the incident from a bystander’s cell phone, but I must warn you that it is graphic in nature.”

Shaky footage of Loki and I from inside a building took over the large screen. It’s clear that the bullets fired upon us are blocked by his body, bouncing off of him as if they were rubber. Even in the poor quality footage, my glowing green eyes are plainly visible as I ripped off the car door of the moving vehicle and wrenched up the park bench from the concrete. My gaze dropped down to stare at the wooden table before me, not wanting to relive the previous night if I could help it.

I raised my eyes from the grainy surface only when the frightened chatter of the crowd and sirens from the video stopped, and when I looked back to the screen, I found it paused on a slightly blurry image of my angry face. My freakishly lit-up eyes dominated the shot. I didn’t even look human. Am I human anymore? I grimaced, looking back down at the conference table that we were all seated around.

“How long have you been able to do that, Pebbles?” Tony asked, crossing his arms over his chest as he stared me down behind his blue-tinted glasses.

Why was this where the conversation began? “Do what, Tony?” I asked, unable and unwilling to keep the venom from my voice. It had been a rough night, he had ruined what little bit of a good morning I’d had, and I was hurting something fierce. I wasn’t in the mood to be attacked for being more of a freak than I had initially thought.

“Don’t get cute with me. You’re suddenly able to rip the doors off of passing cars now? And your eyes are a green electric show like Point Break’s? That would have been nice to know.”

“Yeah,” I shrugged my shoulders, “I would have liked to have known it, too. You know, this isn’t doing a lot for my confidence that you lot aren’t trying to control me.”

He shifted on his feet and leaned slightly forward over the head of the table. “You not telling us about the full extent of your powers isn’t doing a lot for mine, kid.”

I stood up with enough force to knock the rolling chair back against the wall behind me. My hands slammed down on the table with a bang that resounded throughout the room. “Oh, you can fuck right off with that bullshit. I’m as new to this as any of you. It’s not like I have cars whipping by me while men are trying to kill me and the man I love and I have to react in split-second decisions that I can’t even consciously make. You all know how it is. I just reacted to protect both of us. I’m sorry that freaks you out, but it is what it is. You can accept it, move on, and help us figure out how to handle this shit storm raining down on us from something we had no control over, or you can step back and let Loki and I leave. No muss, no fuss. But I will not be treated like a criminal for doing what I needed to do to keep us safe,” I ranted, maintaining a carefully controlled venom in my level tone.

I realized only after the fact that I had spoken for Loki without consulting him. I had just volunteered him to leave with me. What if he didn’t want to leave? My eyes widened as I looked over at him to gauge his reaction. His eyes searched mine with an unreadable expression for a moment before he nodded in solidarity.

“What exactly are you implying, Stark?” Loki interjected, his brow raised as he shifted his gaze to cooly regard Tony.

Bruce stepped in from where he had been watching from the corner of the room, holding his hand up to Tony who looked ready to deliver his own biting remark back at the tense god sitting next to me. “Maybe we’re all just a little on edge and need to take a breather for a second.”

“I don’t like not knowing the full extent of what you’re capable of,” Steve admitted, leaning back in his chair with a shake of his head.

I shifted my hard gaze to him, not liking the tone the meeting was taking. “I’m not Bucky, Steve.”

“We don’t know what they did to you in there!” Steve countered, his raised voice echoing around the room.

Loki shifted forward in his seat and I quickly placed my hand on Loki’s arm before he could retaliate. He turned his frosty glare to me. “They’re turning against you,” his frustrated voice slipped into my thoughts.

I flicked my fingers to slide the chair back behind my knees and fell back into it with a heavy sigh. “Then help me talk to them, Silver Tongue.”

He leaned back, schooling his expression into one of indifference as he shifted his gaze between the agitated Avengers. “The Witch and I both experienced the torture that she endured through willing searches of her memories. We know the extent of her mental and physical injuries and can attest to her continued recovery. She can assuage any doubts you may have about Ms. Thompson, as I highly doubt that you will believe anything I tell you, considering our relationship.”

Wanda looked up from the table and nodded her head solemnly. “I saw it, and I’ve seen her progress since she’s returned. She isn’t a threat to us.”

“Is this meeting to see if we’re a threat to you or to figure out what we’re supposed to do about last night?” I cut in loudly. “Because there isn’t anything I can do to prove to you that I’m on your side that I haven’t already done. If anything, I’m the one who should be questioning all of you, after everything that I went through. So, if that’s what we’re discussing, I don’t need to be here for this.” I stood up to further solidify my intention to leave and glared at Tony hiding behind his glasses.

“What was that, Jen?” Nat asked, sounding more curious than horrified, to her credit. It was much appreciated.

I crossed my arms protectively over my stomach, painfully aware of the throbbing in my hip and the pull of the thick bandages under the tight jeans I had hastily thrown on earlier. “The eye thing? I dunno. Maybe something like when Wanda or Thor really tap into their powers. I didn’t even know it was happening.” I shrugged, looking at Wanda hopefully. Thankfully she wasn’t looking at me with the same trepidation that Tony and Steve were, but the lack of expression on her face wasn’t the biggest morale boost either. If anyone were to understand dealing with powers previously unknown to you, it would be her. “Nat always tells me that I think too much when I fight. Well, I guess last night was what happens when I don’t think, for better or worse. All I knew was that these men were coming at us ready to kill, and Loki was taking all of the bullets.” I looked at Loki, who was watching me with a hint of pride peeking out through his calm facade. “I don’t fully trust your alien juju to keep you protected against them forever and they looked like Hydra and I would not survive going back there, so I just… reacted. I-I didn’t mean to kill that man, though.”

Thor tipped his head to me in gratitude. “You fought valiantly at my brother’s side last night, little mortal. Of that, you should be proud.”

His praise lowered some of my defenses. Maybe the entire room wasn’t as against me as I had originally believed. Some of the wind taken from my sails, I sat back down. I didn’t realize that I wanted his approval as much as I did until it was given to me. But he was Loki’s older brother, even adopted, and the King of what was left of the Asgardian people. It was hard to remember that fact when he acted so normal all the time. It was only natural to want his support.

“You shouldn’t have been out of the Compound in the first place. And to take off your watch so we couldn’t find you? That’s a dumbass move, Pebbles,” Tony scolded, intent on not letting us--or at least me--off so easily.

“The blame for that aspect of the evening should fall solely on my shoulders. I removed her phone from her without her knowledge before we left, and the watch after you attempted to track us through it. The evening was entirely my doing,” Loki corrected, refusing to back down under Tony’s disappointed stare.

“And why in the hell would you take her away from the Compound in the first place? I know that your ancient brain must be a little rusty in your old age, but Hydra is still out to get her! It isn’t safe for her out there!” Tony shouted.

I bristled under his attack on my beloved. “I can take care of myself! I’m not-”

It was Loki’s turn to silence me with a steady hand on my arm, his hard eyes never leaving Tony’s as he slowly rose to stand behind me at the table. He moved with a terrifying predatory grace that only hinted at the true power he held within. “She is not your prisoner. She has not left this place except for one night amongst friends and one mission, the latter outing ending in her kidnapping and torture. You do not understand the madness that consumes one when one is forced to stare at the same four walls for months on end.”

“It was for her protection,” Tony stubbornly insisted, puffing out his chest to match Loki’s.

“That sounds familiar,” Wanda spoke up, her jaw set as she looked at Vision beside her. “If we just keep hiding them, both of them, the people aren’t going to stop being afraid. They fear what they don’t understand. And right now they do not understand what happened last night.”

“There must be a plan in place to improve the situation, yes?” Thor asked.

Tony clicked off the screen with a heavy sigh. “I’ve been talking to Pepper. Our best bet is to go public with as much as we can. Tell them that Rock of Ages went back to Asgard and paid for his crimes and he’s here to help us right his wrongs-”

“I am not-”

“I don’t care if that’s not why you’re really here. It’s what we can sell to keep SHIELD from taking you into custody and locking you up until Pebbles is dead and gone.” He paused, letting that sink in for a moment as he paced back and forth at the head of the table, his body trying to keep up with his rapidly working mind. “We tell them that Jen is a new recruit for the Avengers, which isn’t technically a lie. The cat is out of the bag concerning you two as a couple, so we’ll spin that to our advantage. ‘The New Yorker who found it in her heart to forgive the Big Bag Asgardian’ or something like that.”

“So, what does that mean, though? A press conference? A newspaper article? I’m not sure either of them should go in front of a camera with how blood-thirsty the reporters would be. They aren’t known for keeping their cool,” Sam prodded, shrugging at me. “No offense.”

I heard the chair creak behind me as Loki dug his fingers into the dark leather. I shrugged, “None taken.”

Tony pulled out two watches from his pocket and tossed them across the table to Loki and me. “I scheduled a press conference for later today. I’ll do the talking; they’re used to that. There’s also a charity gala Friday night that we were planning on attending without you both, but I snagged two extra tickets. It will be good for them to see you acting like normal people. You can do that, right?”

“Can you do that, Stark?” Loki asked bitingly as pointedly ignored the watch I held out to him to stare down its creator.

“You two kids play nice,” Nat grumbled as she watched them warily.

Like that was ever going to happen.

[pip-personalispolitical]

𝖙𝖍𝖊  𝖑𝖆𝖘𝖙  𝖙𝖆𝖗𝖌𝖆𝖗𝖞𝖊𝖓

The last female characters in the show have essentially been reduced to three houses; Stark, Baratheon, Targaryen. These houses hold considerable power by themselves, coupled with their remaining matriarchs (because let’s face it, Jon isn’t running anything other than away from his feelings) they’re a pretty formidable bunch.

Disregarding the pitting of powerful women against each other in a totalitarian struggle for the throne in the vein of oh so trendy, female power, this week’s episode was rife with misguided notions of women, power and madness. Patriarchal tropes clung to the once fierce and pragmatic women, altogether terrifying and brilliant, and reduced them to poor plot twists and insanity.

It was predictable, and awful, highly entertaining and I hated it. I hated it because this has a massive audience that has huge influence on Western society, it should be commented on, especially when the fanbase is so intelligent and loyal and when it’s such a huge part of our soecity (Sorry, it is.) 

𝔩𝔦𝔱𝔱𝔩𝔢 𝔡𝔬𝔳𝔢

I’m gonna get right into it. Full fledged, partially feminist but mostly just pissed off review of this episode and continuing storyline for The Mother of Dragons. 

Sansa and Ayra are the only two female leads left unscathed by bouts of madness. They remain in the show, they are quiet and astute, or emotionally void and impossibly silent. Above all else the crucial performance of their femininity is intact, they are well-mannered and unobtrusive and that is seemingly why they are still there. Some of their power steams from utilizing the tropes of femininity to ensure they have stability and respect and maintain the little power they have.

Sansa is not only playing the Game of Thrones but the tiresome Game of Patriarchy. Seemingly internalising her struggles and extending gratitude to traumatic abuse as a means of betterment seems, at the least, in poor taste and at most, horrifically ignorant and damaging. The implications are that because of what a man did to her, she is a better person for it. I think she is better, and not “still a little bird”, only because of what the show keeps telling us is that she’s smart now, not showing us. You might even go so far as to say that Sansa is only granted trust and smarts because she learnt it from a male peer.

Sansa Stark has swallowed internalised misogyny down with her favoured lemon cakes; yes, she has learnt how to manipulate those around her and use her strengths to gain favour, all whilst being very pretty and very quiet. Except when it allows heror her family more access to power. You all know what I’m talking about - snitches get stitches, little dove. All the while claiming The Dragon Queen is an untrustworthy threat (Jon asked you to keep how many secrets? One? The same one your Father kept for...how many years? Oh. Yeah. In the words of Sandor Cleagane, fuck off.)

Thus, leading me - a rabid feminist and Targaryen loyalist - to believe that unless you play by the rules in Westeros, whatever you want is unattainable and you are unworthy and frankly, too damn emotional. The only way for these characters to survive is to shut up and play along.

And let’s keep in mind that all of these characters are white, the people of colour on the show can be the sweetest, most benevolent characters in the universe and they still get decapitated. Characters who aren’t “nice” or “good” and are people of colour are portrayed as savages, emotionless killing robots that are above all dispensable and grateful to their white saviour. Someone who spoke about this more eloquently and in depth is Raine (SP – my apologise I can only guess at it based on phonetics), who wrote into the Pod-Cast: A Cast of Kings (S8E5, 7 minutes in.)  

Dany simply doesn’t play by these rules.

Being a Targaryen at heart, I wondered what it was that Dany was doing so differently to be considered such a threat, or a borderline mad queen, chasing after the impossible affections of the inhabitants of Westeros. Dany plays by Targaryen rules, she plays with fire and blood. Their trump card of entitlement (a hereditary bloodline that has mostly held male monarchs) that condemns her as power-hungry but serves male claimants as entitled.

Her overt assertions and unfiltered desire to reclaim this birth right, as many before her have, is suddenly chased by the idea of being deserving, a prerequisite that eludes the patriarchal figures in her family. This leads me to think it’s not what she’s asking for that is so unconceivable, but howshe’s asking for it that is so outrageous. Apparently, even Khaleesi can face issues of likeability[i].

𝔱��𝔢 𝔱𝔬𝔰𝔰 𝔬𝔣 𝔞 𝔠𝔬𝔦𝔫

These rejections of arguably patriarchal rules and the strong emotions of a woman are tediously wrapped up with notions of madness and hysteria, and prove disappointing for one of the most well written female characters in fantasy.

While we have to take into account the budget and time of the show, it feels breathless. The otherwise thoughtful and complex plotlines have been twisted to deliver shocking twists with little substance.

Dany’s previous actions in the show haven’t led to the web of whispers surrounding her, there is no reason for people to expect her to act like a mad queen up until this very last moment. To deny these people were doing so and lying to her face about it would be further gaslighting, so Tryion, in my book, did the right thing. Dany’s decisions have constantly been ridiculed, along with her sanity and emotional state.

In a defence of her actions, she has fought endlessly, scraped her way to the throne, sacrificed her time, her armies and her children to find herself left alone at the last moment? (Who can relate?) Her powerful allies have fallen, and those that claimed they would serve her do very little of what she asks. Seriously. Jon, you just couldn’t shut the fuck up for a second?! Starks and their honour, SMH. It is maddening.

Aside from it making no narrative sense (she has always avoided bloodshed and taken warnings about the mad king, her father, to heart) it just sucks seeing two of the best women reduced to Motherless tropes. Because Seven Hells, what is a woman if she is not reproducing? Insane!

As if the coin had been tossed and landed face down - Dany loses it within a split second. Hats off to Emilia Clarke because she sold it and the storm of emotions that ran across her face in milliseconds. This black and white contrast seems unfitting for a character that has faced each loss, personal and political, with tenacity, she has learnt from each of these losses. D&D have taken a survivor that has been gaslit, abused, groomed and baited and “made her mad with ambition.”

Additionally, it lends to the idea that women’s emotions are incomprehensible and irrational. We are told that in expressing anger we are inhibiting the ability to be heard - hello tone policing. This bout of madness is signalling her downfall, her failure to comply with a more docile femininity. Any woman with too much power will not be able to handle it and if she can she is mad and must be stopped. Period.

They failed to give her the credit she so deserved as she tried (and arguably failed) to grasp the politics of war. Worst of all, the scene played out so poorly that the audience had to be told this was her moment of “choosing violence,” like Cersei. The only way this was credible was thanks to Emilia’s performance and explanation in behind the scenes footage.

She explains how hurt Dany is, how angry and alone she is, and these feelings have culminated at a time she has gotten exactly what she wanted, and realised it’s not what she thought it would be. With liminal time, Dany grieves. Her grief is sorrow turned anger, anger turned dragon fire, dragon fire turned ash. It looks different to any other characters on the show and she has allowed it to kill her. And when you put it like that, it’s fucking traumatic.

It’s not like it’s nothing that pushes her over the edge, but in diagnosing Dany with madness, her agency is stripped from her. Dismissing her actions by saying it’s in her blood is implying it’s inevitable despite the great character growth and progress she has made. While the books clearly hint at this, the show does not...well, not successfully. It’s feasible and I’m not at all against the idea of her going mad, but the connotations of it seem reductive.

Daenerys could have been the most beautiful mad queen we’ve seen since Maleficent, reigning her vengeance on us with fire and blood, but D&D wrote off her brilliance with 30 minutes of relentless slaughter. Her power has always been something to fear, she plays the game she need not play to gain favour and credibility as a leader, and when playing by their rules fails her and she doesn’t feel like playing anymore (as it’s gotten her nowhere – does this remind you of anything? Patriarchy? Internalising misogyny?) she’s crazy.

The most irritating aspect of this all is that it has been written to further the narrative of do-gooder MoodiBoi of Westeros, Jon Snow. To add insult to injury, her sacrifices are motive for madness while Jon’s make him a martyr; an unwilling hero bound by the same strain of honour that has gotten both him and his uncle killed. Like, I’m bored?

𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔴𝔬𝔩𝔣 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔡𝔯𝔞𝔤𝔬𝔫

It’s undeniable, Ayra is a badass. She killed the fucking Night King. But for some reason, Daenerys isn’t granted the same nuance she is. Ayra is unforgiving and gritty, she is cloaked in darkness and weaponry and this darkness is welcomed. While Dany’s darkness is terrifying - perhaps simply due to the scale of devastation she is capable of - whereas Ayra’s is welcomed and accepted. Maybe it’s just too easy for Dany to sit the throne with dragons and is considered unfair? Like, I dunno, any white-het-cis man trying to attain a position of power and control.

Perhaps it is because Ayra’s power is overtly masculine, her power is demonstrated solely in her physical skills and capabilities, whereas Dany’s overt power is dragon fire, and flows, sometimes in reverse, between decision making, politics, emotions, bloodlines and betrayals. This is a character arc, it isn’t a clean narrative and that is why it’s so compelling. (Sidenote: let’s not disregard the ability to raise, bond with and fly fatherfucking dragons.)

Ayra undergoes numerous inescapable traumas, all early in life, but so does our darling Dany. The only difference is Dany strays from physical demonstrations of power. Her focus is not individualised, it’s pinpointed to political hotspots.

No, not all female characters have to express their power and emotions in the same way, nor should all female characters be powerful, but in a show with dragons, is it so far-fetched to have more than one successful female ruler?

𝔄𝔷𝔬𝔯-𝔞𝔥𝔟𝔶𝔢 

It seems as though the show has room for only one type of ‘empowered’ woman: the power hungry one. Whether she uses cunning, childless violence or fire and blood, they all seek power. Enough to hold what they consider their claim, two of them have already paid with their lives for their loud and unrelenting anger, the third is most likely going to sit the throne, quietly, thankful for the years of gaslighting and abuse. Looking at you, Sansa Snarky.

The only praise I can sing is that this is actually a testament to her power and great restraint, it has taken 8 seasons of abuse, disbelief, dehumanising, control and betrayal for her to reach this point and use this force that she could have used moons ago. Which, judging by everyone’s shitty ideas and plans, she should have done anyway.

While Daenerys Stormborn isn’t perfect (er, hello white saviour/messiah complex) she is compelling and pivotal in the series. This woman isn’t inherently good or bad. The character is made of grey, shifting uncertainties and wavering moral, struck by tragedy and bloodlines - she is simply made of magic - Dany is, after all, the Mother of Dragons, and she deserved better.  

𝔯𝔢𝔣𝔢𝔯𝔢𝔫𝔠𝔢𝔰

1] Likeability: I define Likeability as a set of performances that are highly gendered, and ensure the maintenance of the feminine by condemning behaviours exerted by non-males; typically being loud, having a sexuality (lol seriously) opinionated, successful and ambitious. I believe likeability sits on the axis of heteronormativity and femininity; or rather within the heterosexual matrix. They rely on each other for their respective maintenance. The highly feminine woman is more respected and well liked. It is a social currency women have to pay in order to attain certain things, such as respect or power. 

2] https://www.bitchmedia.org/article/its-time-embrace-feminisms-anger

3] https://www.theatlantic.com/entertainment/archive/2016/09/how-pop-culture-tells-women-to-shut-up/502187/

4] A Cast of Kings: Available on all streaming sites. S8EP5 Review. 

[facethroughthemirror]

IN THE END, WE COME RIGHT BACK

CHAPTER FOUR

They’d seen Maine get back up after taking massive amounts of damage. And every time, he would get up and keep swinging, rush his opponents like an angry bull, shrug off the pain like it was nothing. This was Maine. Hulking, indestructible Maine. Maine with god-tier endurance and an adamantine skull. Maine with the strength of, according to Agent Pennsylvania, about twenty-three bears, give or take a bear or two. Maine, who was both the unstoppable force and the immovable object.

But Maine didn’t get up.

Cross-posted on ao3

After North and CT finally left, apparently fed up with being careful around Wash and watching their words, there were no more visitors. Not even one. He thought that maybe he'd seen another freelancer watching them from the observation window a few times, possibly South or Texas from the height, but he couldn't be sure. Honestly, it might've been a nurse, or his own imagination. He didn't really dwell on it when it happened, he'd simply looked up, then back at Maine almost immediately when he realized there was, visibly, no one there. It occurred to him to ask Scarlett, the nurse that had more or less been tasked exclusively with checking on Maine, if anyone was checking in on them, but he figured she was doing enough for them without his needing to bother her about it.

Scarlett had been the best about this whole thing. She was a friendly young woman with blue eyes, and hair in about three shades of pink, this second thing being something that Wash was sure the Director hated, but didn't detract from her ability to do her job. In fact, Wash would argue that it helped. It made her highly visible, and her choices of pink were bright enough so as to be oddly calming. She seemed to have the ability to remain visibly positive, even genuinely cheerful, even when she was up to her shoulders in blood. She had been a civilian nurse before enlisting in the UNSC. She had been shifted to Project Freelancer when the Director had encountered her on a visit to a military hospital to look for medics. But it was her civilian experience that Wash admired and appreciated immensely: it seemed to afford her a certain extra level of genuine compassion, not just for her patients, but for the uninjured who were stubbornly refusing to leave her patients' sides.

She had very patiently showed Wash how to check Maine's bullet wounds and change his bandages, had explained Maine's injuries in as much detail as possible so that Wash was fully up to speed on what was going on, had explained what the IV in Maine's hand was providing him, the specific fluids and medications, and had even explained why the IV was in his hand, rather than in the vein near his elbow. There had been one in his arm during transport, and during surgery itself, but once his blood pressure had been stabilized and he was settled in the Mother of Invention Recovery bay, it had been a little safer for them to start the IV in his hand. That way, if something happened, he had a seizure or a spasm and damaged the vein in his hand, they could remove the IV and replace it further up his arm, away from the damaged area.

Hours bled together, so much so that he was able to spend an entire twenty-four hours by Maine's side, not leaving and hardly sleeping, before even Scarlett had started to drop hints that he was more than welcome to take a walk. Still, Wash adamantly refused, and Scarlett hadn't pushed him out just yet. That had been hours ago by now, probably. He'd lost track of how many times she had been by since then, and even so, her appearance no longer necessarily marked the beginning of a new hour. It wasn't like there was a legion of wounded soldiers flooding Recovery, so Scarlett and the rest of the medical team had been letting their strict routine slip a little, showing up a little after the hour or a little before, sometimes checking in two or three times in the span of an hour or so.

"Good evening, Agent Washington."

He was dozing off again, fading in and out of awareness of his surroundings, entering his second night of keeping watch over Maine, when the voice startled him. He whipped around in his seat to face the new arrival, breathing out a sigh at the sight of a round-faced man dressed not unlike a yoga instructor, with a serene smile on his face that didn't seem to quite reach his eyes. Once he confirmed that it was another freelancer, and not someone that would make him leave for napping, Wash relaxed.

"... hey, man."

Florida breezed forward, settling himself cross-legged on the cot next to Maine's and placing something that had been in his hands down beside himself. He rested his forearms across his knees. "You missed dinner. Again. And you missed lunch. And breakfast."

"Did I? Whoops."

"Well, it's no problem. In fact, I brought you something in case you were starting to get a little hungry." He picked up the object he'd been holding, which the younger agent could now clearly see was a tray from the mess hall, and held it out to him. "Can't have you wasting away down here, now can we?"

Wash scanned the contents of the tray as he took it and set it down beside Maine on his cot, thinking in the back of his mind that it was probably really unlikely that Florida had put it together for him, at least by himself. There was no way Florida knew for sure what he'd eat: they barely knew each other. If he was being honest, sometimes Florida creeped him out a little. He seemed really nice, but sometimes he seemed... too nice. And the way he was always smiling whenever Wash saw him out of armor...

"Some of the others gave me a few ideas about what you might like, even though this doesn't seem to be nearly enough to keep up with our diet," Florida confirmed. "How's the patient doing?"

"... he could be better. But I mean... he could be a lot worse, I guess. But you get that, right?" Wash looked toward the door to the next Recovery bay, thinking immediately of what North had said, about Wyoming and Florida. He then realized that he wasn't sure if he was supposed to know about what North had said. "I-I mean, you and um... you and Wyoming bunk together. And you eat meals together. I assumed you guys are... close, so... h-how is Wyoming anyway? I saw him for a little but just after they brought Maine in, he looked good. Is he out of Recovery yet?"

"Yes, he is. He's resting very comfortably in our bunk. Agent Wyoming will be just fine," Florida said serenely. "And yes, we're very close. I'm sure you understand what that's like."

"... yeah, I do."

Humming to himself as if confirming a thought, Florida nodded at Maine. "So, he hasn't woken up at all, huh?"

That... was a weird question. They'd stopped the sedative in Maine's IV, just kept the regular painkillers going, but those weren't supposed to keep him under. Maine had opened his eyes a few times since they'd cut him down to just painkillers and fluids, but he'd given no indication that he knew where he was, or what was happening, or even that he was actually conscious. The last time it had happened, Wash had told him to go back to sleep, and he had. But whether that was because he was never even really awake or because he was actively listening to Wash was unclear.

"Not... really. He opened his eyes about an hour ago, but he probably won't remember that. He looked... I just told him to go back to sleep. He looked too confused to really be awake."

"How badly was he injured?"

Wash bit his lip, looking away from Florida. "He took ten bullets to the chest and throat. They didn't hit any organs, but one did crack a rib, and he sustained a lot of blunt force trauma. His collarbone took some damage. Basically all of his ribs are damaged to some degree, most of them are just bruised but three are cracked. And his spine's okay but they're being really careful with him for right now."

"How long until he's free to go?"

"He's gonna be off the duty roster for a little while, but once they're sure his spine's not badly damaged and he's okay to be out of here, he can at least go be miserable in his own bunk like CT and Wyoming. If he recovers as fast as he usually does, he may be good to go on shore leave in a couple weeks with the rest of us, as long as he keeps the stress to a minimum."

"Been taking good care of him?"

"The medical team has. The nurse that checks in on him, she's been showing me how to check his stitches and change his bandages. I'm only good at first aid, so this is all new."

"Well, you are being just an excellent little nurse, Agent Washington. But even excellent little nurses need to keep their strength up. So, maybe you try eating a little bit of your dinner. How does that sound?"

Wash really did appreciate Florida bringing him food, but he was sure that if he tried to eat anything, he'd throw it back up from anxiety. But Florida's tone made Wash immediately feel as if he was being threatened, despite the fact that nothing he said was conventionally threatening. By someone who had no qualms with doing something very unpleasant to ensure that his instructions were followed.

He pulled the tray into his lap, picking at some of the food on it before settling for picking up the roll in the corner. He could see the butter shining on it, and a flutter of excitement actually tried to flicker in his chest when he noticed that it was garlic bread. From the roll, he moved on to the fruit, and finally to the chicken. He took his time with it, finally finishing it and wiping his hand off on his jeans. It occurred to him to maybe be embarrassed that he'd eaten an entire meal with just his hand, but he was too tired to care.

"... thanks, dude. I appreciate it." Wash bit down on the inside of his cheek, then looked up at Florida. "And... thanks... for being so chill. I think North and CT are mad at me right now. And Carolina..."

"Of course, Agent Washington, you are very welcome. I like to see anybody's problem as everybody's problem. It could have happened to anyone. But odds are that he'll probably be alright." Florida rose to his feet, then reached over and patted Wash's arm. "And don't you worry about Agent Carolina. She seemed much more chipper today, I think she's processing this whole thing quite well."

Wash nodded again. "Thanks."

"You're very welcome," Florida said again, turning and starting for the door. About halfway, however, he stopped, prompting Wash to turn over his shoulder when his footsteps stopped. He didn't turn around, but what he said was very clearly meant to be heard. "By the way? I never told North that I thought you were gay. Just that I couldn't wait to see how long it would take you and Maine to figure each other out."

Wash's blood ran cold. Had North told Florida about their conversation? No, why would he? There wasn't anything weird or unusual about... wait, fuck, he'd confessed to liking Maine. Dammit, who else knew now?! North wasn't usually part of all the gossip! What the hell?! Wait, had it been CT? Maybe it had been CT. Maybe it was payback for eating her brownie a couple weeks ago. Wait did CT even talk to Florida? She didn't even know about his crush on Maine, did she?

"Now, don't you worry, your secret's safe with me. One switch-hitter to another. Anyway, I'll be sure to tell Agent Wyoming you were asking after him. I know he'll appreciate it." Florida chuckled. It was a quiet, unsettling sound, downright terrifying compared to any of the laughter that Wash had ever heard from him. "Here, I'll take that tray right back to the mess hall for you."

[neen-writes]

Iron Legends: Reforged -- Chapter 18

Series: Fairy Tail

Characters: Gajeel, Levy, plus appearances from Natsu and Lucy.

Genre: Hurt/comfort, Sci-fi

Summary: The old lab had always been fuel for a good story, something you would half-heartedly joke about going to sometime.  Some did, and when they came back they never talked about it again.  The legends circulated, telling of ghosts, monsters, and anything else someone would be likely to conjure up about an abandoned building.  But even with all the stories meant to keep everyone away, there are still those for whom the intrigue is too tempting.  

Read the Reforged chapters on FFnet here, Ao3 here, and read the entire original story here!!  AND find this fic’s soundtrack here!  

Ko-fi

Note: These chapters are the ones that are getting easier for me, because there was so much to change.  I think this one grew by about 3 pages with edits and additions, fixing the dialogue and pacing and emotional weight so.  I hope all you long time readers can tell, and that you enjoy!

Ch. 1  Ch. 2  Ch. 3  Ch. 4 Ch. 5 Ch. 6 Ch. 7 Ch. 8 Ch. 9 Ch.10 Ch. 11 Ch. 12Ch. 13 Ch. 14 Ch. 15 Ch. 16 Ch. 17

Levy could feel her lips moving, trying to speak.  There was a moment, a period of mutters and mumbles and incoherent whispers before she finally understood it was her own voice, struggling for footing. “Where is he?”  It felt detached, like a whisper in the back of her head.  That was the first and only thing she thought of.  Him.  

There was a muttered response, and she felt a small pressure on her face and the earth underneath her move.  “Where is he?”  her voice cut a little more clearly through the haze.  It was only then that she realized how rough, shredded her tone was.  

Her hands reached for her face, feeling something foreign, and started to pull at it.  “No, miss.”  That voice wasn’t hers, that much she knew. Then someone moved her hands and reapplied to the gentle pressure around her mouth.  “You need it.”  

“Get it off,” Levy finally coughed, feeling just an echo of the searing pain down her windpipe.  She tried to open her eyes, but her vision was blurred and they burned in protest when exposed to the air.  “Get it o-off of me, I need—I need Gajeel.”  The blunette continued to struggle, until she felt a grip on her wrists holding her down.  Panic started to well in her chest, unsure of what was happening, but she hadn’t the strength to fight.  Her body felt heavy, and the longer she was awake, the more she felt a continuous pain in her shoulder.  Pain in her throat, in her head, in her chest.

She gave up, suddenly, realizing that the pain had started to get worse.  Her thoughts were only barely catching up to her, but she still couldn’t decipher where she was.  The last she remembered, she was inside, with Gajeel.  And now she was in another vehicle, restrained, and he was nowhere to be found.  The panic ebbed away as quickly as it rose, her whole world spinning on its head and she felt her back arch.  

The last thing she remembered was someone she didn’t recognize shouting next to her, “She’s got decreased breath sounds!  I need a trach!”

-- 

“Please state your full name.”  The stone-faced officer, speaking in an even tone, broke the silence without lifting his gaze from his papers.

The girl shook briefly at his voice, loud in the small space.  He didn’t seem to care much that he had started her.  Or rather, he didn’t notice, because he wouldn’t take his eyes off his papers.  With a steadying breath, Levy licked her lips, swallowing painfully, and replied softly, “Levy McGarden.”

Nearly a full 48 hours had passed since the incident in Hargeon.  Levy’s memory of the last several hours was patchy, and filled with periods of black, but she knew what they had had to do with her and she was grateful to not remember any of it.  She went downhill fast before making it to the first hospital, a combination of the bloodloss and how much smoke she had ended up inhaling.  Her airway had nearly swollen shut from the soot before she was intubated, and she was out like that for nearly a day and a half before they could remove it.  

The man in front of her, before introducing himself and moving into his brief investigation, had explained that she was stabilized first in Hargeon.  They transferred her back to Magnolia when they found her to be a missing person, not a subject, and waited until she was strong enough for questioning.

“And can you tell me, as concisely as possible, how you came to be at Jupiter Technologies?” Levy winced, but stoic as ever, he was poised with his pen.  He barely even made eye contact with her and the procedural nature of it left a sour taste in her mouth.

“I was taken, ah,” she paused, swallowing, “a little over a week ago I think.  I don’t know, it was hard to tell how long it’s been,”  she answered.

“Against your will?  And if so by whom?”

“Yes,” Levy answered, her tone sharp regardless of the hoarseness in her voice.  “By its founder, Dr. Jose Porla.”  She paused, averting her gaze, and the silence was weighted.

“No one else?”  He wasn’t dense; of course he wasn’t.  This was his job.  He pushed for more information nearly right away.  

“One of the subjects,” she whispered, looking to her lap, trying not to flex her freshly cleaned and stitched shoulder.  Thank heavens for morphine.  “But he was also acting against his will,” Levy replied quickly, edging in a defense for the brainwashed subject that had unwillingly assisted him.  “The subjects had been forced to do many things in fear of harm to themselves or their loved ones.”

“His name?”

Levy faltered, feeling pain twist in her chest.  Should she tell the officer his name?  Should she protect him? “He didn’t introduce himself…” she said dryly, feigning a bitter smile, “my memory of that day is hazy.”  Lie.  Why did she lie?

Because he wouldn’t possibly understand what those men had gone through.  How little choice they really had in any part of their lives.  She could tell him what Rogue did that day, and that’s all that officer would hear.  He wouldn’t hear or understand that everything he did was under threat against his brother’s safety, and that if he didn’t follow Jose’s orders unspeakable things would await them both.  

He scribbled something down, furrowing his brow slightly.  And then, “How did you come about your injuries?”

Well, so much for defending him.  That could be a damning answer, and she needed to give it carefully.   “There was a… fight,” she paused, knitting her brows together, “when Dr. Porla tried to take us, we--Gajeel and I--tried to escape.  He forced the subject to come after us.  And I got in the middle to try and stop it.”

“Gajeel Redfox was another one of the subjects, correct?”  

Levy felt ice spread through her veins, and what little color she had drained from her face.  His tone was impossible to read and gave little away as for where the questioning was going.  They couldn’t possibly place any fault on Gajeel, could they?  She was certain some of the staff from the lab had to have told police that Gajeel was the one who destroyed everything, but he had no choice.  It was an act of desperation, it was their only way to escape.  After several heavy moments, she had to answer or her silence would me more damning than anything she could say, “Yes.  He was taken when I was.”

“I see.”

Silence again.  Suffocating silence.  He scratched away at his papers, flipping through the stack, while scowling every now and then.  Levy shifted impatiently, thankful for the comfortable hospital bed and the very strong painkillers that left her with far more comfort than she had at Jupiter’s infirmary.  The pleasant haze provided by the morphine, however, was still not quite enough to silence her concerns.

“Excuse me, but... where are the others?  And when can I go home?  Or have visitors?” she coughed after it, holding a hand over her mouth.  It was a lot to say all at once, and she still was incredibly sore after it all.  But still, she pushed through it, there was more she needed to say.

“The subjects are being held and questioned in Hargeon.  The doctor wanted to observe you for another day and you can have visitors at that time.  Is there family you would like us to contact?” he tried to push some compassion into his tone, that was clear from his words, but the rehearsed script and semi-robotic tone told her that this was just protocol and she was a task on a list that needed to be crossed off.

“No family.  I have a friend, Lucy Heartfilia, who is my emergency contact.”  Levy replied, seeing him shift to put away his papers and mark the end of the brief session.  “Wait, sir, please.  Why are the others still in Hargeon and what is going to happen to them?  Do you know what has happened to Gajeel?  Or a boy named Rogue?”

“I cannot divulge that, miss.  They are connected to damages within the city and must be questioned in that county.  I’m sorry.”

She wasn’t having it.  “Please, can’t you give me any more than that?  What’s going to happen to them?  How did I get out?  Are they all still alive?  Anything,” the blunette pleaded, her voice cracking as water began to well in her big, brown eyes.  The officer wavered, finally making  eye contact with her for the first time in the whole session.  “At least let me speak to Igneel if you can’t tell me anything.  He is my friend’s father, I know him personally.  Please.”

The officer released a heavy sigh, expressing clear tension in his shoulders.  Levy realized then how stressful the day must have been for the police as well, dealing with a situation of this magnitude.  However, the break in his stony expression told her that name dropping was the best thing she could have done.  “As of my last update from the team there, they’re alive.  The one that brought you outside—Gajeel I believe—went back into the wreckage, and came out again with the remaining subjects and convinced the receiving line to lower their weapons.  He was in severe need of medical attention like the rest of them but wouldn’t let anyone take him until he was sure the others were taken for treatment first.  They are being questioned and treated there before making further arrangements.  That’s all I can tell you, I will have the nurses contact Miss Heartfilia for you.”  With that, he was out the door before she could accost him with any more questions.  He’d already given her more than he was allowed and he had to flee before she begged for more.

She sat there in the wake of his exit and found air a little harder to come by.  It was him; Gajeel got them out, he actually got them out.  Starting with her.  But he had paid for it badly enough that a sufficient update was to say “they’re alive.”

Her stomach turned; she had some answer but now even more questions. ‘Last he heard’ they were still alive, which meant something could have changed between then and now.  It meant that it was entirely possible they could still die.  How hurt was he?  When would she be able to contact him at all?  

Like someone had thrown ice water in her face, she realized that she didn’t actually know, in any certainty, if she would ever see him again.  That last time could be the last time.

There was no guarantee that they would be allowed back into the town.  What place could be found for them in society after all they had been through?  None of them had families or homes to fall back on, and they weren’t even human anymore.  Would they be held accountable for what Jose had done?

“Not too hard, not too—oof!“  Levy winced when the sobbing blonde threw herself onto her, latching on as though she might disappear again at any second.  The nurse had brought her out in a wheelchair into the lobby the next day to meet her waiting friends and go home, finally.

“I was so worried, Lev!  Where do you get off getting involved in some conspiracy crap out of a science fiction movie and making me think you’re dead?!” The blonde sobbed, barely taking a breath to hysterically scold her friend.  Natsu must have gotten the whole story from Igneel, and of course given it to her.

“I’m sorry Lucy but you’re hurting me…!” the blunette coughed, throwing her gaze to Natsu standing just behind her. “Help?” she pleased hoarsely.

Natsu laughed dryly, trying to conceal his own overwhelming relief, and grabbed Lucy by the shoulders to pull her back.  “Let’s not kill her, Luce,” he warned, trying to remain even-toned around the worked-up blonde.  “We only just got her back.”

Lucy finally released the struggling blunette, and turned angry, watery eyes to the rose-haired boy.  “Sorry if I can’t be a little more composed at a time like this, but in case you missed it, our friend almost died!  Disappeared into a horror movie!” she snapped, prickling.

“I’m home, Lucy,” Levy offered weakly, the dark circles under her eyes telling of the exhaustion that had yet to release its hold on her.  “Almost, anyway.  Could we please just go?  I miss my bed, and the doctor wants me to rest.”  She had strict orders to stay in bed as much as possible, so as not to strain her damaged shoulder or her weak lungs.  Her lungs they’d gotten to soon enough to treat, but her shoulder had been treated less kindly in her time at Jupiter.  With the strain, they told her it was in the realm of possibility that she might not get full range of motion back.  It was a detail she tried not to linger on.

The two of them agreed quickly, looking abashed.  Still, Natsu spoke up carefully.  “Everyone has been asking for you, we’ve all been worried sick.”

What was she supposed to say to that?  “I know.”  It was all she could think of eyes fixed on her lap.

“I didn’t mean,” Natsu started, wheeling her chair through the lobby, “I just meant, you have people.  Who care.  You’re not alone.  I don’t know what… happened there but, we are here.”

She smiled weakly, unable to take her burning eyes from her lap.  Again, she said, “I know.”  Somehow weaker than before, but genuine nonetheless.  Levy’s shoulders started to shake, and it didn’t go unnoticed.  

Memories of that halloween party suddenly flooded her thoughts.  The bonfire, everyone in costume, her and Lucy and the girls nursing their drinks while the boys shouted at each other raucously.  And who she found back in her living room that night… Levy forced herself to bite back a sob.

Lucy wanted to ask her what was wrong, to find out what had just changed, and she laid a hand on her friend’s shoulder before realizing she couldn’t ask.  Not now, not so soon.  Helplessly, she looked to Natsu, but he had nothing to offer her but a clueless shrug.

Levy shook her head suddenly, trying to clear her thoughts, and lifted her gaze.  She looked at Lucy’s face, wrought with concern, and the words were clear on her own.  Not yet.  I will tell you, but not yet.  Levy counted her blessings for her best friend’s understanding of her, because the blonde merely nodded and looked ahead.  No real words necessary.

Trying desperately to think of something else, she spoke up again, turning her head to look up.  “Natsu.”  He leaned forward over her shoulder immediately, ready to give her whatever she wanted, “Have you heard anything from your dad?  Is he back yet?”

The boy’s face fell, and he shook his head apologetically as he leaned back.  “No.  I’ve tried to get updates from him when I can, but he’s pretty swamped there.  All he’s said is they are still working on getting information and figuring out what to do next.”  Natsu’s tone told of his own concerns for his father, and Levy felt comforted in the fact that she was not the only one wrought with unease.  “I’ll let you know as soon as I hear anything new though,” he added, as some consolation, while opening the door to the front seat of his car.  

Levy nodded her thanks, and with their help hauled herself into the seat.  She could feel the effects of her medications and the stress she had been through the second she tried to stand, and happily fell into the seat of the car.  Almost home…  she thought, unsure just how eager she was to return to an empty home where her thoughts would only consume her.  It was some comfort to know that Lucy would undoubtedly spend the night, but the blonde could not offer her the answers or peace that Levy needed most now.  

When they did finally reach her home, Levy’s eyes moved to the scratches and scuffs on her front door.  Seeming to follow her gaze, Lucy spoke up.  “We tried to clean up a little, after.”  It was a small offering, but uneasy.  It told only of her own turmoil, having to find the scene in the way that she did.  “I found the kibble you must have been feeding that cat too.”  Lily. The name rang through her like a bell, and she felt her stomach drop.  She’d forgotten about him entirely, and immediately felt the guilt for having left him alone for so long.  Even if he was fully capable of caring for himself.  “I saw him a couple of times, but he only seemed to want to eat the food I left out, and then he would go outside for the day.”

The blunette could think of nothing to say as her friend opened the door for her and she stepped inside of the very cold house.  Her gaze was drawn to the hallway table, askew in only a way that she would notice.  The items that had previously been on top of it were rearranged, with a ceramic bowl, and her flower vase, absent.  Of course, she thought, remembering with a cold chill how violently she had turned it over behind her.  The whole scene, in warp speed, played through her head.  Every detail of that day all at once slammed into her and she felt her breath stolen out of her chest.

In an instant, Lucy was at her side, taking her arm.  As if she could tell what was happening in her head; knew the storm that flew through Levy and threatened to bring her knees right there in the foyer.  Natsu followed suit on her other side, and with them supporting her, her thoughts started to quiet.  Levy took a breath and focused the best she could on the two of them.  She didn’t need to say anything; they could read the ‘thank you’ in her silence.  

“Your room, right?”  Natsu asked, and Levy paused for a moment.  She looked to the hall, the one she vividly remembered running down, and shook her head. 

“Actually, I’d rather be in my parent’s room.”  She could see Natsu and Lucy exchange glances, having not heard her utter those two words in, years perhaps.  But they were not going to ask her why.  It was appreciated, because Levy didn’t feel she would be able to articulate the reason if she tried.  In her heart Levy knew why, but she didn’t have words to explain how she couldn’t stomach being in her own room again.  How she probably couldn’t be for some time.  To explain that even though the master bedroom had been empty for years, it was still comforting as her parent’s room.  And that was just where she needed to go.

And then what?  The thought stopped her in the doorway to the bedroom.  Where did she go from here?  She had been so violently, and abruptly plucked from this world and thrown into another.  She had been kidnapped, imprisoned, terrorized, and hurt.  And as suddenly as that all had happened, now she was back in her familiar space.  Like it had all been a bad dream.

Levy had expected to feel at least a little relief, and some kind of ease.  But in every way, she felt like she didn’t belong back here yet.  She had seen too much, and experienced too much to just jump right back in.  Her thoughts circled back around, over and over, to her dragon.  It stoked a continuous ache in her chest, and she half expected to see him there in her living room, waiting for her.  But the house was empty, and now was the time to act like she was trying to move forward, as she moved into the room and let them help her into the soft bed.  

If she had to describe what this all felt like, it was most like an out of body experience, and she was grateful for the intermittent throb in her shoulder to remind her that she was actually here, alive and awake.  But there was no feeling of belonging here; there was no feeling of belonging anywhere.  Not just because she had lost Gajeel; no, this was so much more than that.  Jose, in that short time, had taken so much from her that she balked at the thought that Gajeel, or any of them, had anything left to give.  

Even with all that, falling asleep in a bed that she used to seek out as a little girl for comfort provided her with some small peace.  Enough to quiet her thoughts for several hours, along with the dutiful presence of her best friend in that bed next to her as sleep finally took her.

Every day that passed after was as quiet as the first, with winter in full swing and Levy confined to the house to heal.  Several of their friends came over for short visits, just to bring flowers or food and some words of support.  She did her best to keep them short because as much as she appreciated all of it, it was still simply too much at once.  Levy only had so much energy for it, but she appreciated it all the same.  She just wasn’t quite ready for them to see just how hurt she was, or to know just how much she had gone through.  They knew what the news put put, but not the terrifying details.  Not about Gajeel.  That was a weight she wasn’t ready to give to anyone else.

  The days did slowly start to get easier, if only a little.  Her shoulder got better bit by bit, she coughed less, and felt like she could get around the house a little more.  After realizing she was home again, Lily settled himself completely in her house during this time, rarely going outside to hunt, or whatever he did out there.  Levy told herself it was because of the cold outside and the constant food she provided him with, but she couldn’t help feeling that the scarred little tomcat missed the dragon as much as she did and waited for him to return.

The first update came two weeks later.  Natsu had rushed over as soon as he was out of work, finding Lucy there as well.  The blonde had been exclusively staying with Levy since her return, leaving only for work.  

“It’s the commissioner’s grandson,” he blurted s he burst through the door, out of breath.  

Levy, bundled on the couch, had set aside her book.  “Wait, Makarov’s?” she echoed, confused what he had to do with anything.  Levy knew little of the situation with Makarov’s family as it was understandably a private issue.  From what Natsu had told her in the past, the commissioner’s son, Ivan, left some time ago and had excommunicated himself, leaving the grandson behind.  Makarov raised the boy himself like a son, but eventually he left as well under bad terms.  Natsu had told her there was some kind of argument, and the boy kept getting into trouble with the police before Makarov told him to leave.

“Yes,” Natsu breathed, “Laxus.  He was one of the guys they’ve been questioning in Hargeon.”

Levy’s eyes widened in shock, but Lucy beat her to asking, “How?”

Natsu shook his head, “I don’t have all the details, there’s only so much pops can tell me.  But apparently he’s been there almost as long as you said Gajeel was, longer maybe.  That’s where he went when Makarov kicked him out and he just thought Laxus had cut him off like Ivan did, so he was never connected to the disappearances back then.”

“Where is he now?”  Levy pushed, hoping it would lead to information about the other subjects…one in particular.

“He’s still in Hargeon but Makarov left this morning after he got the call.  But, from what my dad tells me this changes everything.  He’s the first one that has had any connections and what a hell of a connection,” Natsu huffed, tilting his head,  “They’re talking about trying to start some kind of a program, to readjust him.  They might do it for the others too.”

That was hope.  It was more than hope.  It meant that they might come home; that they intended to try and let them.  And they wouldn’t be abandoned.  Those men had been through literal hell; there was no way they could just be thrown back into society.  She was having a hard enough time having been there over a week, she couldn’t imagine it after years.  “Do they have a place in mind?  For them to come back to here?”

“Sort of, they’re still figuring it out,” Natsu replied, “my dad mentioned setting up housing in the Fairy Hills apartment complex and trying get some kind of advanced care for them.  That’s all I know, he couldn’t talk long.”  His face was apologetic, he knew what Levy was looking for and he just didn’t have that to give to her.

“How’s Makarov?”  Lucy piped in, already seeing the disappointment build and desperately trying to distract her.

“First time I’ve ever seen the old man cry,” Natsu answered with a small smile.  “I was there when he got the call.”

The information was something, and it provided a little bit of hope.  She opened her mouth to ask the question she was dying to ask, but Natsu already knew what she was going to say.

“He’s still not awake.  But he’s alive.  Pops wanted me to tell you that much, he knows he’s important to you.”

Levy nodded a half-hearted thank you to Natsu, and turned her gaze to the floor.  Again, it was something.  But it was still not what she was hoping for.  Levy refused, though, to ever let go of that hope.

Natsu came by periodically as time went on to give her more updates as he got them from Igneel, and most of them consisted of updates on their conditions.  The hardest part was getting them to participate in the questionings.  Trying to work around the conditioning, to speak to them as people and not as brainwashed tools, was an obstacle.  The entire investigation was a process of gaining their trust, and ultimately their cooperation in burying Jupiter Technologies, and associates, once and for all.  The more information they got, the more she realized Gajeel had been the one in the worst condition of all of them.  She realized that “not awake yet” meant keeping him in a medically induced coma to try and heal.  Natsu, of course, had no details as to what exactly was wrong with him.  Just: awake or not.  That was all she got.  

Until, news started to come in about their arrivals back into Magnolia, and every hope she had was renewed with gusto.  Laxus was, unsurprisingly, the first to come back, with Makarov.  Shortly after, Natsu told her someone named “Erik” arrived, with Sting and Rogue arriving together about a week after.  Both he and Lucy had been a mixture of concerned, and intrigued that she already knew who all these people were.  

Natsu explained that they had gone ahead with setting them up in Fairy Hills, and had already lined up and employed Magnolia’s best psychiatric specialists, already dealing with them in Hargeon, to see to their care: Doctors Mira Jane and Lisanna Strauss.  The two doctors had been an integral part of their recoveries in the hospital, and would be just as involved with them back here in Magnolia.  

Each time, she would look to Natsu, and wouldn’t have to ask.  He knew what she wanted and each time he gave her the same look of pity.  She thought she would have started to take the disappointment better, but it was a stab in the chest each time. What was worse, she started to feel guilty for pestering him like this, placing the burden on him to either make or break her day.

“There’s nothing new, Lev.”  He would say most of the time.  Or the worst, “He’s still not awake.”  Natsu did tell her that only one of the doctors was here, with the other still in Hargeon waiting for the final subject to awake.  It was a paltry encouragement, but she told herself it meant that they expected he might still wake up.

Still, she found herself staring out the double glass doors in her parent’s room into the snowy yard.  Looking for something she knew wouldn’t be there.  It all became just so suffocating that she knew she needed to drag herself out of it.  She needed to sleep, to stop holding her breath, and to try and get some normalcy back into her life.  Levy refused to let herself treat this like a death, she refused to go back into the pit she created after losing her parents.  Because it was all starting to feel terrifyingly familiar.

That path back to her life started with Levy insisting that Lucy go home for once, and spend some time in or own space, or at least with Natsu.  The latter seemed to be more convincing for the blonde, as apparently she had sought a great deal of comfort from him during Levy’s absence and gotten significantly closer with him.  At least something good came out of all this, she told herself.

That night was the first she’d spent alone since she got back home, and strangely enough she was happier for the solitude than she expected, being able to just candidly feel the things she was feeling.  The quiet, though not ideal, allowed her to immerse fully in thoughts of him.  This wasn’t a death, and she would not let this world forget him.  Even if she was the only one to keep him ‘alive.’

This was the first time she found herself thinking of the last thing she remembered in the lab.  The memory felt so distant and in many ways it was, but she refused to let it fade away.  Like grasping for smoke, she tried to keep replaying the last thing she remembered, and subconsciously her hand wandered to her lips.  The final moments in there were hazy, and she found herself wondering if she hallucinated it in her weakness.  But at her core Levy knew that was real, there was no denying it.

Sometimes when she closed her eyes she could see him, looking at her with eyes of admiration.  “Gajeel…”  Levy started to say his name, to herself, when she thought of him.  It felt the most like keeping him alive, like keeping him present.  And the girl would take whatever she could to keep the faith.

Urgh, fuck, that hurts.  What the hell hurts so bad...  Red eyes opened slowly, blinking painfully into the light.  Everything was a blur, regardless of where he looked, and every time he blinked it seemed like the pain increased.

“Get the doctor and notify the chief, he’s waking up!”  A voice, suddenly in the room.  he couldn’t tell from where, but he could tell he wasn’t alone.  He didn’t know why but adrenaline shot through him, and to his side he could hear a machine start to beep erratically.

He squinted and turned his head, and tried to open his mouth to speak before he realized, quite suddenly and painfully, that he had something in his mouth.  Now his eyes snapped wide open, and his hands flew for his face.  What the FUCK? he thought in an absolute panic, as the sensation of choking took him over.

No sooner had he grabbed for the tube, did he suddenly feel someone hold down both his arms; one person on each side.  Gajeel instantly felt feral rage build up in him, choosing fight over flight, but his body would not follow.  He wanted to thrash, throw the unknown assailants off of him, but the strength wasn’t there, like something had drained it completely.  He could barely move his arms enough to make it hard for them.  He could see someone in white hovering over him and then felt a strange sensation in his throat.  Coughs and a choking reflex wracked him as the tube was pulled slowly from his mouth, and everyone backed off of him.

As soon as he was free, he let out a hoarse, crackling growl in between gasps for air, warning people off of him so he had a chance to get his bearings.  “The hell are you people doin’ to me?”  He shook again with another coughing fit, his voice raw and painfully dry from lack of use.  He swept his finally focused eyes around the unfamiliar room accusingly, realizing he was definitely not alone.  In fact, several people were in the room with him, not one of which he recognized.  Many in white coats, and the sight of that twisted his stomach, but he wasn’t immediately sure why.  “Where am I?” he demanded.  His gaze landed on the one woman in the room who had started to approach carefully.

She lifted her hands in a sign of peace, trying to smile appeasingly at him.  “Calm down.  It can be a little unnerving coming out of the sedation; you’ve been under for a while and are going to be in some discomfort.  Give it a second, breathe.  My name is Mira--“

“Ya deaf?” he spat harshly, his voice cracking.  “I asked a question.”

The silver-haired woman started to reply, but was cut off, again, by another voice.

“Calm down, she said.” Another voice, a lot more commanding than the even-toned doctor in front of him, drew his attention.  The fiery red-head entered the room, looking over the battered, belligerent man.  “You’ve been out for a long time, take it easy or you’ll make it worse.”

The black-haired man winced, swallowing hard and feeling the soreness radiate down his neck and into his chest.  “And who are ya supposed to be?” he growled, before shaking his head, “Don’t care.  I’ll ask you since that one over there,” an accusing look at the woman, “can’t be bothered.  Where the hell am I?  I ain’t gonna ask again before I start breakin’ faces,” the dragon threatened, emptily.  He didn’t even know if he could stand let alone attack anyone.  But hell if he would let them know that.

“You’re still in Hargeon,” Igneel replied, glancing Dr. Strauss.  “You’ve been recovering since the explosion.”  The chief was met with a blank, albeit annoyed stare from the bedridden male.  None of that seemed to hit home.  

“I’m glad to see you awake, you had us worried.  It looks like you’re recovering well,” Mira Jane cut in, trying to pacify him in some way to edge off the tension.

“Where,” he started, licking his dry lips and closing his eyes a moment to stay a wave of nausea, “What explosion?” he asked, finally after fighting off the urge to hurl more insults.  And half his stomach.

Igneel raised his brows, looking to the doctor quickly.  “It’s, this is normal.  He just woke up, it may take some time for the details to come back,” she replied to the chief’s unspoken question.  She sounded like this was not something she was totally surprised by, but certainly not pleased with.  “Gajeel, just take a minute.  I would like to talk to you, but only if you feel up to it.  This is a lot at once,” her voice was calm, gentle.  Like she knew exactly how to speak to someone like this.

The dragon sat in silence for several moments, a strange look of bewilderment on his face when she started to align all the details.  He swallowed hard again and rolled his head on his shoulders. “Don’t know why the hell I should, since ya hate answerin’ my questions,” he paused to wet his lips again, “but I got one more before I talk to any of ya.” He regarded all of them with blazing eyes, settling finally on the woman.  “Who the fuck is Gajeel?”

[royal-writer]

Memories 5

Oh, Essie. To be part of two worlds, and belong to none. Always an outcast. Never complete.

Empty roads were the closest thing to a peaceful life Essätha had. Dirt scuffed under her battered old shoes, rocks kicked aside, the smells of the wild in the middle of nowhere. Traveling lanes for the weary and the broken; for the poor and the lost. Places no one bothered to go anymore if they once did and regions where the crowds of traveling salesmen only came and went a few times out of the year.

Relaxing- and lonely.

To her left was treebreakers and to her right, a small field. Little to no one lived out here; wherever here was. Few encounters were good for her stability but for her happiness, oh how it lacked in every way. She’d given up on searching long ago for something to fill that emptiness that she insisted didn’t exist.

At least the noon-time sun was kind and warm in these late weeks of spring. The sprouts coming up from whatever plants grew in this plot of land were standing tall, stretching to the sun. Leaves furled out hungrily.

What a relatable view, Essätha mused while tucking a tuft of black hair behind her ear. She loved the heat as it warmed her strappy top and ripped trousers. It felt even better where it caressed her skin; down the low open back of her top and over her arms and face. How anyone ever preferred the cold, she’d never know (though, considering the cold that resided within herself, one could say she was in fact very tolerant).

A drifting noise in the still air moved upon her in the silence. She turned her warm brown eyes in the direction of the sound, spotting distant specs of figures tussling along a narrow path ahead that lead to a quaint little house. Whatever was going on appeared far from friendly.

Conflicted, she picked up her pace to hurry down the street. All but one figure went scattering across the fields, through the trees, and along the route on hurried legs. The singleton; what appeared to be an older gentleman, was left flat on his back. By the time Essie approached, he was wheezing and had managed to take to a knee.

He flinched as she approached. She expected that. Nothing unusual there.

Thin, silver hair and wrinkled, weathered skin the color of coffee with a kiss of creamer. His eyes were flat brown. Pained, as he tried to shift himself into a standing position. Bruises discolored his skin and puffy left eye, and he had a number of slash marks and tears in his clothing splotched with blood.

“O-Oh- lass- I- I-”

Words cracked as the man stammered awkwardly. It probably hurt to talk with his busted lip.

Cringing with sympathy, Essätha looked around for signs of help. All there was around her was signs of the struggle, however. Blood here and there and dirt still drifting in the air to lay on this elderly man’s wounds. No one else as far as she could tell was lying around.

“Here,” she cut in to his continued attempts of speech, kneeling beside him. “Let me help you.”

Skepticism lit up his face. He didn’t openly question her however as she slipped an arm around his waist.

A simply murmured, “Lean on me, if you have to,” was all she responded, followed by a: “One… two… three-”

The old man grunted and drew out a sharp breath as he was forced up and to his feet. He did, indeed lean heavily into Essie’s side. She dug her opposing heel into the dirt to keep from toppling over. He wasn’t a rather large man, but she wasn’t built for strength. She was built for the allure and charm; more brains than body. Years of malnourishment probably hadn’t helped her along the way.

“Th-Thank ya, lass,” the man rasped.

She smiled gently. “Glad to help, sir. Is that residence over there yours? Do you know who lives there and would they be willing to offer assistance? Is anyone with you?”

“Aye, that’s my house,” he answered tiredly. “I’m alone, these days unless m’grandkids and son come to visit.”

“Alright,” she soothed quietly. “We’re going to take this one step at a time, okay?”

His expression said he doubted her assistance. She didn’t blame him.

“Aye,” he said slowly. “Sure ya can help, young lass?”

Oh, she could do this. Strength might falter, but her determination and willpower was an impossible act to beat. Where her stubborn beliefs may lay, she was always hard to falter from her choices.

Moving the farmer was a trouble just as they both imagined. His legs dragged; hardly being able to put his feet flat down with each step they took. Sweat poured down his agonized, exhausted features as he tried choking back whimpers of pain with each unsteady step.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry-”

“Nah- nah apologies, miss, I appreciate the help,” he gasped.

Essätha gripped the man’s waist tighter as he slung himself into her side. It took more than a few times for him to be able to climb the three steps that lead up his porch, but they managed with time. Thankfully, between her hip and the wall helping keep the elder in place, Essie managed to turn the knob to his unlocked door and lead the man unsteadily inside to the nearest chair.

He sat down heavily, grunting. While still trying to catch his breath, the man pulled a handkerchief out from his overalls and mopped his face.

“Thank you miss…?”

“Essätha,” she verified, kneeling down beside the old man.

“Miss Essätha. A lovely name,” the man crooned, patting her hand.

A steady smile appeared on her face. The fact that the man had smeared blood and sweat on her didn’t even register to her thoughts. Shit, she should have used an alias.

“And you might be…?”

“Oh- Randall Livinstuner, at your service,” the man chuckled weakly. “Thank you for your assistance, miss. I’m ‘fraid right now I can’t return the favor…”

A faint laugh escaped Essie. “That’s alright, sir. Pardon me for asking but… what was all that about?”

Randall’s face soured instantly.

“O’ couple of muggers, that’s what,” he spat. “Ruffins were asking for me directions. When I went to point ‘em the way and tell ‘em where to go, one of ‘em jumped me from behind. Started beating me. Took my coin.”

Sighing heavily, he removed his hand from atop the yuan-ti’s to mop his face again. “I don’t know what I’m to do now…”

Reaching out for the man’s other hand, Essätha gave his fingers a gentle squeeze. Her face was gentle and full of concern. This man looked so fragile and kind, who would do such a thing? Laugh lines were permanently placed on his face and the twinkle in his gaze when he looked to her… She’d have put her last copper piece that this was a man if you’d have just asked for help, he’d be willing to lend it.

“Let me help clean you up a bit,” she offered. “Then I’ll see about getting back your coin.”

“Ah! No, young lass, I wouldn’t advise-”

“Trust me,” she said, her voice serious. “I can get it back.”

Randall looked far from comfortable. But, as he met her eyes, he gave a slow little nod to her.

“Alright,” he said slowly. “I’ll accept ya help for the patch job, but nothin’ more. If them fellas were to try roughin’ with ya… It ain’t worth your life, miss. It’s only coin.”

It wasn’t her life that was going to be jeopardized.

“I understand,” was all Essie said, standing on her feet. “Now, do you have a wash bowl around here and some clean cloths? Some new clothes, perhaps? I might be able to help patch you up again, but it won’t be perfect…”

The man’s face turned pink with embarrassment.

“Aye… Should be a clean bowl in the kitchen to the right; keep the cookin’ stuff in the cabinet to the left of the stove. Strong liquor I’ve been holdin’ out on should be behind the cabinet. Gots a medicine kit and rags in the small bathroom, down the hall there,” he pointed, “on the left. Clean clothes were put on my bed for the evening will do.”

“Wonderful,” Essie hummed, picking herself up from the floor.

The man’s hand shot out, grabbing her arm with shocking strength. She froze in place, a pulse of adrenaline and fear bolting through her like lightning. His eyes were dark and determined.

“Thank ya, miss,” he stated firmly. “But ya heed my warnin’ and take it serious. I ain’t a young lad anymore; I can’t go to help ya, I won’t know what happens to ya, help won’t be comin’ for ya. Don’t go lookin’ for trouble.”

She resisted the urge to shudder from his words, and the hard stare. Instead, smiling brilliantly. A false pretty lie on a pretty face.

“I completely understand, sir Randall,” she fibbed with ease. “You needn’t worry about me.”

His face said he didn’t believe her. But, regardless, he grumbled and released his hold on her.

“Alright, miss Essätha,” he sighed.

Grinning, Essie gave his arm a pat and pivoted on heel; moving through the house to collect supplies to give the poor man some stitches. She’d need to work fast if she would be able to keep track of these fools before they got too far; but play the part on behalf of Randall so he wouldn’t need to worry about her quick escape.

These jackasses weren’t going to get away with dragging this. She was going to make sure of that.

LATER…

Dry foliage and sticks crunched beneath Essie’s shoes as she approached the cackling group of maniacs. She didn’t even attempt to be silent coming upon the outlaws. Confidence in her stride, a bump-sway in her hips.

The men settled into a hush as she came into view. Quiet murmurs, a bit startled at her open approach.

“Excussse me,” she hissed out in a sickening sweet voice. “Hi- sorry, I was wondering if you lot could help me out with something. A friend of mine seems to have-”

“‘ey get lost ya harlot!”

“Ain’t no woman should be out here.”

“‘specially not by ‘erself.”

“You’re not threatening an innocent lady, are you boys?” she asked, pouting out her lower lip. “I was only asking for a little help-”

“Oh, I’ll help ye alright,” one of the men laughed, nudging another while making an obscene gesture with his hand. The majority of the lads around him began to snicker at the innuendo.

Essätha cringed. Filthy backwards crooks. She took a moment to do a head-count; only six of them as far as she could tell. No one seemed to be hiding around the nearby brush in the little campsite.

“Last chance hussy,” another warned, looking irritated.

“Relax a bit bud, she might be a travelin’ prostitute. Maybe God’s finally answerin’ my prayers.”

Another round of laughter from some of the boys.

She didn’t have the self-control to listen to this garbage.

A prismatic shimmer of colors moved over her skin. Following an invisible structure; outlining scales that weren’t on her body but began to. Forming first along the areas where already scales spotted her skin, they began to rapidly increase in random sections and then taking over her entire form as the men stared. Startle, their mouths hanging open as Essie’s clothes dropped to the ground and fingertips grew into dangerous claw-like appendages.

It was a startling, unsettling sight. She’d seen it herself. One could never quite prepare themselves for the swiftness of the transaction when it took hold. On recollection, only her mom had seem unfazed by every change she’d ever done.

One second, you saw what appeared to be in front of you. The next, a snake. Hair gone, snout growing, legs merging into a single lengthy tail.

Unsettling indeed.

A hand raised in the air, she curled her digits in their direction.

“Money,” she said simply. “Drop it.”

Abruptly, three of the men let out the most terrified screeches.

“It’s a demon!”

“What in God’s name!”

“Holy shit!”

The roar of their voices ended up canceling out coherent speech. Throwing down coin purses and valuables, the trio fled off into the woods like the cowards they were, screaming the whole time.

Another stared longer still. The color fell away from their face, and like a tree bending to the whim of a storm, they swayed and finally fell backwards, unconscious.

The last two passed uncomfortable glances. The more bold of the pair, cursing to himself, brandished a sword.

“I’ll flay ye’ scales, demon. Bet they’d sell for a pretty penny bein’ demon scales.”

“I wouldn’t,” Essie warned.

The man tightened his grip on the sword, stepping forward.

A sharp mutter of words beneath her breath and she curled her hand. An image shimmered, creating the illusion of a elven Moonblade gripped in her hand.

Faltering, the man froze in his advance.

“Your money or your livesss,” she hissed. “Which do you value more?”

He took a step back. Looking behind himself, the man saw his last partner shakily taking out his sack of money. He dropped it on the ground while raising his hands, stepping back.

With no backup in sight, the sword dropped from his hand. Grabbing his sack of coin, the man chucked it at the ground as he turned, running after the other’s with the final, startled man close at his heels.

The false mirage of the sword dissipated from Essätha’s hand. She sighed, gradually slithering forward to snatch up the various coin purses jingling with money. Her eyes, all the while, darting up to make sure they didn’t try coming back to see about taking her scales as promised.

When all the money was gathered, she dropped it by her clothes. A heavy sigh escaping her; sad, a bit unsure of herself while the change mirrored over her again. Scales reflecting a pearly glow of colors as they retracted and, within seconds, she found herself standing naked in the middle of nowhere.

She wiggled back into her clothes as quickly as she could before leaving the area. Dysphoric; not quite sure which version of her was the real and which was the illusion.

THAT EVENING…

The setting sun was behind her as she walked up the lane that lead to Randall’s house. In the darkening twilight, she could make out the sight of different silhouette shapes on the porch of the house. The only recognized one; the gentleman’s face as she stepped closer to his house.

A screaming, laughing little girl suddenly came running down the steps. Essie took a step back, expecting the youngster to go running by. Instead, the tot; couldn’t possibly be a day over six, she’d guess, ran straight to her and wrapped her tiny little arms around her waist.

Wheezing from the unexpected grip, Essätha reached down to pat the bizarre child’s head. Dark, curly hair bounced beneath her touch.

“Annabelle!” A shocked voice cried out as a young man came darting down the stairs. He instantly grabbed the young girl, pulling her free of the yuan-ti even as she wailed with protest.

“Miss, I’m so sorry for my daughter’s actions,” the man stated, his face red. “She’s always been a touch grabby. I hope she didn’t offend ya.”

“No no it’s… it’s fine…” Essie whispered, dazed. Her eyes worked their way back down to the little girls dark hazel ones.

The child stared at her with awe. A grin split her face wildly.

Oh! Essätha’s heart did a rapid pitter-patter of delight as she found herself grinning in response. What a precious child! Just look at that face! Infectious smile, such a sweet innocent face and those chubby cheeks. Oh gosh she was so cute-

The grunt caused everyone to turn back to stare at the stairs. Randall was working his way down them, a bit ginger in his steps.

“Dad-”

“I’m alright, don’t ya start with me now. Go see to it Suz’ has another plate ready.”

“The doctor told ya-”

“I heard what he said! I won’t be long! Now listen to ya old man and get!”

The young man sighed, shaking his head. He picked up the little girl who wailed once more, her hands making a grabby gesture for Essätha as he turned away with the struggling child to head back up the stairs.

After the door closed behind his son, Randall shook his head. He offered an apologetic smile to Essie’s confused expression.

“I’m sorry ‘bout that. He’s a bit overprotective since I’ve been livin alone with my wife passin’ earlier this year.”

“I appreciate ya goin’ to fetch the doc. He brought the lawman; course he did, but he seemed doubtful they’d catch the thugs. Said it’s been a group of ‘em around town gettin’ into trouble. No amount of jail time seems to stop ‘em and always more sproutin’ up like weeds in my fields. Anyway, the doc didn’t think I was any worse off then what’d ya’d done for me o’ course, so I thank ya. Ya seemed to know what ya was doin’.”

He nodded sagely.

Taking a moment to cut in, Essie cleared her throat and reached into her sling. She produced the bags of money she’d reclaimed from the men.

Randall’s eyes went wide.

“B-By Pelor miss- this- this- where did you get this?”

“From the thieves,” she muttered sheepishly, jangling the bags.

“Ya went after those thieves… by yerself?”

“I guess I did, yeah.”

He shook his head, chuckling.

“Ya stubborn. I used to be that stubborn.” Essie almost laughed at the used to part but managed only a smile. “Well, this looks like much more then what was taken from me. I’ll see if I can figure out anyone else in town who lost some funds to those criminals, and make sure it’s rightfully returned.”

Reaching out, he accepted the bundles of coin purses. Briefly, his fingers brushing Essie’s. It was a light, careful touch from very rough fingers. Many years spent doing back-breaking work, she guessed.

“Ya a sweet lass. Come inside, have a meal with us.”

A half-smile touched Essätha’s mouth. “I’m afraid I can’t. I have to be on my way.”

“Oh? I can’t convince ya for a meal? To stay the night, at least?”

She shook her head. There’d be no staying here now. The demon-speech would spread like wildfire around these parts, and she couldn’t risk this man being associated with what she was. Even if no one here figured out what that demon was, the fear and misunderstanding was bound to only lead to controversy.

“I see…” he sighed. “Well, thank ya miss Essätha. You truly carry the courage of the dragonborn blood in ya.”

As Randall patted her shoulder, she nearly felt her walls crumble. A dragonborn heritage, huh. That made sense. She’d let him think that. It was easier than trying to explain. It was better he not know; not understand.

“Take care of yourself, sir Randall,” she said gently, pulling his hand away. She gave it a gentle pat in response.

“Aye,” he gruffly stated. “And if ya ever need any place to stay should you come back ‘round here, just stop by. There’s always room for ya here. Ain’t no reason to act a stranger, no ma’am.”

A soft ‘hmm’ of amusement escaped her. “I’ll remember that, thanks.”

He looked like he had more he wanted to say, but she knew better than to listen. To stay. With a warm smile, she inclined her head and turned to walk down the lane. Her cape flapping lightly in the evening breeze as clouds began to blow in from the west.

She dared to look back as she reached the main road. The little girl was howling unhappily as her dad held her, now standing outside by Randall. A woman appeared to be peeking out from behind the front door shyly. They all raised a hand in farewell; save for the sobbing child throwing a tantrum.

Quirking a smile, Essätha gave a small wave in return before placing her pockets back in her hands and continuing on her way. The kindness of Randall’s family, the good deed, it should have done something for her. It should have made her feel something.

But all she had was the smell of the nighttime air and the same aching loneliness in her soul.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

She could practically smell them. Enough times meeting in confrontations with her own kind, and she knew the type. Saw through their stereotypical behaviors and deceitful ways. She practically invented lying; it was not a trap she fell into so easily.

There was at least nine of them gathered around the old church. All woman, whispering and chanting to each other. Cloaked in black, their shoulders huddled close.

Essätha cleared her throat. They hadn’t noticed her climbing in the broken window. An option probably less safe than the creaky wooden door falling off it’s hinges, but quieter.

The women jumped, spinning around.

Many of them had the same face Essie was used to seeing in the mirror. Scales on the faces, their hands, their necks. Mismatched eyes. Pupils in slits. One mostly lacked hair she noticed beneath her hood; mostly adorned with scales and a few wisps.

“Ooooh greetingssss,” one of them nervously hissed, tongue darting out.

“It’s the girl from earlier… The one I saw in town… Remember Coatlicue?” murmured one to an adjacent yuan-ti.

Another’s eyes lit up.

“Oh sister! Have you come to join us in prayer and ceremony?”

They moved across the floor like ghosts. With ease, robes draping low. At this point Essie noticed; a bit unsettled, that three seemed less humanoid than originally thought. Instead of legs, despite having a humanoid face and torso, they seemed to have permanent tails.

She tried hard not to think of why or how.

“No,” she stated flatly. “I’m here to tell you to leave this town.”

The group stopped short of her. Seemingly surprised by the statement.

“Oh dear,” one sang aloud.

“Leave?” echoed another. “Why would we do that?”

“I’m aware of your ritualsss,” Essätha hissed. “The missing people? I know you’re kidnapping them. Where are they?”

A hard line appeared on one’s mouth as she spoke angrily, “They’re long since gone, child.”

Disgusted, Essätha hissed furiously at the women. They spat in return; a stand off between serpents of different worlds.

“Leave this town,” she threatened. “Or I will tell the constable what’s been going on here, who you are, and where you reside outside of the city.”

“Isss that a threat, child?” the previous speaker snarled. “You dare to threaten usss? One of your own kind? And for what; to protect these humansss? What have they ever done for you? Judge you, berate you, ssspit at you? They’re beasssts, child, do not let your stupidity blind you.”

“Dear sister,” another woman soothingly spoke, slithering forward. “You can join us in prayer. To whom do you call to? Perhaps you’re being misguided-”

“I follow no fucking gods,”Essätha rallied. “Especially none of your gods. And I’m not the misguided one here; devouring people, torturing them, using them for your own gain. What have you gotten from these sacrifices? More scales? Closer to your perfect form? Gods, you make me sick.”

Smugly, another’s hauntingly quiet, raspy voice spoke up: “Tell the law… What is it to usss? They will not capture usss. We are the sssurperior predator. And you will only be throwing yourssself to the wolvesss. You do not think they will not sssee you and know what you are? You do not think they will hang you asss well?”

The very idea had crossed her mind. It was a risk. Too easy was it to see one bad thing, and instantly attribute everything to that one evil. It wouldn’t matter that she had been the whistle-blower, to them, she would be seen just as guilty. She could almost guarantee it. That was just the way life was; just because of what she was.

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take,” Essie snapped back.

Grimacing, one jerked their head slightly.

Four of the closer yuan-ti’s suddenly charged forward with a burst of speed. Two slithering on tail, one dancing on nimble feet, and another coming right down the middle.

Bracing her feet, Essie waited for the first two to come upon her. To the left, she hissed a spell to herself. Energy crackled along her hand as she lifted it, and just as they were about to strike her, a shower of blinding light lit up before their eyes.

They screeched, falling to the side. “I’m blinded! I can’t see-”

The second, stumbling over the former, slipped out their concealed dagger. It slashed down Essätha’s arm, drawing forth an uncomfortable hiss. She brought her leg up, snapping it against the woman’s back and sending her to the floor as she fell.

The one down the middle collided with her and she slid, only just keeping to her feet. Grabbing the woman’s robes, she yanked down her hood and shoved her knee up into her abdomen. Fingers that had previously gripped at her chest pulled down; talons ripping into her arms as the woman was flung aside wheezing painfully.

The final one’s form changed as she ran at her from the right. Her clothes slipped to the floor, rattler dancing in the air. Her jaws parted, she moved in to strike.

Teeth sank into Essätha’s shoulders. She cursed, flicking up a dagger from her belt. The blade sank in through the side of the snake’s snout. Quickly, the morphed yuan-ti hissed with agony and pulled back.

Keeping a strong grip on her weapon, the dagger dragged out with a mess of blood. Essätha brought up her arm, growling out words in her native tongue as a ghostly hand shot out from the mist encompassing her digits. The Chill Touch snapping at the beastly woman’s jaws as she moved backwards, spitting.

Furious, glaring gazes met hers as she looked back to them. Fingers curling all the while, summoning her eerie Chill Touch once more to the retreating yuan-ti.

“Anyone else?” she offered venomously.

The quiet usher of words in the silence captured her attention. Snapping her gaze to the woman, Essätha curled her digits once more, muttering swiftly to herself. The blackish purple haze of magic worked it’s way over her digits and crawled up her arm like a mist.

In seconds, a skeletal hand appeared, slapping over the woman’s mouth attempting to conjure. It was more of a startling gesture than painful, and she leapt back with a squawk.

“Fine,” one hissed in the dim candlelight, a ghastly expression on her raging facial features. “We’ll leave thisss town. It’sss only a sssmall picture in the puzzle anyway.”

“You’re making a grave missstake, child,” added yet another in warning. “The Sssister’s of Sseth will not forgive this, or forget.”

The light of the candles flickered suddenly and the room went dark. There was a brighter-than-the-sun white light consuming the room and Essätha flinched, covering her dazzled eyes.

By the time she could make sense from the disorienting light, there was no shadows in the darkness save from her own. The moon hung outside one of the broken chapel windows, beaming in brightly into the black and cutting slices of colors from the remaining stained glass still intact.

She exhaled loudly. She’d done so little, but it felt like an exorcism had just taken place within these once holy grounds.

The threat settled uncomfortably on her shoulders. Sister’s of Sseth, they had said… What a peculiar group. She’d have to keep an ear out for it in the underground networks.

Reaching up, Essie ran a hand over her blood-smeared shoulder and flinched. Goddamn, that hurt. Worse than the wound in her arm.

For now, she’d do well to skirt around the small town and make sure that these yuan-ti weren’t going to pop back up when they thought she’d left. Then she could go on her way, quietly. Disappearing into the shrouds of the night like she always did.

Unnerved by this place and what took place here; and the still-lingering words of ‘sister’ ringing ominously in her ears in a way that left a bad taste in her mouth, Essätha turned to walk out the front door of the church. Only offering a single, heavy look back at the decaying chapel. This was supposed to be a place of healing and comfort. She’d come in only to find just the opposite. Death and evil; a sinister group.

And herself. A misshapen fragment who did not fit here nor there.

The door closed behind her with a groan as she slipped out into the night.

[new2otomelol]

My New Pack

Voltage owns the rights to KBTBB and all its characters.  I created this story out of the spirit of Halloween a while back and decided, why not share it.  It’s in chapters, so here are the first two! I’ll post more tonight.  This MC chose Baba and they have been together for a while until something “supernatural” happens to her.

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The leaves of the trees have slowly begun to change color in their anticipation of winter.  I take in the city air as I slowly make my way home.  The smell of salt in the air alerts my senses to the proximity of my destination, home at last.  I remove my shoes at the entry way of Baba’s beautiful home and notice a fresh bouquet of flowers on the kitchen counter.  He’s always so thoughtful, especially when he must be away on ‘business.’ 

I begin preparations for my alone time, a little mental escapism fun.  Movie? that’s a go! Oversized T-shirt? Check! Ice Cream? Affirmative! Beer? None. Dam it. No movie night is complete without it.  I make my way outside as night falls and a full moon blesses the sky. 

On the way to the convenience store I feel as if I’m being watched.  I try and take in my surroundings and ready myself if need be, but I wasn’t prepared for what appeared before me after a few steps. A wolf! I couldn’t move, I felt paralyzed with fear, but at the same time, filled with curiosity. The creature was magnificently beautiful with powerful yellow eyes, black glistening fur and larger than any I had ever seen; I simply couldn’t take my eyes off him.  He stood there for a while looking at me calmly as if studying my form.

 I finally move one of my limbs and the black wolf begins to growl.  I back up slowly, but before I can turn to run, the creature jumps in the air and bites down on my shoulder, tackling me down.  I scream loudly as I feel its teeth sink in to my flesh and muscle.  A few seconds after biting me, the wolf releases me and steps backward transforming into to a half-man, half-beast combination.  My senses are overwhelmed and I struggle to take in my breath. The creature bends down as if to carry me, however, two men with bats come running to my aid. The beast howls as he senses them coming near and immediately runs away.

 “Miss, Miss!! Are you okay? Darn it, look at us, try to focus,… Yun, call an ambulance…!” I hear the men talking, but I can’t seem to adjust to it all.  My breath is ragged and my body is shaking without end.  The two men taking care of me try to comfort me until the ambulance arrives, but I don’t feel as if I’m in control of my senses.  I’m taken immediately to the hospital and receive 10 stitches to my shoulder and medication to help me relax.  Due to the hospital over-flowing with patients, I’m sent home within two hours of treatment.

 I arrive at the boathouse exhausted from everything that occurred; it all happened so quickly, I’m still not sure about what I saw.  I feel the urge to contact Baba and tell him what happened, but I fight it, since I don’t want to worry him while he’s out on assignment. Knowing there is not much else for me to do I decide to rest as much as I can tonight because I have work in the morning. I lay down on the couch and close my eyes, sleep came to me swiftly.

 THE NEXT MORNING

I wake up earlier than usual and take my time to prepare for work.  I re-dress my wound, put on my uniform and head out to the Tres Spades.  Nobody at work knows of what happened to me and I decide that it’s for the best; I only need to focus on work and nothing else.

 The penthouse pager goes off as it always does early in the morning and I speed my way to the penthouse.  As usual, Eisuke is standing there waiting for me to ensure I get there on time. “Wow, you’re actually a minute early!” King Jerk feels the need to notify me. “I’m glad I was able to make it fast sir, would you like your coffee?” He nods and walks away.

 Every morning is the same.  Would a simple ‘thank you’ really be that painful for him to say? I provide him with his morning cup and begin cleaning the penthouse.  For some odd reason, I can see things much more clearly, even ‘zoom in’ to observe the wood grains in some of the furniture.  I shake my head as if trying to fix the problem, but it doesn’t go away.

 The best thing to do is go to see my doctor, but it can wait until after I’m done.  I continue to clean and a flood of noises painfully dull my senses.  I can hear everything around me, Eisuke zipping his coffee, the elevator making its way up from the ground floor with Soryu, Mamoru and Ota inside of it, to the loud humming of some of the appliances.  I recompose myself and quickly make everyone’s favorite drinks and place them on the table in front of Eisuke. “What’s all this about?” I take a deep breath and focus as I speak “It’s for the rest of the guys.” He boroughs his brows and retorts “they’re not coming any time soon Lisa, you know that!” I sigh. “Yes sir, but they’ll be here any second now…” Ding! The elevator opens and Eisuke is shocked.

 I ignore his gaze as I continue to dust around the penthouse. What was that? How can I hear so much?… ugghhh..I’m hit with a sudden attack of nausea and lose my balance. “Koro can never keep her balance, here, let me help you.” I feel Ota grab a hold of my hurt shoulder to try and stabilize me. “Nggghhh… aaaah!” I can’t hold in the pain. “What the? What’s wrong Lisa?” Ota lets go of my shoulder and I feel trickles of blood coming from my wound. He reaches out to touch my forehead “You’re burning hot! What happened to your shoulder? You’re bleeding!” I swat his hand away from my forehead. “I’m fine, please excuse me…” I don’t want to worry anyone, I just want to deal with this on my own.

 I run past a shocked Ota and the others all stand up from their seats to see what’s going on.  I make it to the elevator and press the call button. “Kid, you don’t look so good, let us help you.” Mamoru comes towards me, luckily the doors open and I step inside immediately and press the ‘close doors’ button repeatedly. “Thank you Mamo, but I’ll be fine, it’s really nothing.”  The doors begin to close “It don’t look like nothin’ to me” I hear him yell from the other side.

 Chapter2 – The Perpetrator

 The elevator reaches the bottom floor and I hold my shoulder in a weak attempt to disguise the blood now seeping through my uniform. A tall man notices me and immediately rushes to my side “ma’am, are you okay?” I nod “excuse me sir, sorry for the inconvenience, I’m fine.” I try to move past him, but he blocks my path “you’re not okay, I really bit you hard, didn’t I?” Fear immediately grips me and I stand there paralyzed looking at the man.  His golden eyes pierced through me as if he could see to my very soul.

 He was at least six feet tall and had a very athletic build with jet black hair that was pulled back in a pony tail that fell just below his waist. He was handsome, magnificently so, but behind those eyes there lay a darkness that was overpowering.  I regain my senses and try to move away, but he quickly carries me, much to the shock of the other hotel personnel – “it’s okay, I’m a doctor, she needs help!” he tells them. I try to shake my head but he grips my shoulder hard making it impossible for me to speak due to the pain.

 He takes me to one of the guest rooms and places me gently on the bed. “I’m sorry, but I need to speak with you and this is the only way.  I don’t have long until they come searching for you, so listen carefully…” I move away from him as he gets closer to the bed and sits down on the edge. “I am a creature of legend, a lycanthrope, or as you call us, ‘werewolves.’  The night I bit you it was a full moon and when I noticed you, you reminded me of my sister that I recently lost. I couldn’t help it but feel drawn to you and I wanted to make you a part of my family.”

 I’m in shock that I can’t even speak, is this a joke? I mean, what? He looks at me with a worried frown and puts a hand on my head. “Your body is going through a lot of changes right now. You’ll be hearing 10 times what people normally hear and your sight is already better than that of an eagle, your strength and sense of smell will also increase by tonight.” He takes out a syringe and I immediately attempt to back away, but he tightly grips my arm and quickly injects me. “This is to put you to sleep for the next 24 hours; you’ll be suffering from fevers the entire time until tomorrow evening and your eye color will change.  You’re one of us now, we’ll keep you safe my dear youngling.” He kisses my forehead and strokes my hair. “Please don’t tell anyone about us, you’ll soon learn everything.”  I feel sleep take me over as the medicine works its way into my system.

 MEANWHILE AT THE PENTHOUSE…

“The kid is in trouble again, isn’t she?” Mamo looks over to Ota as the other auction managers all gather around. “I’ve paged her three times already and no answer.” Eisuke states. “I just called the front desk and she said that Lisa was taken by some guy claiming to be a doctor.  He’s staying in room 10 on the bottom floor, let’s go.” Soryu tells the managers as he presses the call button for the elevator.

 Once the men reach the room and make it inside they are shocked to find Lisa laying down on a bed drenched in sweat.  Her clothes were clinging to her delicate form and her shoulder had bled out onto the bed.  Mamoru and Ota quickly attempt to wake her, but before their hands could touch her moist skin, they could feel the heat radiating from her body. “This isn’t good, Koro is in really bad shape. Maybe we should call Luke?” Ota looks to Eisuke, who quickly takes out his phone to contact the doctor.

 “What in the hell? Should we call Baba?” Mamo asks as he looks to Soryu. “Not yet, let’s see what is wrong with her first.”  Mamoru picks up Lisa from the bed and takes her back to the penthouse.

 Thirty minutes later, Luke arrives to the penthouse to check on Lisa. “What the hell happened to her?” Ota is the first to speak “she got dizzy and I accidentally grabbed her by the wound on her shoulder.” Luke quickly takes out a pair of scissors and cuts open Lisa’s uniform. A few stitches had come undone and the wound seemed deep. “This looks like a very large animal bit her, but we can’t be sure. For now, we need to get the bathtub filled with ice and get her in there stat!”  Eisuke calls the front desk to have ice delivered.

To be continued...

[etoilesdephan]

Ubi sunt qui ante nos fuerunt? (Chapter 19: Hinc illae lacrimae)

Chapter masterpost

Chapter words: 2.4k

Overall words: 48.7k

Read it on ao3!

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The air was full of damp cold as the September had bled into October, already nearing the end of the month. The stores were decorated for Halloween, the pumpkin orange, white of ghosts and purple and green of witches and monsters all around. Themed advertisements, candy and  decorations were everywhere one would look and if these decorations weren't there, it was the use of colourful leaves that other stores liked to draw people's attention to their sales with.

Blue eyes trailed over the many store windows and the people crowding on the sidewalks, rushing on their daily business while covering beneath their umbrellas. He had always enjoyed Halloween and dressing up, as well as the themed snacks and the fact that he had a reason to watch more horror movies than usually.

There was only a faint reminiscence of that usual excitement burning in his chest as he watched the world. Phil put it down to being tired. Though he had only a little amount of his stuff, he'd spent too long in the same hospital room for the leave to be a smooth two minute packing. It had taken a good two hours until they had been sure that he hadn't left anything behind, and though the nurse assured that he could return for anything that he might have forgotten later, he wanted to avoid returning too soon.

The cab suddenly began to move again and Phil was struck by a feeling of vertigo. He released a soundless gasp before his whole body leaned onto Dan's, seeking comfort and stability in that embrace that soon enveloped him.

“Are you alright?” He heard Dan's voice lined with soft concern but he just nuzzled closer, eyes closed.

“Mm, a little motion sick,” Because he hadn't been in a car for so long again, and even then his last trips to the courthouse had been a fuzzy mess, his head unable to focus enough to even conjure this feeling.

To that, he felt Dan shift, allowing Phil to lean onto him more comfortably and he hummed a small thank you, trying to stop the warping that was still going on even behind the closed lids, though not as strong. His hand laid down on Dan's thigh, fingers curling a little without his own notice, the nails pulling at the tight jean material lightly before it fell back in place.

He came to it next when he felt a light shake of his shoulder, and Dan's voice close to his ear “Phil, we're here,” He opened his eyes, blinking a couple of times until his vision cleared enough for him to realise that Dan was holding out his glasses towards him. Thankful, he took them and perched them on his nose before the two tall men climbed out of the cab. Phil's fingers dug into the metal frame of the door as he kept himself upright for a moment before he allowed the door to fall shut behind him.

“Phil, Dan, over here,” A familiar voice called out and Phil regarded Cornelia with a smile as she waved the two men over, motioning at the open front door that she was still propping open with her foot.

It was a welcome feeling to know that they had a coded main entrance, Phil found himself thinking.

“Hey,” Phil greeted her, stepping into the stairway after Cornelia, feeling Dan follow closely behind as the door fell shut and locked itself.

“We've brought all the essentials from the storage and then Martyn will be back in a couple of minutes with the other stuff,” She explained, leading them up the stairs before they finally stopped by the apartment door.

“Welcome home, boys,” She announced softly and Phil's eyes met with Dan's when the two silently exchanged a look, both of their mouths half-hearted smiles because they knew - it was better than what could have been, but it was not yet truly their home.

Phil reached out, gently grabbing onto Dan's hand, searching for that bit of familiarity that would still remain in their household. He felt the light squeeze, encouragement and then he stepped forward, opening the door.

It was a new chapter that they were walking into and all of them knew it.

======

His hands were too sweaty. It was because of that, that the box was slipping from his grasp, but he stubbornly kept propping it up in his hands as he took it into his room which was a slight reminiscence of the room he'd had in Manchester. It was a little bigger, just enough to comfortably fit a bigger bed, the shelf, the closet and the low wardrobe, but it was clearly a lot less than he'd gotten so used to having.

He knew Dan felt the same, had seen it behind those dark eyes when they had been pushing around the furniture. Neither said anything about it though.

They were adamant on making this a home. If only for now.

The box slipped out of his hands when he was trying to push it onto the drawer and it fell with a muffled thud, the lid falling open and spilling onto the ground by his feet. It was just clothes, so even though it had fallen on his foot, it didn't hurt nearly as much as if it had been his books.

Even if it had hurt though, he wouldn't probably have reacted.

He stared down at the pile of fabric of the most various colours, but his eyes were drawn to the Oscar's hotel t-shirt.

It was /that/ same colour. He'd never been too great at naming them correctly, but suddenly he knew the exact one. It made his vision blurry, his limbs felt frozen. His heart was too fast, too heavy, and he felt the twitch somewhere near the bridge of his nose where panic was pushing the tears.

Phil didn't even realise how long had he been standing there, the silent wet tracks painting his cheeks. It was only when he suddenly zoned in on his name being called out several times, that he suddenly snapped out of it. A bit in daze, he brought up his hand and while pushing his glasses aside clumsily, wiped at his face. Quickly, he grabbed the offending shirt and tossed it under the bed.

Out of sight, out of mind, he tried to tell himself as he did so, kneeling to start picking up the spilled clothing.

He'd apologise to PJ one day, if necessary.

“Phil?” Dan's head popped in through the door. Phil could feel the gaze on him but he didn't dare to look over. Instead, in his calmest voice, which was surprisingly easy to achieve, he answered to the other man while folding the pieces of clothing automatically.

“Sorry, I knocked it over, did you need anything?”

There was a momentary hesitation in the air and for a moment Phil began to wonder if Dan could see right through him. If he did though, he never mentioned it.

“Cornelia is ordering some food, we haven't had anything since breakfast,” Phil could almost hear Dan's fidgeting, but his body refused to follow his mind that would will him to stand up and go over to Dan. He kept piling the neatly folded pieces of clothing, a lot neater than he usually would, his back still turned to Dan and there was silence between the two before he could hear Dan's shuffling announcing that the younger man had left. At that, Phil allowed himself to fall backwards, his back pressed against the bed as he leaned his head back on it. Wrists on his knees, he sat there, his mind swarming as the fright and logic were fighting.

And he was so tired again. His limbs didn't have enough strength to push himself up anymore and eventually his eyes drooped enough that his lids didn't open again.

Why was he so tired still?

A touch on his shoulder drew him out of the light slumber and he jumped, at first disorientated with the nightmarish memories having taken over the brief slumber. He didn't even realise that he had been holding his breath until his eyes finally focused on Dan and he drew in a relieved gasp.

“You scared me,” Phil muttered, offering Dan a smile though it wasn't the reality that had truly scared him.

“Sleeping on the floor isn't a good idea,” He could see the slight quiver in Dan's expression but couldn't find it in himself to react. Instead he allowed Dan to pull him up, their hands linked even after they both stood at their full heights. What he soon noted was that Dan's hands were unusually sweaty, and he looked down at them before he looked back up.

Something was bothering Dan, he could tell, and it wasn't just the moisture on his palm but also the way Dan's dark eyes would shift to and fro Phil's face to look around, as if paranoid.

“What's wrong?” His mouth finally followed what his mind had willed and he tugged Dan a little closer absentmindedly, but they remained stood with only their hands touching.

Dan's lips quivered and a muscle in his cheek twitched when he tried to smile and Phil noted the way his eyes were now completely avoiding to look into Phil's. “C-Can...” Dan began but stopped, breathing in a steadying breath before looking up, eyes focused somewhere between Phil's, making him feel like he should go cross-eyed if he wanted to meet them “Can you come with me tomorrow?”

“For the testimony?” They had talked about it once Dan had gotten the second call. He'd offered to tag along but Dan had said no.

Now he was asking Phil to come along and he wasn't going to say no, but….

“Any reason for the change of heart?” He spoke softly and he could see that Dan saw that it was Phil's silent 'yes' to Dan's request.

“There's more to it and maybe I can...”

And Phil understood. It plagued him since he'd first seen Dan in the courthouse - all beaten and stitched up, stripped from the confidence that had been building slowly over the years and so many things of what made him who he was - chipped.

“What time?” He merely asked and was met with a wry smile.

======

His eyes snapped wide open, and his lips made way for a loud gasp as he shot up, sitting on the bed with his face in his hands.

“It's just a nightmare,” He muttered to himself, frantic at first, slowly calming with every word said as he repeated it several more times until he could make himself believe his words.

His shirt was sweat-drenched, sticking to his chest uncomfortably. With a groan, Phil pushed himself out of the bed, untangling his feet from the sheets as he checked the time.

4am.

Quietly he slipped out of his room into the small hallway that lead straight to the kitchenette, stripping his shirt on the way only to drop it on the floor when he entered the bathroom and flicked the light on.

The look in the mirror was unhealthy. He was still too thin. He was still too pale, even for himself. The dark circles around his eyes made the blue of his irises seem paler than ever before in his life.

Avoiding to look at the scarring on his chest, he turned on the tap, scooping some water in his hands before he splashed it into his face.

One splash.

Another.

He felt his hair, too long, sticking to his face, but he just kept splashing the freezing water on his face until his cheeks and fingertips were becoming numb.

“Just a nightmare,” He said again, but when he looked up, his eyes instantly locked onto his chest. It wasn't bad, but it was there, the scar, and it made him realise it more harshly than ever.

It hadn't been just a nightmare.

It was a memory.

A shiver ran down his back, and he gingerly stripped off his pajama pants and socks, starting the shower. The hot steam rose and he breathed it in, allowing the heat to lap at his cold and sweaty skin, and run through his hair until he was completely soaked.

When he crawled back into the bed again, dressed in a fresh pair of pajamas, he didn't settle for sleep and instead picked up his phone. The light stung his tired eyes a bit but he didn't pay it no mind. Unlocking the phone, he opened Twitter, daring to have a look at the responses that were still coming in ever since they had posted last.

It was mixture of the good and the bad.

So many people were asking what exactly had happened. Others were expressing scepticism that they hadn't informed their fans in some manner. Others were just being thankful for their reappearance. And then there was the sort that would say things along the lines of “I always hoped to find out if Phan was real, but never quite like this.”

He would've laughed but the sound dried up in his throat before he could even begin.

He looked up Dan's mentions next and what he saw made his heart hurt. There were those who had taken upon themselves to attack Dan, as if blaming him for hurting Phil and how even if it wasn't bad enough for the stay in prison that he should have stayed anyways.

Those messages made him angry and they hurt simultaneously.

They stabbed him in the eye in between all the other tweets that were more similar to those that Phil had received. He wanted to jump to Dan's defense, but he didn't. They had talked for a long time before the update and they knew what they had signed up for with it. They had agreed not to address hate, the same way they hadn't before.

It's just that this time it was so much different, and so much more serious.

With a frustrated sound, he dropped his phone on the nightstand that he'd fit into the new room, and laid down. His body was tired, the hot shower and the hour of the night doing their deed on it, but his mind was alarmed. The images of his nightmares were still present and he realised that he was afraid to go back to them.

He was afraid to fall asleep, afraid of letting the past take him away again.

He was afraid of the pain, the fear and the darkness that had come to him after those.

It was the nothingness after life cut short far too soon.

He knew that he had almost missed having a second chance.

[gabriellakirtonblog]

What Your Female Clients Want You to Know About Postpartum Life

Six months after my sister gave birth to twin daughters via Caesarean section, she was ready to get back to an exercise routine.

I gave her an eight-week program she could do in her living room with just her body weight and some resistance bands.

One of the biggest challenges women face postpartum, especially after C-sections, is a weakened core. So it seemed like the right place to start.

I warmed her up with some basic activation drills to get her contracting her abs, and then got into glute and hamstring work, including glute bridges, bird dogs, and banded clamshells.

She felt pretty good, and wanted to try some tuck-ups and sit-ups.

As she attempted to pull her body off the ground, a look of panic overtook her face. She was stuck. She laid back down and tried again, this time with some momentum.

No dice.

“What’s going on?” she cried, sounding surprised. “I can’t even do a sit-up. I used to be able to do 40 in one minute.”

My client Kyla has a similar story, following a vaginal delivery.

“I remember trying to do a hollow hold and completely failing” after she gave birth to her first child,” she told me. After her second baby, she couldn’t even use her abs to sit up in bed without assistance from her arms.

“My lower back got more and more sore from the lack of core strength, and my pelvic floor was weak and sore from being overstretched during birth,” she added.

For my sister and Kyla, it was their abdominal muscles that seemed to take the biggest hit from pregnancy. Meanwhile, for my client Audrey, her hips caused the most grief after giving birth to her son four years ago.

“I was more bendy, especially while I was still breastfeeding, so stability was hard,” she said. As a result, Audrey had to avoid movements like lunges for a number of months, as they felt unstable and weak.

For a new mom, core dysfunction is the new normal

If you’re a woman who’s getting back into fitness postpartum, you can probably relate to my sister or Kyla’s abdominal woes, or to Audrey’s unstable hips. Rest assured, you’re not alone.

Physiotherapist Kate Powell, a two-time Canadian Olympic gymnast who works primarily with postpartum clients, can attest to this. The abdominal weakness begins during pregnancy, when pressure from the growing baby stretches the linea alba, the strip of connective tissue connecting the two sides of the rectus abdominis. Virtually every new mom ends up with some degree of diastasis recti.

While every case is different, Powell says, every woman she’s worked with has experienced significant abdominal weakness by the end of their pregnancy.

“Sometimes it takes a while for the muscles to come back together again,” she says. She relies on a combination of Pilates and traditional physical therapy to help her clients learn to activate and strengthen their abdominals.

The pelvic floor is the second big concern for postpartum women.

“Some women have more pelvic floor problems, and some have more abdominal problems, and some have both,” Powell says. “But regardless, they’re always related, because if one isn’t working properly, neither is the other.”

Unstable hips are the third big concern. Unsurprisingly, it’s related to the other two through connections in the deep abdominal muscles and the pelvic floor.

“If you lose control of that deep layer of abdominal muscles, this has a huge impact on your ability to control your pelvis,” Powell says. “If you can’t control your pelvis, you can’t control your hips.”

Because their pelvis and abs “are holding on for dear life,” many postpartum women find their hip flexors and quads becoming more dominant. That means less work for the posterior chain, and a higher risk of back pain.

Powell recommends the following steps to get those muscles back on track.

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    Three steps to retrain the abs, pelvic floor, and hips

Step 1: Breathing

“We use breath to drive everything,” Powell says. Breath regulates intra-abdominal pressure, and has a big effect on your client’s ability to activate her abs and pelvic floor and stabilize her hips and lumbar spine.

So what is good breathing?

Think of your core as a cylinder, Powell explains. With each breath, you want to expand the cylinder in all directions, from your rib cage at the top to your pelvic floor at the bottom, from front to back, and on both sides.

And when you exhale, you should feel your abs activating.

The process requires your diaphragm, transverse abdominis, pelvic floor, and lower back to work together as a team to manage abdominal pressure.

Step 2: Activation

Working with a postpartum client is a lot like working with someone who’s recovering from an injury.

“If you tear a hamstring and you just leave it alone, it will eventually reattach and heal,” Powell says. But it won’t be as strong or functional as it was before the injury, leaving you vulnerable to a future hamstring tear, along with any number of injuries, imbalances, and dysfunctions.

The same is true of the pelvic floor and abdominals after pregnancy. At minimum, your client’s tissues have been stretched and strained. There’s probably been some amount of tearing, even if it didn’t require stitches. And if she had an episiotomy or C-section, those surgical sites need time to heal.

But simply healing isn’t enough. To become strong and functional again, your clients need to heal correctly.

That means imposing the “right amount of stress,” Powell says, which requires learning how to reactivate those muscles.

The potential consequences of not reactivating them could be incontinence or even pelvic organ prolapse.

Step one is learning to contract and release the individual muscle groups. “If you’re holding on for dear life in your pelvic floor because nothing else is turning on, it’ll be hard to get your abdominals to work properly,” she says.

Here’s the process for activating the abdominals:

Have your client stand with a neutral spine. Tell her to contract her abs, as if she’s bracing to take a punch, and then relax. She can also try this lying on her back or positioned on all fours. In any position, don’t let the client turn it into a crunch. She’s activating the muscles, not using them to move her torso.

The next step is to have the client activate her core muscles when doing squats or step-ups with just her body weight. “Doing everything unweighted and neutral is a good way to practice pressure management,” Powell says.

Step 3: Posture

The recovery steps we’ve discussed so far work best with a lengthened, upright posture, and the head, shoulders, back, and hips stacked on top of each other.

Poor posture can put your diaphragm or pelvic floor in a suboptimal position, compromising your breathing and your ability to activate your muscles. Powell says it’s like “beating yourself against a brick wall.”

She uses a dowel rod on the back to help create postural awareness. The goal, as shown in the first minute of this video from Girls Gone Strong, is to have the client create tactile feedback by keeping her head, upper back, and glutes in contact with the dowel throughout a hip hinge movement.

Final thoughts: Don’t forget postpartum self-care

So what does your postpartum client want you to know?

She’s injured. Before pregnancy, her uterus was the size of a peach. Nine months later, it was the size of a watermelon, stretching and squeezing everything from the pelvis to the ribs. And then the baby tore anything that wouldn’t stretch to accommodate its exit.

She’s a little freaked out. Things she used to do easily, like using her ab muscles to lift her torso when she gets up from the floor, are suddenly difficult, if not impossible.

She doesn’t know what she doesn’t know. Especially if she’s a first-time mom, her post-pregnancy body is a mystery. It looks different, feels different, and certainly performs different.

As debilitating as the physical ailments most new moms face can be, the mental and emotional challenges can be equally daunting. Strangers no longer tell her how wonderful and healthy she looks. If they notice her at all, it’s with some combination of pity and concern.

That’s why my client Audrey urges coaches to help their postpartum clients find a support network.

“It’s a wild and scary ride,” she says. “The kid is your first concern, and the temptation is to let everything else fall by the wayside. Finding a way to schedule in some self-care was the hardest.”

And when she did, the guilt of “letting the kid sit in a poopy diaper while I finished my workout” would’ve been overwhelming if it hadn’t been for the support of the other moms in the gym.

    Do you coach moms online? Or aspire to?

You do? That’s awesome.

So, how many new online clients did you get this week?

Two? One? None?

What about last week? Same answer?

We get it. You love coaching moms online—or you would love it, if you could find enough moms to coach. 

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If that sounds good to you, click here to register for the Mothers Week Founding Client Challenge. Just do it fast. Registration closes Thursday at 11:59 p.m. Eastern.

This is the same seven-day challenge that’s helped online coaches all over the world land thousands of new clients, generating hundreds of thousands of dollars in coaching fees.

The average Founding Client Challenge participant gets: 

4.62 new clients

$910 in new revenue

Priceless new challenges (94% felt it was just what they needed to kick their coaching business up a notch) 

The Mothers Week Challenge is the same program that’s helped online coaches all over the world. 

For this week only, we’re helping you sell to mothers—moms of all ages, at all stages of the motherhood journey. 

If that’s exactly what you need right now, you need to act fast. Registration closes Thursday at 11:59 p.m. Eastern.

Click here to register for the Mothers Week Founding Client Challenge. 

The post What Your Female Clients Want You to Know About Postpartum Life appeared first on The PTDC.

What Your Female Clients Want You to Know About Postpartum Life published first on https://onezeroonesarms.tumblr.com/

[oracle-sisters-blog]

In The Tunnels – Levi & Eclipse

“Hello? Is someone here with me?” Eclipse yelled out as she sat on the ground. She held her bag in her arms and began to search through it.

“Eclipse, you’re here too?” it was Levi who responded to her. His voice was strained, like he was in pain.

 “Yeah, give me a moment and we’ll be able to see each other.” Eclipse pulled out her lantern and lit it with the matches she also had in her bag. Once there was light, she looked to her left where Levi lay. His own blood was all over him and the ground.

 “The stitches came undone.” Levi said to Eclipse’s shocked and worried look. “You brought your medical kit, right?”

 “Of course.” She pulled it out and moved to stand up, instead of standing she screamed in pain and collapsed to the ground. Her whole body was now in the light from the lantern. “Oh fuck!” Eclipse exclaimed while looking at her right ankle. The bone of her ankle was broken and sticking out. Blood was slowly oozing out of it.

 “Your ankle is broken.” Levi pointed out, though it was very obvious now.

 “I didn’t feel that before.” Eclipse said, trying to fight through the pain.

 “You were so focused on me, that you didn’t realize it.”

 “What now?” Eclipse asked, the pain and shock was so strong, that she is close to tears.

 “Crawl over here with your medical bag. I’ll see what I can do.” With that, Eclipse crawled carefully over to Levi. She pulled her medical bag and lantern with her. Levi checked her ankle over and knew the bone had to be pushed back into her body where it belonged. He told her, and gave her no warning as he snapped the bone back into place. She screamed but quickly calmed down. Levi wrapped her ankle to prevent it from moving and to stop the bleeding. Once Eclipse began to relax and her pain dulled, she turned to Levi.

 “Thank you. Now that my wound is tended to, let’s deal with yours.” Eclipse re-stitched his stitches and checked his broken limbs. She re-adjusted them and then was done. He lost a lot of blood, but he would be okay. “So now that neither of us will bleed to death, what will we do now? Neither of us can walk and who know where the crutches fell if they fell off the horse at all.”

 “I’m not sure, but we are underground and I’m sure not a lot of air is getting in. we have to at least try to get up.” Levi said to the girl. He looked at himself, then to Eclipse. “Get on my left. We’ll use each other to walk. My right leg and your left one might be able to hold up if we use the wall as a stabilizer.”

 “Alright.” Eclipse crawled to Levi and stood up. Using the wall, she pulled Levi up. The two wrapped their arms around each other, their bad leg/ankle together. Eclipse pulled her bag up and put it over her shoulder, then grabbed the lantern. The two began limping/leaning against the wall, down the tunnel. The two had trouble at first. Both wanted to lead, but after a few stumbles they walked in sync with each other.

 “Where so you think my sister is?” Eclipse suddenly asked, worried.

 “With Erwin probably.” Levi said calmly.

 “Would he protect her? Or if she was hurt or in danger, would he help her?”

 “Probably, he seems like he likes her or something. He’s a lot friendlier with her.”

 “That’s good. I don’t have to worry about her then.” Levi turned his head to see Eclipse smile. Even hurt like this, she cares so much for her sister. You don’t see that kind of loyalty or love like that in this world, Levi thought to himself. He couldn’t help but find Eclipse’s strength when hurt and her loyalty attractive. Levi pushed such thoughts away and focused on walking.

 The two walked awhile until they came across a turn in the tunnel. They hesitantly turned to meet face to face with someone holding a shovel.

 “Dad?!” Eclipse exclaimed when she could see the face of the person holding the shovel. He looked just as shocked as she was.

 “Eclipse, what are you doing here? You shouldn’t be here. You should be at home with your sister.” Her father became very angry. He started mumbling how stupid his daughters were and how they were going to get him caught and killed. He said how cursed his daughters were and how they would bring the curse upon him.

 “D-Dad?” Eclipse hesitantly asked. She looked at Levi, but he just looked as confused as she did.

 “No, you both will be useful.” With that, he smacked both of them with the shovel. The two hit the ground unconscious. Once they were knocked out, he dragged them to the wagon he had behind him, smiling to himself.