#It always comes down to I'm disabled and that's depressing | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

8-dermestid · 28 days

Text

i'm over sleeping like a dog on the floor

relationship: ticci toby x reader

word count: 7.6k

links: available to read on ao3

warnings: canon-typical violence, character dies by decapitation (off-screen death but on-screen head), toby is psychotic/has tics/is disabled

Working the graveyard shift as a middle-of-nowhere gas station has its perks; you get paid to do nothing but mop and organize shelves. Most nights you spend alone (or with your only coworker), until you get a regular customer for the first time since this place opened.

(like/reblogs are greatly appreciated, requests are open ✷)

As autumn passes away and winter begins to take hold of the climate, the manor becomes a hellish place to live. Plenty of well-developed people struggle with the seasonal changes—the colder air, longer nights, and dead-looking forests make seasonal depression hit hard. In Toby’s experience, however, these symptoms hit harder for the people in the mansion. The temperature drops make Jeff irritable, his decade-old burns aching as fresh nerve endings attempt to make connections to his old skin. EJ always found a way to hide in their room for months, only coming out if forced by Slenderman’s jobs or a need for food. Anyone with chronic pain had more intense symptoms, and anyone prone to stress snapped under the pressure. Tim and Brian always left before winter hit (only because they looked non-disabled from the outside and could mask until they found a place to hunker down).

Toby is no exception to this rule. The stress of incoming frost and shorter days makes him quick to anger, his tics become more frequent and intense, and he becomes more prone to biting his fingers until he bleeds. Joining Tim and Brian would be a dream, but that is all it would remain (being visibly disabled, paranoid, and psychotic beyond belief—and the hole Toby carved out in his cheek—made masking almost impossible). If he were to try and follow them to a hotel room, Toby would get strapped down and sedated in a stark-white hospital with buzzing overhead fluorescents.

The last time he went to the hospital was because he stepped on a rusty nail six months back, and Tim and Brian almost thought about tracking down EJ because hospitals and Toby do not mix. Thinking about those fluorescents makes him sick. The droning electrical hum makes his skin crawl.

Maybe tonight is the night—though the idea crawls with stressed-induced impulsivity and panic like centipedes under his skull—Toby needs to mull over this thought with a cigarette.

Jeff is arguing with nobody again and slamming his head against a wall. Sally’s running around upstairs. EJ hasn’t been home in months. Tim and Brian are who knows where, not that Toby cares, and the other people crowding this place are too quiet for Toby to care about right now. He rocks in his bed (a moldy mattress with loose sheets piled atop it, a thin, ratty blanket being all he can use to hide from the cold)

(Hush). The quiet is safe, and breathing softly and stepping carefully is safe. It’s good practice to keep his head down when there’s incoherent screaming in the room down the hall. The clatter of overturned furniture and scratching on the walls are commonplace sounds, whether rooted in reality or psychosis.

Toby tries to control his volume by breathing through his mouth, sniffling now replaced with hollow gasps. He’s so careful not to let any loudness escape him (not an easy feat). His diaphragm stutters, his shoulders heave in an involuntary twitch, his ribs push inward, and his spine curls sharply down.

Do it. Deep breath in, hold for four, out for four. Grab a cigarette and a lighter, and try to take your mind off things. Toby rocks on the floor and nurses a cigarette between his teeth, letting the smoke simmer in his lungs before exhaling low. He quits rocking on the floor, rising to his feet and beginning a careful hunt, opening every drawer, opening the creaky closet door, checking the big hole in the wall, checking the drawers once more, then out the window (pulling the half-hanging curtain over to give him some sense of privacy). Finally satisfied, Toby tugs the sheet on his mattress until it slips from the corner, exposing a large hole carved into the side, its guts twinkling with bits of fiberglass.

Toby sticks his hand in, numb to the prickling sensation scraping across his skin, and pulls out a large, empty duffel bag. He crawls towards his drawers and tosses his extra clothes into a small heap atop the bag, stuffing it until it’s bloated like a three-day-old carcass. With only a few possessions to his name—his hatchets, a hunting knife, a hammer (which he puts into his pocket instead, worried about scratching his things), his CD player plus headphones, a sentimental bag of teeth, and a dented thermos—Toby is ready and packed, letting out a shaky breath as he zips up his bag. Checking around all the hiding spots again (his searching based on psychotic delusions), Toby finally pulls the moldy curtain back and opens the window, which squeals in protest. He freezes, checking his surroundings and listening for even the softest sounds of disturbance in the creaky manor.

The mansion’s natural groans and hums make the house feel alive. It’s watching him—and watching him think of a plan to get out of this hell. The radiators creak, and the walls ache like the house is breathing around him. The walls are moving, Toby thinks. He is inside a living thing. He pries open the window, and the house cries out in protest. The chains supporting the windowpane squeal like birds, and Toby scrambles out of the window and onto the once-shingled roof in a panic, nearly slipping from the second story in a thoughtless terror. He digs into his pocket and pulls out his beat-up box of Marlboro Reds, curling up into a ball on the roof, shaky hands searching for his lighter. Toby can’t stop shaking. His neck pops in two places. He should climb back inside—crawl back into that living, breathing beast—and pretend this idea of freedom never crossed his mind.

Toby sticks a cigarette between his teeth, digging around his many pockets for his lighter. He’s so nervous, whole-body tremors as the agonizing howls of the mansion’s other tenants remind Toby of his options: keep living within Slenderman’s walls, dirt-poor and sickly, but safe from the cruelties of the outside world, or risk contact with the outside, possibly getting strapped down to a hospital bed and drip-fed a cocktail of medications, sedated and alone. Toby’s grip is loose, and his lighter slips from his hand as it twitches involuntarily. Toby watches it slide down the roof and hop over the broken gutter, landing in a puddle beneath the house.

Toby peers over the roof—making the quick choice to abandon his duffel bag inside his room —and swings his legs over the edge, dropping down. He sticks his hand into an ice-cold puddle and pulls the cobalt-blue plastic body from the water. He rolls his thumb over the striker, shaking the lighter and trying again (flick, flick, flick, Toby can hear the fuel when he shakes it vigorously), holding the dead thing to his dry cigarette, cupping his hand to protect any weak flame it may produce.

Nothing.

Toby throws the lighter as hard as he can into a tree, hands trembling uncontrollably, wrists flinching, fingers curling in distress. He pulls on his hair—tugs and tugs, grabbing at the curly strands at the nape of his neck and tugging upwards like he’s pulling a shirt off over his head—trying not to scream and cry about his two-dollar lighter being a shitty, two-dollar lighter. He pulls one axe from its holster and the hammer from his pocket; the next smoker he spots won’t make it home (and Toby can add some teeth to his plastic-baggie collection, whichever ones he can salvage from the destruction of a stranger’s dental record). His cigarette (with a sharp angle in the filter from an angry bite) gets stuffed back into its cardboard container, then the box, and into his pocket.

Toby picks a direction and walks, one hand tugging at his hair and the other’s knuckles white around a hatchet handle. Each tired step squelches under him. Slick leaves and muddy earth force walking to be a conscious thought; Toby, already nauseous with stress, stumbles forward, using the tall trees for support (and to ground himself on the textures of moss and lichen under his fingertips).

Keep breathing.

In for one, two, three, four; Hold for one, two, three, four; Out for one, two, three, four.

Keep walking, don’t stop, don’t turn back, don’t even look back. One shaky mile becomes two, then three, then four. Each threshold crossed brings Toby further from the manor and closer to freedom.

One time, Toby had to visit a mortician’s office to take care of a sloppy kill months ago. The doctor was working late, and Toby came across the current project: some forty-something man with silver hair and scratchy stubble. The mortician had already slipped the eye caps under the man’s eyelids, and the little barbs gripped the backside, holding the shape of the lid to make it look like the man’s eyes hadn’t sunk back into his skull. Toby peeled back the man’s lips, admiring his yellowed, crooked teeth and dry gums. There were wires connecting the upper and lower jaw, keeping the man’s mouth shut with needles nailed into his bone.

The process was fascinating and morbid, and the wires and nails made Toby queasy because the man’s body was so cold. Sometimes, Toby felt like that—or that he felt trapped in that state—the stiffness, the cold, the wires and nails keeping his jaw wired shut no matter how much he wanted to scream.

Sometimes, it was him laying on the cold, metal table stinking of formaldehyde, stiff with rigor mortis with sunken eyes and guts in the viscera bag. He found the body shortly after and beat its face in with his axe until they were unrecognizable. He took three teeth (one of their wisdom teeth and two molars), the only intact thing left of them, and fled through a broken window.

Toby, rubbing his eyes, pushes them into the sockets as he stumbles past the tree line and down a crag. When he makes contact with the ground and stumbles forward in his dreary state, Toby is startled when a car blares its horn at him. The driver shouts at him, swerving over the double-yellow to avoid hitting him.

Toby stands in the road like a deer, heart pounding against his ribs. He watches the car swerve back over the double-yellow and around a wavy bend, eventually concealed by a shelf of carved rock. Turning to look across the empty highway, he spots a gas station bathed in red neons with an inviting golden light warming the interior.

An older man with a blue face mask is walking behind the gas station for the restroom, and Toby stalks behind him, axe in hand.

✸𓆟✸

“It’s getting windy now. Are you sure your bus is coming after your shift?”

“Probably,” You say, “they’d only stop if there was some looming total disaster. They operate like a Waffle House.” Walking into the custodial closet (slash break room), you grab a bucket and mop and move out to a monstrous soda spill left by a group of teenage boys (where one of them just got their learner’s permit, you’re sure of it).

Something collides with the dumpster outside.

You think it’s someone dumpster diving again.

Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.

“Quit being so paranoid.” Your coworker says.

You turn to Sandy, and she shrugs, straightening the 5-Hour Energies by the register. She’s pretty dressed up for a graveyard shift at a gas station, with her hair done up and pink tinsel weaved into her box braids. She’s wearing a concert tee with a little stone fairy printed on the front and leg warmers with these tall boots. Her makeup is shimmery and loud; she belongs at a club covered in confetti and glitter like it’s 2009.

“No need to be scared of the boogeyman, or… whatever they call that guy.”

“Slenderman?”

“Mhm, that. I’m sure it’s just good Photoshop, just an art project people are writing scary stories about, and parents think it’s real, and now the news is involved. It happens all the time!”

“Yeah, but…” Your words die in your mouth.

You saw him, you swear, between the trees or houses on your walk back to your dorm. Impossibly tall, with no features, stalking you from a distance like an animal. Maybe Sandy’s right. The stress of academics and work is probably just driving you crazy, making you see things that aren’t there. The town newspapers haven’t helped your theory of delusion, as people won’t stop going missing in this area. You’re tempted to grab a flashlight and check the perimeter, just in case. You reach for one on the shelf nearby, but Sandy gives you this disappointed look.

“I’m not letting you go ghost hunting. Not good for you,” Sandy’s gaze softens, “Now I feel like a dick for buying these tickets.”

You quit mopping. Tickets?

“Ugh, don’t look at me like that! When I bought them, there wasn’t this Skinnyman stuff—”

“Slenderman.” You say.

“Slenderman stuff,” Sandy corrects, “I didn’t buy them when this Slenderman stuff was going on.”

“...Again? You went to a concert two weeks ago.” You say, focusing on pushing the mop over the soda spill until it makes the water a murky brown.

“That was nothing. It was a house concert, this one is real and at a big venue and everything! I’m taking my girlfriend for her birthday. Please, come on! I’m sure nothing crazy is going to happen tonight. Nothing ever happens here, anyhow. We work at a nowhere gas station in the middle of nowhere—I’ll even pay you, please.”

You may be terrified of these recent missing persons cases, but Sandy does pay you handsomely when she pulls stunts like this.

“Mundy doesn’t have to know about our little arrangement. It can be off the books.”

Mundy’s your manager, but not actually in your opinion. He never shows up, carries a ‘my way or the highway‘ view of things, and rules over this run-down Shell gas station with an iron fist. You missed your cousin’s birthday because he needed you to watch over this place. He’s the worst.

“You know what? Sure.” You say.

Sandy whoops and tosses you more money than you’ve ever seen in a paycheck. She squeezes you tight and says thank you about a million times.

“You’re the best, and I owe you one—or three—I don’t care, whatever you want! Take it easy.”

Her girlfriend pulls up, tucking her stout blue car parallel to two rusty shells. “I mean it! No ghost hunting.”

She dashes out of the gas station before you can speak. According to her orders, It’s a free, lazy night for you, and your first order is doing your legitimately obtained puzzles. You grab a magazine you ‘borrowed’ from last month’s shipment. You pull out a Sharpie and fill out some blank spaces. You chew on the cap, filling in NAP for twenty-eight across. Fifty-five across is FRIDGEMAGNET. Fifty-two down is IGLOO. Eleven down is easy as you fill out the top corner of the board without much trouble—TENDER, UMAMI, MEAT, SKEIN… It’s almost too easy, or you should seriously consider the big leagues. You finish just above half the crossword only half an hour into your shift, tossing the magazine aside and switching to swiping through your phone to keep the crossword-world-record holders off your tail, as they can’t know about your prowess yet.

That girl who captained cheerleading is having a baby, and there’s also a picture of her wearing a wedding veil (not that you care, considering she stuck gum in your hair during your math final). Some Robotics club girl got into one of those Ivy leagues and is having the time of her life, and a ton of videos of your past friends drunk at a club, confetti all over their everything. You turn off your phone with a heavy sigh and set it on the far side of the counter next to the cigarette shelf, returning to your only company for the night.

You finish the crossword after nearly an hour (it technically only took you thirty-five minutes, but you wouldn’t stop getting up to try and do something productive to keep your mind off your downward spiral), and you sneak the magazine back into the pile with all the other ones that look just like it.

The door slides open, and a man who looks your age stumbles inside, brown hair dripping wet. You switch into professional mode and get your feet off the counter. You give him your standard welcome, but he ignores it and ducks into the aisle closest to the wall.

Maybe he’s just cold and drunk, but he looks rough. His sickly gray skin—with eyebags dark enough to be mistaken for under-eyeshadow—gives him an almost zombie-esque look (like a trad-goth, but gray). He peeks over the top of the aisle and locks eyes with you, lurching back as if it burns to hold your gaze. He reaches the far corner of the store, opens one of the fridges, and pulls out a can. You watch this man pace the back perimeter and grab a few things, still meandering.

“Can I help you find anything you need?” You ask, but he doesn’t seem to hear you as he stuffs a fistful of Slim Jims in his pocket.

Whatever, he’ll eventually find what he’s looking for if the poor guy searches long enough, or maybe not, considering his apprehension about approaching the front half of the store where your register is. You feel like a cat watching a bird from the window as you watch this strange person pace around the back of the store for nearly twenty minutes. Maybe you have a staring problem, but this guy is too eccentric to look away from. He knocks into the slushie machine and hisses to himself, speaking under his breath.

He creeps forward to the counter like a deer, a few loose bills and coins tightly held in his bandaged palm. There’s not one bit of eye contact, but his gaze is piercing as his eyes remain locked on the linoleum floors. You grab the soda can he slides onto the countertop, then nod to the Slim Jims sticking out of his pocket.

His shaky palm opens, fingers twitching as five or six individually wrapped Slim Jims spill onto the counter. You count them up and add them to the total. Then he grabs a lighter and tosses it into the pile, the lime-green case clattering amongst his other purchases.

“That’ll be $12.56.”

He hands you $9.27. It’s all he has, and his sudden nervous energy confirms that.

He seems paranoid, and maybe getting a fistful of Slim Jims in him will do him good. You look at the camera and take the money he gave you, bagging everything he piled onto the counter.

“Oh—” He coughs into his fist, his neck creaks, “You don’t have to do that.”

You reassure him, “It’s nothing.” crosses your lips as you pass him the plastic bag.

He steps back, shies away, and then flees out the door like a feral cat. You hear another car horn as this strange guy disappears from view beyond the tree line.

Another weird stranger, you think. He’s just another passerby you’ll never see again.

✸𓆟✸

That’s what you think until he shows up again two weeks later. He’s dirtier than last time, his fingernails caked with dirt as he bumps into Sandy. He grabs a soda from the back and shuffles to the front, eyeing your name tag. He says your name as if he’s kneading the word between his teeth and under his tongue like a lozenge.

You take the Pepsi from him and scan it. He coughs up enough money to pay for it—and a little more, four dirty singles more than he needs to pay for the soda.

“From last time—I know it wasn’t enough, I remembered.” He says, wiping his hand on his jacket. He looks proud of himself.

You thank him, and he looks like he’s about to burst, squirming at the compliment like a prodded insect, shakily taking the can from you and cracking it open.

“I’m Toby,” He tips the sugary drink back, then swallows hard, “Well, my name’s Tobias, but Toby sounds better. Toby Rogers sounds better than Tobias Rogers.”

Sandy eyes you, gesturing to Toby with a long acrylic, who’s now rocking back and forth on his feet and rambling. You shrug. He’s probably not a threat.

He seems chill, you mouth to her.

He grabs a map and turns it over in his hand. He sets down his drink and skims over the large map of the state. You take his moment of focus to take in his features, dull, brown eyes that skirt around the paper. His hair is greasy and messy, probably knotted beyond care. His clothes—beat-up hiker’s trousers, a heavy jacket over a ratty black tank top, and goggles with bright orange lenses, the right one cracked. He twitches, then turns the map to you.

“Are there any ways to go here?”

You snap from your observation, blinking as your vision is filled with the veins and artery-looking highways across this middle-of-nowhere part of the state. Toby points to some empty spot on the map, some national park (you think).

“Well, you could take the interstate highway.” You suggest, dragging your finger along the thickest vein on the map.

“Well, I’d need a car for that, right? I don’t have one of those.”

Oh. That’s the problem with this part of the country. No car, no luck. If Toby wants to leave, he would need a car—whether that be from a friend or a stranger. You tell him so: that there aren’t many options to leave if you don’t have the money to do it, which feels especially cruel considering you essentially spotted him for Slim Jims the other week. He folds the map politely and then slips it back into its container.

“That sucks, I guess,” He says, continuing to nurse his drink. Sandy makes a phone-shape gesture with a frantic expression on her face.

Toby’s a little eccentric, but he’s not 9-1-1 call-worthy. You shoo her away to reorganize the shelves. He keeps talking at you about a variety of things. He sounds like a camper, talking about how living in the woods is better than where he’s living now, how his roommates are very noisy, and he’d rather be cold and wet and living in a tent than be in his current situation.

“Off-campus housing must be tough. Are you in a fraternity?”

“Fraternity? No, not uni,” he says, shuffling on his feet as he pulls the soda tab off the can and rolls it between his fingers, “Not uni. Not smart enough for it. I didn’t even finish high school.”

“Oh.”

Now it’s your turn to shuffle awkwardly.

Sandy slips into the break room and shuts the door behind her, leaving you, Toby, and the blinking security camera. Toby finishes his beverage and looks for a bin to toss it (and to look polite and well-mannered). You lift the garbage bin from behind the counter (also to look polite and well-mannered).

You both talk about a variety of things. Toby seems to relax once it’s just the two of you. He asks you about working here. He asks if you like it.

“Kind of. Pay is pretty bad, but the graveyard shift means I get paid to do nothing,”

He nods, then runs his fingers over the ridge of paper maps again. His hand snaps sharply downward to grip the counter, his free hand tugging up his sleeve so he can scratch his arm.

“Is there not any other way out of here?” Toby abruptly pulls his hand from the counter and strikes his temple with the heel of his hand, “W-Why won’t anybody let me leave?” Toby’s voice is cold and jagged like glass with corrosive terror. You recoil, instinctively covering your precious internal organs with a defensive lurch. Toby does the same, pulling his hood over his matted hair and bumping into the flat shelf behind him. Besides the hum-buzz of yellowed fluorescent lamps, the store is silent. He tugs the goggles over his eyes in a rough motion, too, mumbling and rocking to soothe himself.

After what feels like an eternity, Toby finally speaks at a volume you can hear.

“Do you ever feel like you’re being watched?” He weeps, “Like, even if you sleep on the second floor, it can still see you—even if you’re hiding—and it knows exactly where you are, and you can’t do anything?”

Sleepless nights, icy chills that leave the hairs on your neck standing on end, that prey-animal feeling where you know you’re being followed and observed (but your eyes can’t catch that distant figure, tall enough to blend in amongst the trees). People stopped believing you after you cried wolf a few too many times. Calling friends in the dead of night on the side of the road did not earn you a good favor, which explains why so many people stopped talking to you after high school. You look down at your near-dozen crossword puzzles filled out on lonely graveyard shifts, down at your hands, and then you meet Toby’s frightened gaze.

“I guess, yeah.” You reply.

Toby blinks, tugging his blue surgical mask to rest comfortably on his nose.

“Really?” He creeps back towards the counter, shuffling forward to speak quietly, “I like coming here because I feel like I’m finally alone; It feels like I’m safe here—like nothing can hurt me.”

You nod. Working here gives you plenty of quiet, something most people can not get enough of. This place can be nice as long as Mundy leaves you and Sandy.

“My house isn’t a great place to be right now. That’s why I come here a lot. Nice and quiet, no screaming.”

“I get that, too,” You say quietly, speaking as if you’re trying not to frighten a wild animal, “Sometimes everything is just… too much, yeah?”

“...Yeah,” Toby whispers, “Yeah.”

He relaxes, taking a few deep breaths before pulling back his hood and goggles. Toby then hooks a finger around the elastic band on his surgical mask and pulls it off of his face, revealing a gaping scar on the side of his cheek that looks like it was chewed through. His teeth are visible, fairly yellow (but otherwise fine-looking), and slightly crooked. Seeing Toby’s face in its entirety takes you a moment to become accustomed to, his crooked smile and slightly-bent nose are not what fills your mind. His jaw is soft and rounded, and his gray-ish skin is smattered with lighter marks of old wounds.

Toby scratches at the healed-over gash, picking at some calloused skin while his other fingers curl involuntarily.

“I don’t go out much at all—” He starts, wiping his hand on his coat, “It’s been nice, even if I’ve had to sneak out to come here, I don’t want any other guys knowing I’ve been out here to see you—” Toby scrunches up, fingers curling as he watches you process his words.

Toby has the nervous energy of a dog retired from blood sports and brought into a quiet home, always biting the hand that feeds because it’s all he’s ever known, kicking and screaming in terror at any gentle caress, howling like you’ve flayed his skin, separating sinew and flesh. He has matted fur and mangled teeth; he limps from years of brutality, eyes darting around the peaceful setting expecting to be bitten; to be scratched; to bleed with no future of quiet.

You walk out from behind the counter and sit beside him, bumping knees. You both sit in silence, surrounded by the warm hum-buzz of fluorescent lights. Toby’s shoulders heave with a tic as he knocks his knee against yours. The small noises of the creaky building and its humming electronics (which would normally send Toby into a tizzy) didn’t make his skin crawl. He feels his chest fill with air then feels the air leave out of his nose as he takes in your features, following the slope of your forehead down to your nose and mouth, then your chin and your neck. If you were to meet his gaze now he would die, so he enjoys this moment next to you for as long as he can.

Your time together is cut short when Sandy exits the break room.

Toby’s face warms as he scrambles to his feet and scurries out the door with a quick goodbye and thank you shouted in your direction.

You feel a hot blush creep up your face from your neck, Sandy finally speaks once it creeps to the tips of your ears.

“Did I…interrupt something?” She asks, holding back a snicker.

“A little bit,” You say, stuffing your hands into your pockets, “I keep your things from Mundy, you keep mine.”

✸𓆟✸

There are three things that, when they come together, become the ingredients for the worst shift of your life.

First: Sandy doesn’t clock in, any shift without Sandy is like a peanut butter and jelly sandwich without the jelly.

Second, and this one’s new, Toby doesn’t visit. He makes the grueling night shift a little less boring and gives you someone new to chat with and learn things.

Third, Mandy does one of his surprise visits, especially when he remembers the security cameras he installed.

He stormed in only a few minutes after you clocked in, stomping about the store and trying to find something to interrogate you so he could open the door to harsher criticisms. He finds a few misorganized cans and grills you.

“You’re supposed to put the tall cans in the second fridge, don’t mix them.”

“My bad, Mundy. Won’t happen again.” You say, holding your hands up.

Most of the time he finds minute things, but because there are hardly any customers, there’s hardly anyone to mess anything up, which means there’s not much you can do to fill out a shift. This time, however, he pulls out a little card, holding it out as if you are supposed to know what that means. He drags you into the break room and pushes the little SD card into his dingy laptop. He clicks on one of the few dozen files stuffed in the folder.

You watch a VOD of the security footage from a few weeks ago when you spotted Toby for those three extra Slim Jims. Mundy looks like he’s about to explode, pausing the video when all of Toby’s items are dumped out on the counter.

“You rang up only three Slim Jims that night. Why do I see six going into that bag?”

You freeze up, half because that’s such a stupid thing to pull you aside for, but also because Mundy is that crazy.

“I—”

“And then here,” He scrubs the video forward, showing the following interaction the following night, “Loitering? You’re letting people run amok in here when I’m not here? To think I trusted you and Sandy to care for things on your own.”

“Toby wasn’t doing anything—”

“No, don’t give me that done,” He snaps, ”Do you have any idea, any clue, what you’re doing to this place by letting people like that loiter around my store?” Mundy shouts, “Letting—You’re letting total thugs and drug addicts hang out in here. Do you ever think about what that may do for the reputation of this place?”

You sink back into your chair, which squeals as you curl like a sun-dried bug.

“You’re lucky I’m not going to fire you, do you understand? You’re lucky. That’s all you are. If that guy didn’t pay you back, you would be handing in your uniform.”

“But he’s not—”

“Not what?!” Mundy throws his hands up in exasperation, “Do you think normal people want to shop when you let crazy people bounce off the walls? You let this guy in—dirty and probably drugged out of his mind—and you make conversation with him? Let him loiter?”

“Mundy—”

“No, I’m not even going to bother with this,” He shoves the sopping-wet mop into your hands, “If I see any more shenanigans after this—you’re done. Get mopping. I have a headache from dealing with you, especially since I’m always trying to keep Sandy under control.”

Mundy massages his temples, walking into the break room while mumbling, “Now I’ve got to replace that piece-of-shit camera, too. Always on the fritz...”

You get to mopping, and Sandy passes through the automatic doors, a tense expression on her face.

“You know, I could hear him from the break room,” She mouths, “I think I would be the same if I were the manager of a dead-end gas station, especially if it were the only thing I had done with my life.”

Sandy pulls her purse over her shoulder, “Be careful not to unscrew your arms from mopping so much.”

She leaves, climbing into her girlfriend’s passenger side and pulling out of the dirt lot even faster. Mundy exits the break room and watches you like a hawk, and you spend three hours doing purposeless chores to keep him happy; you mop the floors, reorganize shelves, and restock the fridges (which were full) until you can barely hold yourself upright.

“See? I hired you to do your job, not just loaf around all night behind the counter.”

Ugh.

✸𓆟✸

Toby comes in again a few days after Mundy’s new ordinance began, and you can tell that all of this recent surveillance is getting to your head because you immediately look up at the camera that watches the both of you as if it’s going to snap at you like a dog. He says hello, waving with his eyes squint-y from a smile.

“You look like you’re about to puke.” Toby chuckles, leaving a few bills on the counter while he heads to the back to grab a drink, “Something wrong? Is it Sandy?”

“No, just… work.” You grab Toby's drink, eyes flicking to the camera as you take the money, count it up, and give him a few coins in change.

“Is it Mundy?”

You hush him, eyes flicking up to the camera. He nods, taking his drink and starting his familiar pacing around the main body of the store. You grab the mop from the break room, though you’ve already mopped this entire place three times, and begin your familiar dance to follow Toby around the store.

“He won’t let you stay. If I let you loiter, Mundy will fire me,” You meet his gaze, and he looks like a kicked dog, “I’m so sorry.”

Toby peeks at the camera, then looks back at you, “Is he here?” He asks.

“Break room, most likely watching the footage from my last shift. Mundy’s waiting for me to slip up, so it’s been stressful.”

Toby pats your shoulder, then takes his can and finishes the rest of his drink quickly, “... I’m sorry. I can go home if being here is a bad thing.”

“I don’t want you to go, though—” You say, your voice is a little too heavy for talking to a regular—”...You know, you’re one of three customers we’ve had for weeks. Isn’t that funny? This place is a dump. I would quit, but I need the money.”

Toby watches you push the mop in a fit, pushing and pulling water across the clean linoleum tiles.

“...I have to go now. Thanks for everything.” Toby says quietly with a new coldness to his soft tone.

His sudden shift in demeanor makes you a bit nervous as he exits the store, waving sweetly at you. You wave back. Hopefully, he didn’t say thanks for everything because he was leaving forever. You watch him disappear along the edge of the highway, and you are left alone to mop the floors for the rest of the night, eventually leaving because Mundy doesn’t trust you to handle closings anymore.

Toby scales the crag outside the gas station, slipping back into the woods with new feelings bubbling under the surface of his skin. He races past familiar trees, spotting the mansion on the horizon. He scales the wall using the only standing gutter left, and then he slips into his room through the window, angry enough to chew on his hand until he bleeds. He pulls off his shoes and flings them into his dresser. The quickest, easiest answer would be to run back there, hatchets in hand, and dismember this guy that’s been bothering you. The other part of Toby, the one he kept hold of after everything that happened to him (the part of him that’s still seventeen years old and terrified), wants to just curl up on his dingy mattress and give up. He grabs a hatchet and curls up with it in his arms, running his hand along the handle’s grain.

Maybe in a few days, he doesn’t want to scare you, maybe he can make it look like a bad accident.

There’s the clatter of furniture, the familiar sounds of home, and Toby drifts off to sleep, planning out the next few nights to prepare even if it means he won’t be able to see you. Spending the next few days in the manor is rough because everybody won’t stop asking questions. Toby hardly imagined anyone in the manor enough to notice he was still there (it took everyone nearly three weeks to notice EJ’s absence when it was too late to catch them), and it was even stranger for others to be concerned about Toby’s whereabouts.

He wishes EJ was still here, they hardly cared about unimportant things and cared even less about stupid things like visiting someone behind Slenderman’s back. They would have helped him plan, listened to Toby go through a few plans, giving a thumbs up when good and a thumbs down when bad. He instead spends the few days pacing around his room as ideas swarm his brain like locusts, biting off chunks until Toby needs to sleep and quit thinking.

✸𓆟✸

Mundy grumbles, stepping outside and lighting a cigarette as he stands next to the dumpster, eyeing the few gutted shells of cars abandoned on the lot. He twirls the keys around his finger, more stressed about adding two sudden openings online. He always hated computers.

Toby peeks around from behind the dumpster, eyes trailing down Mundy’s back, eyes boring into his spine and shoulder blades beneath his shirt. He unhooks one of his hatchets from its holster on his hip, creeping along the edge of the gas station’s wall as Mundy shuffles on his feet.

You already settled into your shift hours ago, Toby memorized your schedule so he could always bump into you. Mundy was so wound up from Sandy organizing the magazines her way that he nearly snapped and fired her on the spot.

Any reprieve from Mundy’s surveillance would not be taken for granted. You start counting the ceiling tiles, wishing you could do a crossword right about now.

“You think Mundy’s… Okay?” Sandy pipes up, restocking the beef jerky bags on a distant shelf.

“No.”

“I mean—yeah, he’s not generally okay, but… he’s been outside for half an hour…” Sandy stands, abandoning her work, ”I don’t smoke, but that seems like a long time to be out there in… that.”

Rain beats against the windows so intensely it’s hard to see the highway that runs parallel to the station, the only indicator that the highway still exists is the occasional flash of high beams as someone drives by. You can understand the need for a break (whether with a cigarette or a puzzle) but this torrential downpour would dampen anyone’s smoke break, at least he should be standing under the concrete awning. Lightning lights the night sky, highlighting the dark forests that swallow this little establishment. Thunder growls overhead, rolling over your mind like a cold chill.

“Something’s wrong.”

“Oh my god, please don’t go off on one of your tangents about Slenderman, I do not need that right now, especially since this is the first time we’ve had a moment without Mundy breathing down our necks. Besides, give me some reprieve since I’m handling garbage on such a stormy night.”

“I wasn’t going to!” You throw up your hands dramatically, “You’re the one that brought it up!”

Sandy looks outside and shudders, “Slenderman isn’t real, I’m not going to let your little internet ghost stories scare me.” She swallows, slipping outside and pulling the garbage bag from its canister, “You’re so paranoid.”

You watch her disappear into the darkness, the automatic doors sliding shut as she rounds the corner to toss the bag into the dumpster. You suck in a breath and push it out shakily. You hear muffled shouting, Sandy calling out for Mundy, but there’s no response.

The store feels too big all of a sudden, you feel too exposed with the large glass sliding doors, but Sandy’s jeers about your paranoia push that nervous energy down into the pit of your stomach.

Sandy heaves the bag up above her torso, but her shaky grip (and her laziness about tying the top of the bag) causes a plethora of things to spill from the bag. Sandy huffs, dropping the half-full bag on the ground and groping for trash in the dark.

She groped around in the dark, mind swimming with frustration and confusion. The rain soaks through her coat, and her well-kept nails are caked with mud as she picks up garbage. She feels the usual things—crumpled-up cans, napkins, and old fast food bags.

But the sudden, leathery texture that she brushes her fingertips against, a coppery tinge to the air. It’s warm, warm like a person.

A blood-curdling scream rings out after a flash of lightning turns night to day (followed by the loudest clap of thunder you’ve heard—the kind that makes the earth shake). You chuckle to yourself, but you shut yourself up when you hear her hysteric sobs mixed in with Sandy’s horrified screams.

Everything goes quiet.

“Sandy?”

Her sobs continue, you can hear her crying.

“Sandy—” You step out into the rainy darkness, “—Hey, are you there? Is everything okay? Was it a raccoon or something?”

She shouts your name with the desperation of a wild animal with an arrow through its leg, scrambling to her feet, she’s soaked and cold.

She grabs the collar of your shirt, drags you back towards the light, then locks the doors behind the two of you, and knocks a shelf over to block the door.

“Sandy, what the hell? I just—”

“M-Mundy’s dead—he’s fucking dead,” She gasps, sobbing harder than before, ”We’re next—Oh god, oh god, oh god—”

Sandy lurches and vomits, dark bile streaking across the linoleum tiles. You’re at her side in a second pulling her dark, curly hair away from her face. You guide her to sit down in the break room, kneeling in front of her as she nearly shakes herself to pieces.

“He’s dead? You’re serious?”

“His head was in a garbage bag—” A dry sob rattles her frame, ”—He’s dead. Dead, dead, dead.”

You pull out your phone and dial the emergency number, gently soothing Sandy as she tries to hush up when the line connects. You give the operator the address and hold the phone for Sandy. She sputters, trying to spit out her words. The operator asks her questions, trying to get her to relax.

She described Mundy’s still-warm head rolling out of the bag, Sandy’s skin void of its typical warmth and vibrancy. Sandy emphasizes how warm it was when she touched it, like feeling a leather bag sitting in the sun.

The operator soothes both of you, help is on the way.

After thirty minutes of agonizing silence, The approaching ambulance’s siren wailed like an angel, and the paramedics that arrived on the scene ushered you and Sandy out and swaddled you both in blankets. Tape cinched the gas station, and officers secured the perimeter, marching like ants. The rain was still heavy, and large droplets beat against the ambulance. Detectives sat across from you trying to get Sandy (in her nearly catatonic state) to recite the scene.

“I don’t know,” Sandy said, “I don’t know.”

I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know… She’s rocking herself, shivering either from terror or the cold—perhaps both—as you rub her back and try to help her calm down.

“Rich,” a paramedic shouts, which drags the detective's attention from Sandy, “Call up Morgan—We’ve got another.”

He sighs and hops out of the ambulance, beating a phone number into the small buttons and walking off into the rain.

Sandy turns to you, she’s ice cold, “...What are we gonna do now?”

Your mind can’t help but wander, the rational half of you wants to believe that this was some kind of freak accident, that Mundy just…

Well, you aren’t sure how someone could be accidentally decapitated, but maybe there is a logical explanation for Mundy’s death. He is just another number in a vast list of victims of these unexplainable attacks. Some believe in a Jack the Ripper scenario, while others lean towards the supernatural. You’ve fallen down the rabbit hole before, and with each passing moment, the idea of your past delusions being real sounds less and less insane. Sandy nudges you, interrupting your slip into panic.

“What are we going to do now?”

“I…I don’t know.” You whisper, curling up under your blanket.

You swear you see someone moving amongst the trees, and dread washes over you like an icy bath.

What are you going to do now?

✸𓆟✸

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nimona-antifa · 9 months

Text

"Don't be ableist uwu!!!"

Okay quick questions then.

How seriously do you take The Game? If someone tells you, "I saw a post that says I won the game!" Is your response to immediately say "noooooo that's not how it works!!!" Yeah I know how it works. It literally only exists to inflict misery on others and that you supposedly can't win no matter what you do, wreaking havoc on people who have severe anxiety? Grow the fuck up. I'm sorry if this miserable piece of shit torture game is somehow something that you want to keep alive but newsflash. We're not all just sitting around in the utopian commune sipping martinis without having to stress about whether or not we'll have somewhere to stay next month or where our next meal will come from or whether or not the almighty capitalists decide we deserve to get our next dose of medicine so maybe just let the stupid game die.

How do you judge people who consume media you consider "problematic?" Yeah. Those media. Hazbin Hotel. Helluva Boss. Bayonetta. Etc. Like. I'm sorry if trans people who were already into the Bayonetta series were excited to buy the newest game in it and got even more excited to buy it when they fired a transphobic VA. Some people have depression and easy sources of serotonin are in short fucking supply for us and need our comfort media and you saying that we should deny ourselves happiness because you have issues with said comfort media isn't very leftist of you actually.

How much patience do you have for people who talk for hours about one specific subject? Actually. Genuinely. You can post about "OMG when she infodumps 🥺 choke me mommy" all you want. But when an actual autistic trans gal is trying to explain the lore of borderlands or TF2 and is stumbling over her words and getting nervous because nobody really likes her and she's been consistently shut down and/or ignored and/or bullied for what a nerd she is? How patient and understanding are you.

How much patience do you have for people who say, "I'm sorry, can you please say/explain that again?" Whether after 5 seconds, 5 minutes, 5 hours, or 5 months, there's multiple reasons someone might struggle with this. They might have memory issues. They might have hearing issues. They might have attention span issues. They might have ADHD. They might have DID or OSDD. They might be stressed out and have a million different things on their mind. Or they might have just missed what you said. They might have not heard it or they might have just forgotten.

The point is. I get that it's easy to get caught up in ideals and paper activism but you have to remember that not being ableist requires work. It means that you can't always judge someone by what they enjoy. It means that you have to actually treat disabled people like people. If you don't take actual people into account during your activism, it doesn't mean jack shit. Unlearn your biases. Hopefully this gains some traction but I am begging you to see beyond a black and white viewpoint.

#important #ableism

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josnhoes · 10 months

Text

Dc knak au with the batfam and a fem!disabled reader.

Warning: yandere (knak aus are by base yandere), mentions of illness, mentions of poor mental health

You'd been more tired lately, you noted mentally with a frown. The aches and pains had gotten worse too. When you'd woken up in the new body you had been excited thinking maybe the health problems from your past life would be gone. But no such luck.

In a way it had worked in your favor, no one wanted to adopt a weird kid let alone one who had so many struggles. At least until the Wayne family showed up. It had been a fund raiser thing, you didn't care much for the details; but all the kids at the home were in attendance. You had been forced to come despite being in a lot of pain and feeling oh so worn down.

You stayed away from the other kids, and the various adults who were there to support the home and possibly adopt. You'd limped your way into a quiet corner trying hard not to let the pain in your back make you cry in public. The head of the home sent a glare your way and you knew there would be consequences later.

This was one of the better homes in Gotham, so the punishment wouldn't be abusive. A grounding and a lecture, which sucked since you couldn't help how you physically felt. But they didn't understand, how could they? They were grown able bodied adults and to adults kids exaggerating feeling bad was common. Still you wished they try.

The batfam or the majority that had made the appearance while the others did patrol had been watching the kids like hawks. This entire event set up to scope out rumors of large foster homes being used as a front for trafficking children. They were all pleased to see this one didn't seem to have that issues. But they couldn't help but notice the one child who limped, who looked pale and more tired then any child so small should.

It was Dick who approached you a soft smile on his face, "Hey there kiddo you feeling okay?"

You recognized him no way you couldn't, "It's not important." And it wasn't he had more important things to worry about then you.

"Of course it's important," he tried to reassure you taking note of how his words just made you seem more tired and sad.

"It's really not. I'm always sick and in pain. 'S not contagious or nothing if that's what you're worried about. It just doesn't go away."

"That a pretty big word for someone so little." He gave anlaugh but the concern on his face was painfully obvious. Dick had always been the more open one emotionally, at least when he was in civilian mode. He wasn't completely readable just what he wanted people to read.

You blinked at him looking done. Maybe it was the pain, or the depression, or the over all ick you felt but you snipped at him, "I'm not a fucking idiot dickie-bird. Now please leave me alone, I just..." you gave a sigh deep and pained, "I just want to rest."

Dick was shocked, one you had just cussed at him, and two you used a nickname only Jason used. He didn't know *how* you knew it but he knew there was something about you. Even if the nickname was a coincidence you had his attention and you clearly needed their help.

He left as you closed your eyes. You hoped the matron didn't catch wind that you dropped an F-bomb at one of Bruce Wayne's kids. But at the same time you couldn't bring yourself to care. You just wanted to rest.

You wouldn't get that chance as you were approached again this time by Bruce himself, him and Damien that was. He'd been concerned at your state, but when Dick had told him to speak to you Bruce knew something was up. The whole group had been trying to stop his adoption habit yet his eldest seemed to insist he meet you.

Damien had come over simply to see what the fuss was about. Upon seeing you he couldn't help but think how pathetic you looked. Curled up in a corner so small and frail. Gotham... no the world would tear you apart. Hebwas supposed to protect the weak. He could not leave you here where obviously your needs weren't being met.

The look he shared with his father seemed to echo his own thoughts. That fact soothed him. You would never be like them, a hero; but he'd always kind of wanted a soft little sister to dote on. And if Richard's words were anything to go by you had a spark in you that he wanted to help grow.

Bruce didn't see any signs of abuse as he looked you over. You were a tad thin but he supposed if you'd been sick a while that maybe you were struggling to eat. Equally possible was you just struggled to put on weight. You weren't an unhealthy weight. God you looked so *small* like he could carry you in his hands. You weren't that small but he couldn't help but think it. And how long had it been since there was new tiny feet parading around in the manor? Maybe just maybe it was time to fix that.

#dc knak au #yandere #platonic yandere

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threadsun · 1 year

Text

Anonymous Asks: "Don't have to answer this:

How would the Sunny Day Jack characters (not the manager) and Bo do with an MC that feels useless and stupid. Always messing up, feeling unmotivated to do things, and falling behind work?"

Okay before I answer this I need to know if people adding Barry The Manager to headcanon posts is a common enough thing to warrant a disclaimer like that 😂 is there a thriving Barry The Manager community?? Are people out here Barryposting on main??

Anyway, as for the request, I hope this works for you!

Content: negativity/depression/lack of motivation, therapy, medication, nonsexual bdsm as a coping mechanism, general rejection of capitalist ideas of worth

Jack:

He's Mr. Motivation! This is exactly the sort of thing he was made to help with!

He'll become your #1 cheerleader! He'll get you out of bed every day, make you eat three square meals and drink enough water, give you your 5 a day, everything to keep you healthy!

Too much work and no motivation to do it? He'll help you break it down into smaller pieces and do bits at a time until you're all caught up

He won't stand for any sort of negative talk! No "I can't do it" "I'm useless" "I suck," he'll make you replace every negative thought with a positive one!

Seriously, he's basically your personal CBT/DBT coach! He'll get you out of your slump with no judgement or guilt, just love and support

And if there's anything you need to get done that he can help with, he's absolutely jumping at the chance, of course!

Ian:

He gets it. I mean he really gets it. He's felt that way for a lot of his life, and you were the one to help him through it. So, of course he's going to return the favour!

He won't let you forget how amazing you are and all the things you have managed to do

He takes on anything you need him to, helping you get things done or even just spending time with you while you get things done to help keep you motivated

If you think therapy or some sort of medication would help you, either with your executive function or the negative feelings, he'll happily pay for it himself

He's pretty good at balancing up and deciding what things do and don't need to get done, and what corners you can cut while doing things

Generally, he'll help you come up with quick fixes and coping mechanisms until you can get more help

Shaun:

He's on top of everything all the time. It's almost scary how someone can seem like they've not got their shit together at all while still getting everything done

But that means he knows how to help you cram things at the last minute when you've procrastinated them

He's a master at half-assing things so they're just good enough while not taking all of your time and energy. He'll help you come up with all sorts of cheats!

When you get too overwhelmed and shut down, he'll remove you from the situation and help you calm down before letting you even think about all the things you need to do

He's another person who will help you break things into easier to digest pieces, so you can take things at your own pace and get things done

He's so patient and reassuring, reminding you that productivity isn't what defines your worth

Nick:

Some people will use bdsm and d/s dynamics to keep themselves organised and as a coping mechanism for executive function

Nick is very familiar with that sort of thing, so if it would interest you then he's happy to make you check in with him and show proof of the things you do

He'll help you devise a system of rewards for when you do what you're meant to, and also for when you're gentle and kind with yourself

If that's not your cup of tea, then he'll just help you set up systems that make your work easier for you. He makes sure you know that there's no shame in needing accommodations

Seriously, he's big on using accommodations, whether you have a diagnosed disability or not. If something makes your life easier, he'll encourage you to use it!

He really does go out of his way to help you find systems that work for you so you don't have to struggle

Joseph:

He will NOT accept any sort of negative talk about yourself. No calling yourself stupid or useless

That doesn't mean you can't vent. In fact, he encourages it! But he'll make you change your language to things like "I feel useless" rather than "I am useless"

He gives you space to let your feelings out and he'll listen to your venting. He'll talk it through with you, reminding you to talk to yourself the way you'd talk to him

Seriously, he'll make you say everything you want to say to yourself to him instead, to make you realise how mean you're being to yourself and how unnecessary it is

Once you've understood that, he'll suggest that you give him advice as if he's the one struggling with these things, and then get you to take your own advice instead

He's incredibly understanding and level-headed about it. He'll make you love and support yourself eventually!

Jean:

Look, there's nothing he can't get done with his money and influence, so you never have to worry about getting enough things done when he's around

He'll take everything off your plate, leave you with nothing to worry about while he makes sure everything gets done

But once your plate is cleared, he'll start focusing on your feelings and lack of motivation. He's not going to just fix things for you, he's going to help heal you too

If it's therapy you want, he'll happily pay for it. If you need money or need him to buy you things that'll help you be productive, he'll do that too

He's not got many of his own suggestions about how to fix it since he's always been almost too motivated and struggles to turn off work-mode, but he'll try his best

He'll look to you for guidance, asking what you want to try rather than suggesting things

Bo:

He has no idea why you might think that you're useless just because you don't get work done or mess things up

Seriously, he doesn't. Of course you're useful! You make him happy, you try your best, you impact the world around you. Of course you're useful, you're alive!

His whole outlook on life is so different from a human's. Productivity isn't a measure of worth, and he's one of the lucky ones who realises that

He makes you set aside anything that isn't 100% necessary to do, and instead makes you connect with the world around you and realise you matter just because you exist

Once you feel recharged and ready to conquer the important things, he helps you with them. But he's always there to remind you to just ignore the stuff that doesn't matter

Seriously, he'll change your entire world view if you let him. He'll remind you of what it means to be alive

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simpsforwomen · 11 months

Note

Can you do Enid x nb!disabled!reader(totes cool if you don’t know how to write it just like have the reader use a cane or smth) idk if that makes :(

; Also fluff plz :)

✧ reply: Ask and you shall receive! :D

❦ 𝗝𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝗬𝗼𝘂

✧ warnings: n/a

✧ pairing(s): Enid Sinclair x gn!paralyzed!reader

✧ summary: (request)

✧ word count: 444

✧ a/n: I would like to say thank you for the request. It gave me motivation to write again especially since my depression came back these past few months. I've been focusing on school, extracurriculars, and the old requests from people I have piled up in my inbox. I feel guilty for not tending to those sooner so this is an apology to ya'll. I will start publishing them this week and actually finish making my masterlists. Again, I'm sorry you had to wait so long. I just I love you guys so much and don't want to let anyone down.

☠︎︎☠︎︎☠︎︎☠︎︎☠︎︎☠︎︎☠︎︎☠︎︎☠︎︎☠︎︎☠︎︎☠︎︎☠︎︎☠︎︎☠︎︎☠︎︎☠︎︎☠︎︎☠︎︎☠︎︎

Your legs have been paralyzed for most of your life but it wasn't always as bad as others make it seem. Sure, there were and will always be challenges throughout your life but people like Enid made them a lot easier.

It was the last day of school before summer break and you were in your wheelchair, being pushed by your girlfriend down the halls. She's really excited for summer and you knew from the moment you saw her this morning. The skipping said it all.

Enid leaned over your shoulder as she ran her fingers through your hair. "Babe?"

"Mhm?" You hummed, enjoying her gentle caresses.

"Do you wanna go somewhere together after school today?"

You barely gave the question any thought. "Sure, where were you thinking?" You'd do anything with your beloved girlfriend.

"Well...ooh! I heard there's a fair in town. We can go tonight for a date!"

"Sounds lovely, darling." You agreed, giggling at her excitement.

The two of you finished your last class of the year and arrived at the fair with the help of Principal Weems. Both of you were grateful she offered a ride. One that was filled with many loving caresses. And when all of you had reached the desired destination, Enid helped you back onto your wheelchair, thanking the Principal.

"Have fun girls!" Ms. Weems exclaimed as the three of you parted ways.

Knowing that you couldn't get on most rides, Enid suggested the two of you get food instead, not that she minded. You both settled down at a nearby picnic table after purchasing fries, burgers, and various flavors of cotton candy. She was eating her burger when you noticed some red sauce on her face.

"You've got some ketchup on your chin." You giggled as you reached across the table, helping her wipe the sauce away.

She blushed and looked down, avoiding eye contact. "Thanks." She muttered, just barely loud enough for you to hear.

Reaching under the table, you took ahold of her hand to caress it, causing her cheeks to turn a darker shade of red. "You're so cute..."

Right after the two of you finished eating, you heard an explosion coming from the sky. Looking up, you saw beautiful fireworks in all different colors and shapes. Taking your lover's hand, you placed a gentle kiss on the back, causing a familiar shade of red to return to her cheeks.

"I love you..." You said, resting your head on her shoulder.

With that, she began to stroke your hair. "I love you too, honey bun..."

#enid x reader #enid sinclair #enid sinclair x reader #enid x y/n #enid x you #enid sinclair x y/n #enid sinclair x you #fluff #gn reader #emma myers #oneshot #enid #emma myers x reader #request #nevermore #fem reader

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strangesthirdeye · 10 months

Text

A Silent Voice (S.Strange x Mute! Female Reader)

Summary: born as a special girl who couldn't speak since birth, Y/n became the talk of the every schools she went because of her lack of speech. And then she intends to do something that is 'good' for her until Stephen came to save her.

As usual, I'm sorry if there are any wrong sentences or typos or grammatical mistakes, please forgive me and again English is not my first language, so I try to improve my language and writing in this way.

Warning: fluff, so many dramatic words, Stephen being a sweetheart, Negative thoughts, negative words, suicide attempt, bullying, angst.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Born as a special female child where you are unable to make a sound out of your mouth, even if you want to laugh out loud, there is scratchy or no sound that comes out of your throat. As if something is blocking your voice box from making any sound. And this causes you to be bullied and scolded in high school because you are a mute girl.

Mute Girl.

That's what they called you when you were in school. A girl who is unable to make a sound out of her own mouth as if she is being held to not speak in her own body. Other children will see you as a quiet person and often take advantage of your lack of speaking to bully and insult your existence.

This happens all the time you study at that school. Why? Because of your lack of speaking. They will bully you to the point of using abusive words and saying something negative about you. And they know, you won't tell anyone because you yourself can't get your voice out of your own throat even if you use sign language. They don't understand.

And because it happened over time it got worse and worse until you were physical hurts, you were forced to transfer to another school. But, the same thing still happens even if you set foot in a new school.

But thankfully, you have parents who support your disability. It is your parents who often give you encouragement to continue living and always comfort you if you come home with bruises or in a sad state after being bullied. They are the pillars of your life. You will do anything for them.

They are also the ones who are willing to learn sign language in order to communicate with you even if you are not deaf, but there is nothing wrong if they want to learn too, right? Over time, the case of bullying became something that was quite bad for you until your parents decided to homeschool you. They will call teachers from outside to teach you until you can study at the University with the knowledge you have.

But unfortunately. Just when you were 21 years old, both your parents died in a plane crash. And causing you to manage the funeral alone because both of your parents are only children. There is no aunts or uncles or even cousins nor did siblings to help you. You are only child...Grandma and grandpa? sadly they have met their creator.

This also causes you to break down and find it difficult to get a job because of your disability. Although you also use the method of writing what you want to say on the notebook that you always carry. But, sadly they don't want to hire you as an employee.

You are lost. You don't know what to do with your life right now. What's the point of studying if you can't get a job? And from there you start hating yourself. You don't like being a mute person. You don't like being born mute. You want to scream and cry until your throat hurts but you can't get it out of your own throat. You can't ask for help. You hate everything.

You feel that you do not deserve to live in this world. You are just a wasteful human to live in this big world. Oh, it would be nice if you weren't born.

8 years later, right after you were in a state of depression. You begin to see the world in a different light. Kamar Taj. A place where people who are not accepted will be accepted here. A place where all problems will disappear like dust in the wind. A quiet place that removes all negative thoughts from the mind. You still think about the time you set foot here for the first time.

The day on which you should end your life in this world. A few years ago, you were supposed to go home but you were emotionally down, you changed direction to go to a construction site not far from your house and there you planned to end your life by falling from the partially finished building.

You were in a nervous state while on top of the partially finished building looking down. Your brain calculates how long it will take you to the bottom. How fast will you get to the bottom? Is it fast like you are sleeping or slow like you are swimming in the deep ocean? And will you realize that you will fall from the height of the building that almost reached the 13-story building?.

But everything is ignored by you. Besides, you slowly started to release your hand from the safety rail. The strong wind began to blow hard against your neatly tied hair and began to fly until your red ribbon was torn off and flew away into the night sky. Here it is, this way you can be with your family. No one will be able to bully and insult you again. There will be no more life problems that you have to go through. Everything will be peaceful and calm.

Then, in peace you are now. You can hear the voice of your mother and father as if calling you in a soft voice. Convinced you to be with them in their sweet verses. You can feel their touch but you can't hold them. So, what you do is, you immediately let go of your strong hold on the safety rail without a second thought and just want to be with them.

However, everything stopped the moment you felt yourself being pulled from your shirt. And immediately you were pulled hard and thrown backwards and collided with the body of someone who pulled your shirt. You with your struggle slapped the hand of someone who did that aggressively as if you were angry that your plan didn't go smoothly. Whatever you want to do, there must be something stopping you.

You punched and slapped someone's hands hard and with a quick mind you lowered your head and opened your mouth and bitten someone's hand so hard that it caused the owner of the hand to scream with a hoarse voice. Oh, it turns out that the owner of the hand is a man. You didn't know that it was a man pulling your shirt because the pitch black atmosphere made it difficult for you to see so, you thoughtlessly did so.

"Stop! hey! ouch. Don't bite me!" shouted the man while trying to free his hand from biting you.

You then stop. Then released the bite from the man's hand immediately, before with a struggle you push yourself from your current position which is you on top of the man. You then got up but tripped causing you to fall down as soon as you hit some bricks that were there. You quickly moved back while your eyes looked at the man who was still lying down who was also stroking his hand that you had bitten earlier. You then in a state of fear, you reached for some iron bars near you as weapons. Worried if the man is dangerous or a rapist or a serial killer. At least you have a weapon to fight him.

The man started to get up and sat looking around as if he was looking for your whereabouts in the dark night before his ears caught the sound of an iron bar being moved in front of him. Immediately his eyes looked directly at your glance which was 5 centimeters from where he was.

The man tried to approach you by slowly crawling towards you. You who were still stiff in front of him began to hold the iron bar tightly with both hands before swinging the iron bar in the hope that the man would distance himself from you. The man stopped and distanced himself from the swing of the iron bar from you, worried that he would get injured again. The imprint of your teeth still looks perfect in his hands. That's enough to make him wary of you. You seems small but you have a strength that he himself could not expect.

The man held his hands forward. "wow, wow. Stop! What are you doing?! It's dangerous to swing that iron bar. You'll get hurt. So stop swinging that iron bar!"

You who were still in fear stopped as soon as you heard the man's shout. there is also truth in what he said. If you are injured, who will treat you later? Slowly, you lowered the iron bar down but still held the iron bar tightly as a sign of caution.

The man sighed in relief and looked at you. "don't worry, I won't do anything to you. I just want to check if you have any injuries after I pulled you so hard earlier. I'm sorry about that." said the man before slowly crawling towards you.

You who are still cautious let him approach you but your hand still holds the iron bar tightly. As soon as the man was in front of you, he slowly reached both of your hands holding the iron bar. With both of his hands on both of yours, he grabbed your fingers as a sign of releasing the tight grip. You who were finally able to see the man's face began to release your grip. Your eyes looked at the man's face. Sharp cheekbones, pale skin, short black hair and white lines on each side of the head and eyes that you yourself can't be sure what color they are.

The light of the moon shone in his grayish blue eyes. It's like an ocean of night illuminated by the light of the moon which is also decorated with stars in the sky. The spark in his eyes is clearly visible and this can make you mesmerized by the man's face.

Without realizing it, the iron bar in your hand was placed to your side far away from where you were. And now you only have empty hands. The man looked at you with a frown.

"Are you ok? Let me check you, maybe you are injured." said the man in a deep but soft voice as his hand held your palm that had scratches from the rough and sharp iron bar.

You who seemed to be mesmerized immediately snapped out of the trance and looked at the man cautiously. You still think that this man looks handsome but maybe he is dangerous. Maybe he is trying to soften your heart before he does something bad to you.

You flinched. You can feel the pain and soreness that now dominates your palm and it's enough to snap you out of your reverie. All the dreams that play in your mind immediately disappear like dust blown by the wind. With adrenaline still pumping fast in your veins, you started trying to pull your hands from the man's grasp. His grip is not strong but his grip is enough to make you struggle to free yourself.

The man could only hold your hand tightly. As if not wanting to let go of you. Worry if you start doing unexpected things.

You who are able to pull and struggle are only able to do so because you know that you will not be able to ask for help with your disability. But that doesn't mean you can't fight this guy! You are strong ok! If you kicked this man in his private are-

"stop it, missy. I'm not going to do anything to you. I just want to know if you're hurt or not. After all, you should thank me for saving you from trying to jump off this building. Luckily, I'm nearby in this area." explained the man with a tone of disbelief. He really didn't believe in you right after you did 'that' stunt.

And what you did after that he didn't believe it himself. You tried to scream but you couldn't get your voice out and what he saw was that you only opened your mouth with a hoarse voice that sounded like it was stuck.

Your hand was still held without being released by the man. The man frowned strangely at you.

"Hey, what are you trying to do? Are you okay? Do you want me to make an emergency call?" asked the man. He himself does not know what you are doing now.

You shut your mouth. Then looked at the man with an almost nervous face. Worried if this man thought you were crazy, your eyes continued to glaze over with tears and immediately tears began to fall down your cheeks.

The man strangely looked at you with concern. He himself did not know what was happening now. All he knows is that you are now sobbing for no reason. He slowly approached you and held both of your shoulders and hugged you gently trying to persuade you. His hand caressed your back gently. The sound of your cries now only sounds muffled in the man's chest.

"hey, come on. Don't cry.. I won't do anything to you, you know? I'll just save you. Yeah?" said the man in a soft voice trying to persuade you.

After a few moments, you stopped crying and moved your head away from his chest which you yourself just noticed was quite strong.. ohh, handsome and strong.. enough!.

The light of the moon slowly makes it easier for you to see a glimpse of the man in front of you. The man wore a gray T-shirt and a black jacket. The t shirt is a bit tight for him but it fits him, making it easy for you to see his lean and muscular body. He wore black pants and gray and white converse shoes to complete his outfit that night. So, here is the face and glimpse of your savior.

You looked at the man with your red eyes after just a few minutes of crying. Embarrassed, you looked down. Try to avoid eye contact with him. Worry if he sees how you are now. The man slowly grabbed your shoulder and squeezed gently.

The man lifted your chin to look into your eyes. "My name is Doctor Stephen Strange, so you don't have to be afraid because I won't do anything to you, understand? You don't have to be afraid, I just want to check if you're hurt or not."

' Oh, ' your heart whispered as soon as you heard what Stephen said earlier.

He only meant well. You are the only one who thinks negatively and acts recklessly. You looked into Stephen's eyes for a long time. Try to find any negative things that might be hidden just to soften your heart. But, what you see is only positive things and a little worry. You relieve yourself instantly.

Stephen let out a light sigh, then moved his hand to examine your palm which was now covered in scratches from falling and holding the rough and sharp iron bar.

"see, I just want to know if you are injured or not but because of the stunt you did earlier, it has gotten worse. I'm just worried that this wound will get infected." Stephen gently caressed the scratches on your palm.

You flinched again. Finally you know how painful your palms and your elbows are. Your adrenaline has now run out so all the pain can now be felt by you. Just after you could feel how sore your palm was, you tried to pull your hand away but Stephen gripped your hand tightly.

"No, let me see and help you.. please. I know you're scared, so I'm trying to help you.. what you did just now is not what you should have done. Your life is not meant to be taken for granted. You have time to live and you want to leave it like that? Suicide is not the way for you to run away from problems. Even you die, the problems will follow you no matter the time, place or what. You need help.. you need someone.. Let me have this opportunity to help you." Stephen explained in a soft but firm tone. His hands gripped your hands tightly. His eyes looked straight into yours.

It was quiet. Only the sound of the wind blowing on the plastic wrapped around the bricks can be heard. Someone. You need someone to help you. Someone who is willing to help you find the meaning of life. Someone who understands your problems.

After a few moments later, you nodded, letting him help you. Stephen sighed heavily and brought your palm closer to his face, trying to examine the scratches that were quite a lot and some of them were so deep. Stephen then pulled your sleeve aside to check for any other injuries. And apparently there were bruises on your arms too.. probably from Stephen pulling you and possibly your hand hitting the cement floor hard.

Stephen sighed lightly. "I'm sorry if I pulled you hard earlier.. if I hadn't acted quickly.. you would have fallen."

You shook your head, 'it's okay'. Stephen frowned.

"I didn't know you didn't talk much...."said Stephen in a tone trying to raise the cheer up mood from the sad mood.

You could only look at Stephen with a frown. Then, you let go of your hands and made a simple sign for Stephen to understand as if showing your mouth and shaking your head as a sign that you are someone who cannot speak.

Stephen widened his eyes and anxiously he looked elsewhere and avoided eye contact with you. Shame because he didn't know that you were a mute from the beginning. All the signs were shown in front of his eyes, but he himself did not see them.

"Oh! I'm sorry.. I didn't notice you.. mute.. " Stephen looked down in shame. He should be able to tell you're a mute by the way you try to scream. Oh, how stupid he is.

You looked at Stephen for a long time. You are stunned. Don't know what to do. This was the first time you heard someone apologize and not scold you for being mute. All this time, they just mocked and ignored you and even bullied you no matter where you were. This is the first time you've heard words other than profanity.

You nodded, a sign that you accepted the forgiveness. Stephen breathed a sigh of relief. Then, Stephen gently reached your hands again.

Stephen then stroked your arm with his thumb. "I think, I can help you take care of this at my place.. it's not far from here.. I just grabbed my sling ring and opened the porta-" Stephen stopped. Should he tell you that he is a sorcerer.. You must think it's a joke. Worry about your fear when he summons a portal out of nowhere. Stephen shook his head.

"I should have told you that I have magic, so you might feel scared when I use one of my magic to open the portal.. feel free to runaway" Stephen said looking at your face with a worried frown.

You frowned, confused. Magic? Is this a joke? seriously magic? He thinks you'll believe what he says? there is no magic in this world. It's impossible if he has magic. It is not possible for a magician to claim that he has magic or not.

You looked at Stephen for a long time. Try to find any indication that what he said was not a joke or yes. But, there is no indication that he is a fraud. This makes you hesitate a bit to believe it. Maybe he is good at hiding all his deceptions. We do not know if what we see is true or not. What we want is that things will be true if we see what is in front of our eyes.

Without realizing that you looked at Stephen for a long time, this made Stephen feel uncomfortable under your gaze. Round eyes as if trying to see everything inside his body. Stephen hesitantly snapped his fingers in front of your eyes, trying to snap out of your daydreams. With a jerk, you snapped back to reality and looked at Stephen before shyly looking down. Maybe embarrassed that you were caught daydreaming in front of him.

"like I said, I don't plan to scare you so I have to open the portal if that's what you want to call.. So feel free to run away. I won't chase you." said Stephen carefully and in a low tone trying not to scare you .

He understands that not everyone in this world believes in magic or the supernatural. Some will believe with what is in front of their eyes but others will reject with what is in front of their eyes as well. So that was not a new thing that Stephen had been through. Everyone has their own choice. It's just whether to believe or not.

Slowly, you looked at Stephen hesitantly. Thinking about whether or not to follow him. The feeling of fear is still hovering inside you as well as the feeling of wanting help. You really need help but you still have trust issues in yourself. At first you didn't dare to ask for help because you don't want the same thing to happen again. But, seeing the look Stephen gave you, for some reason you suddenly felt that you could trust him. In his eyes, that's enough to make you calm and trust him. His sincere and helpful look is shown to you and it is enough to make you accept help from him.

With an open heart, you nodded as if you would follow him and not run away. Stephen looked into your eyes with a feeling that he himself could not describe. A rather warm and relieved feeling suddenly took over him. It's as if he was captivated by your shy personality. The feel of your hands in his is enough to make him speechless. Even if your hands has scratches or wounds, he can still feel your smooth and soft skin in his palm.

But, what he doesn't know is that you also have the same feelings. Stephen returned to reality. Looking at you one last time before he nodded and let go of your hands. Immediately the warm touch that he started to like disappeared as soon as their hands were released. You sighed heavily. A sign as if you don't like the touch is over. You want to hold his warm hand again. You want to feel all the veins and skin in his big hands.

By putting his hand in his pants pocket, Stephen took out a ring from his pocket. You frowned, confused.

'uh, a ring? does he want to propose? I don't even know him yet and he wants to propose me or what? ' you thought jokingly.

Stephen looked at the ring on his palm and looked at you. The strange ring with two holes and colored bronze in Stephen's hand was shown to your face.

"This is the Sling Ring. This is what allows me to open the portal so you don't have to walk far to go anywhere." Stephen explained to you who was still frowning.

'sling ling? Slingy? ' you thought confusedly.

You tilted your head slightly to the side as 'how'. Stephen quickly understood your body movements and started to insert his fingers into the ring then he turned his back to you. The hand with the ring is pointed forward while the other hand is turned clockwise.

You confusedly saw what Stephen was doing and widened your eyes when you saw a spark that came out of nowhere in front of you. Your mouth dropped open as you saw the sparks getting bigger and bigger and more and more making them form a circle. What makes you stunned is that behind the spark is a grand staircase

made of teak wood leading to the upper floor. The gleaming wooden floor must be waxed every week and what amazes you is a large round window that forms a symbol.

After the spark was big enough, Stephen stopped moving his hands and looked at the stunned you. The open mouth and round eyes are enough to make him know that you are stunned by what you just witnessed. It's not always that people like you have seen things like this. So, Stephen understood their reaction because he himself was the same at the first time.

Stephen then extended his hand towards you as if he wanted you to take his hand. You who were in a dazed state then noticed Stephen's hand in front of you. You looked at his hand hesitantly then slowly you took Stephen's hand. His hand that felt rough and large was held tightly by you as soon as Stephen stepped into the realm of sparks called the portal. If that's what you want to call it.

As soon as you enter the portal, you look around the new place with wide eyes. A big place like a museum becomes an attraction for you when antiques and strange things are placed there and become a focal point that makes you not run away from looking at it. The shiny wooden floor as well as the big staircase in the middle of the place become a highlight of this museum-like place.

You looked at Stephen. 'but, where am I now? ' whisper your heart. You then squeezed Stephen's hand that was holding yours. Immediately, Stephen who still didn't notice his hand holding you jerked and looked at you with slightly widened eyes.

Stephen then looked at his hand that was still holding yours. Without thinking, he let go of his hand. Your hand that Stephen was holding quickly fell to the side. You don't know why for you that act makes you unhappy. Is it because you can't feel his rough and warm hands that are quite comfortable for you? or do you just want to hold his hand which is a bit bigger than you? I don't know. But, that makes you uncomfortable and luckily you are good at hiding your feelings.

"I'm sorry, I didn't notice that I was still holding your hand. I'm sorry if that made you uncomfortable" Stephen lowered his head a little while stroking the back of his neck. You make a sign as if 'it's okay' with your thumb and index finger on your dominant hand meeting, making a circle, while the remaining fingers point up slightly separated. Stephen nodded in understanding. You then looked at Stephen while waving your hand in the air as if to show the surrounding area and shook your head to the side in confusion. Stephen was stunned trying to understand what you meant. Understandably, he doesn't really know sign language or what signs are easy to understand. Even if you try to make something easy to understand, he still can't catch what it means.

"sorry, I don't know what you mean.. do you want me to get paper and a pen to write down what you want to ask? I can get it for you" said Stephen getting ready to go up the stairs.

You shake your head. Then you quickly took out your phone from the pocket of the hoodie you were wearing. You open the note application and start typing. As soon as you finished, you turned your phone to Stephen.

Stephen tilted his head slightly to look at the phone screen in your hand. although he is tall and you are shorter than him so the difference is quite noticeable so he had to reduce his height for you by bending his legs a little. One more thing, your arms are not very long so that's why Stephen needs to bow down a bit.

' what place is this? '

Stephen looked at your face and at the same time you looked at Stephen's face. Slowly, you lowered your hand holding the phone to the side. You each looked at each other's faces for a moment before you both snapped out of your reverie when a flash of red appeared in front of you both making you both startled.

Stephen massaged his chest slowly trying to calm his fast heartbeat. You stepped back with a shocked face as soon as your eyes caught that red flash. A bright red cloak floated in front of Stephen while swinging its cloth in front of Stephen as if angry with Stephen. The shocked looking Stephen looked at his faithful cloak with a frown.

"Levi, yes I know, I didn't want to leave you in the washing machine on purpose. I thought Wong would take you and dry you but I didn't know that Wong had a job at the Hong Kong Sanctum. I'm sorry" said Stephen as he swung his hand to hold his faithful cloak.

Levi stopped what he was doing. Then he quickly slapped Stephen's left hand with his wet cloth. Stephen jerked and pulled his hand painfully and stroked his hand with his right hand. Stephen winced in pain as he rubbed his damp left hand with his right hand.

"What's that for?! Why did you hit me? I said sorry earlier, right?" Stephen said, looking at Levi with a disgruntled and confused expression.

Levi just floated in front of Stephen and then with a twist that caused a splash of water to hit Stephen's face, Levi began to notice your presence.

You who witnessed the interaction between the master and his cloth looked at Levi with a surprised and scared plus curious expression on your face. All the questions start to appear in your mind. How can it float? is it alive what is this thing?. You started getting closer to Levi trying to see the material of the cloth that for Levi was his body.

Although Levi's body is a bit wet and damp, but you can see that the fabric is smooth and rough to hold, in fact it is quite strong. The dark red color that looks like black because it is damp looks a bit faded but it can appear to be red. Maybe it is used regularly and durable.

You extended your right hand towards Levi. Try to touch it. Levi who was floating in front of you started to move closer to your hand. Levi nuzzled into your hand like a spoiled cat with its master. You smiled as you stroked Levi's damp fabric. Stephen who witnessed the act was stunned and silent. He doesn't expect you to like Levi and is not afraid of him at all. In fact, he didn't expect you to treat Levi like a cat. He also did not expect Levi to accept new people to spoil. Levi is difficult and picky so Stephen doesn't expect that Levi can warm up with you quickly.

Stephen cleared his throat. Immediately you and Levi jerked and looked at Stephen at the same time.

"um.. that's The Cloak of Levitation. Just call him Levi. I didn't even expect that he could warm up to you so quickly. So far he's never done that and will only be with me. He's the type that chooses people because I didn't expect that he warmed up to you." Stephen explained as he walked over to you and Levi.

Levi looked at you and you looked at Stephen and nodded in understanding.

" and to answer your question. We are now in New York Sanctum. Greenwich Village if you want to be more specific. " Stephen continued.

You looked at Stephen for a long time in disbelief. Greenwich Village and your house are nowhere near. Far from your home but yet you are here. In New York.

You started typing quickly on your phone before turning the phone screen to Stephen. Stephen started reading what you typed.

' No way we're in Greenwich Village. It's far from my house! how am I going to get home later?'

Stephen was silent. Ok, he doesn't know that your house is far from here, but he just wants to help you. Stephen sighed heavily.

"don't worry, I can open a portal like before to your house after I help clean the injuries on both your hands and arms. After that you can give me your home address and you can go back home. How about that? Miss-"

You typed your name and showed it to Stephen.

"Y/n L/n..." Stephen said softly.

You nodded.

"Alright, let's go to the kitchen. I think there's a first aid kit in the kitchen cabinet so let's go there" Stephen said then turned and started walking down the hallway towards the kitchen.

You looked at Levi hesitantly. Levi just lifted his cloth as a 'shrug' sign. You blinked and without being told, you started to follow Stephen from behind.

ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̽‿̩͙‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̽‿̩͙‿̩͙‿̩̩̽‿̩͙‿̩͙‿̩̩̽‿̩͙‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̽‿̩͙‘⸊ˎ

"just a little bit, don't move" Stephen said while rubbing the white cotton that had been coated with antiseptic on the wound on your palm.

You flinched in pain. Eyes twitched a little holding back the pain in the palm. Stephen stopped for a moment when he saw your pained reaction before going back to rubbing the cotton again.

After a few minutes of treating and applying a plaster to your wound, Stephen then threw the cotton in the trash and walked to the freezer to get an ice cube. Then, he took a cloth and covered the ice with the cloth before wrapping it tightly so that it would not fall. After that, the cloth with ice was brought by Stephen to give to you. Stephen handed you the cloth. You took it and jerked at the coldness of the cloth before it was brought to the bruise on your arm.

The atmosphere in the kitchen was quiet. Only the noise of car and motorcycle engines could be heard in the wilds of Sanctum. Stephen just looked at you. His eyes focused on your sweet face. The face that will always be in his mind. Your soft smooth skin, as well as your eyes that light up as soon as he opens the portal to the Sanctum and your suspicious reaction which for him is quite.. cute. Where your forehead is wrinkled and your mouth is open because you are speechless.

For him it's quite.. beautiful. But, he was a little sad the moment he saw you on top of the half-finished building. He knows you have personal problems but suicide is not the way to go. You need help and that help is Stephen.

Stephen broke the silence by asking you a question.

"Why are you on top of that half-finished building at night like this?"

You stop what you are doing now. Embarrassed, you looked at Stephen with a sad face before you reached for your phone that was placed next to you and started typing.

'you do not need to know. It has nothing to do with you. That's my problem so you don't need to know'

"but, if you were on the top of that building to commit suicide, don't you think your dead body will be a matter for other people? They must want to know how you could die, want to know what problems you are facing plus want to know what you did alone on top of the half-finished building. So I ask you again, what did you do to be on top of that building?" Asked Stephen then sit in front of you.

You looked down sadly. But, your fingers quickly typed on the phone before showing it to Stephen.

'I'm tired of being scolded by others because of my disability. Just because I can't speak I'm treated badly by them. From childhood to adulthood I was treated like that. I thought, after studying and working.. that matter is over. But unfortunately it will not end. Their treatment of me is the same. I find it hard to get a job, not to mention my budget is getting less and less.. I sometimes think.. why does the world hate me? Why was I born with this? There is a level where I can't bear to face all this. So I thought, if I'm not in this world, all this must not happen to me again... No one can help me..'

Stephen was silent for a moment, his eyes still focused on the phone screen. But, his thoughts were snapped the moment he heard the sniffles from you. His eyes then looked at your face which was red and your cheeks were wet with tears.

Stephen then grabbed your hand that was holding the phone. He gently took your hand and took your phone from your hand. The phone was placed next to you again and Stephen slowly hugged your body gently. Stephen rested his chin on your head as his hands stroked your back and hair softly and slowly.

"it's okay.. don't cry.. You're not wrong but what you did earlier was wrong. You should ignore what they say. I'm here.. I can help you.. please.. let me help you. Your life is not your own. Keeps your hands off it. You don't have to worry about work anymore.. I can help you." Stephen said softly.

You sobbed into his chest before nodding your head allowing him to help you. This is what you wanted all along. Help. The help you should have gotten in the first place. People who understand your true situation and who don't complain. Sincere help from the heart.

"Y/n?"

You opened your eyes that had been closed for a long time but narrowed your eyelids due to the light of the midday sun. As soon as your eyes were adjusted by blinking a few times to be able to see clearly, you turned your body slightly backwards to see who was calling you.

"Honey, there you are. I've been looking for you in the library but you weren't there so I came here because I know you might be here." said Stephen with a tired voice, his hands seemed to be holding a small body wrapped in a blue cloth on his chest. Stephen approached you and sat next to you.

You then started signing to Stephen.

"I'm sorry, I should have told you that I was teaching a class earlier and meditation for a while. I shouldn't have left you alone with Victor. Sorry"

You then took your one and a half year old son from Stephen's arms. Victor Strange. You and Stephen's only son. His eyes follow his father while his hair follows you. A healthy and strong baby is born and raised by you both. Victor who was still sleeping then whimpered when his sleep was interrupted by you taking Victor from Stephen's arms. You patted Victor's side gently trying to calm him down so he would go back to sleep.

Stephen shook his head slightly. "don't worry, Victor has been sleeping for a long time now so it's not a problem and you have class which is I understand because I also have my own work. So you don't have to worry. We are both always busy. And seeing that you are stressed I understand that you need time to de-stress so I don't want to disturb you but because I'm bored and want to get out of Sanctum and I don't want to leave Victor alone, so I'll go find you."

You nodded and looked at Victor who was still sleeping. Stephen who was looking at you could sense that something was playing in your mind. Something that makes you distracted by your surroundings.

"Are you okay?" Stephen asked in a worried tone and looked at you with concern.

You looked at your husband with an uncertain expression. You are afraid to say the truth that the feeling of fear and insecurity is still in you because of what happened before you were in the Taj Room. You know it was a long time ago, but old wounds can still open if something triggers that feeling of fear and insecurity.

You don't want to worry about Stephen because you know he deals a lot with other things so you don't want to add more problems to him. Enough with the problems happening in this mystic world that Stephen has to deal with, let alone deal with your personal problems.

"yeah, I'm fine. I'm just tired from the class before" you sign to your husband with simple sign language.

Stephen looked at you for a long time. "You know what's going on with your mind, you can just tell me right?"

You nodded slowly. There is no other way to avoid telling the truth to Stephen. So you just give up.

"I just remember the first day we met.. You know 'that day' right?"you sign

Stephen nodded and moved closer to you and placed his hands all over your body. He hugged you gently.

"yes, I remember. You don't have to think about that anymore. Everything is ok now. I'm with you, Victor is with you. You don't have to worry about all those things anymore because we'll always be with you." Stephen whispered softly in your ear. His right hand caressed your head while his left hand caressed Victor's body.

You nodded your head slowly. Without realizing that your eyes are filled with tears. You were touched by what Stephen said earlier. Yes, it's true that you don't have to worry about that anymore. You don't have to think about negative things anymore because you have two people you love and are always with you no matter where you are. Old things are left to be old things. Now you need to focus on new things.

#benedict cumberbatch x reader #benedict cumberbatch #doctor stephen strange #doctor strange x female reader #doctor strange x reader #doctor strange 2016 #marvel mcu #dr stephen strange x reader #stephen strange x reader

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serickswrites · 9 months

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you don't need to answer this but I just found your blog and started reading Roadtrip and so far I ADORE it, omg, every chapter makes me clench my teeth in anticipation, like I KNOW what's coming because of the tags and I'm still on the edge of my seat

I'll be off to read the rest of your stuff once I'm done omg you deserve a whump crown

Oh my goodness, anon, you are so sweet! I am so glad you enjoyed Roadtrip, it was my first series! (Which is wild to think about now, lol). I am so glad you are enjoying it and I am blushing at your compliments. You are far too kind.

Please enjoy a little Drabble for stopping by!

Warnings: kidnapping, restraints, gag, drugging, yandere? Whumper

Whumper waited until Whumpee was asleep to make their move. They had been waiting for this moment for days. They had everything they needed, everything planned to a T. They had waited for Caretaker to be out of town. Waited for Whumpee to be alone. Waited for Whumpee to be their most vulnerable.

And now their time had come.

Whumper unlocked the back door and disabled the alarm—Whumpee was too predictable for Whumper to not be able to guess the code. They crept silently through Whumpee’s house until they reached Whumpee’s bedroom. Whumpee slept peacefully on their side, curled around a pillow where Caretaker usually slept. Pathetic.

In a flash, Whumper straddled Whumpee pinning Whumpee to the bed, had their hand over Whumpee’s mouth, and a syringe full of sedative pressed to Whumpee’s neck. Whumpee’s eyes jolted open as they thrashed trying to get away. “Forget about escaping, Whumpee,” Whumper cooed as they depressed the plunger on the syringe, “you have no chance. I’ve made a plan for anything. You’re mine now.”

Whumpee’s thrashing became weaker and weaker as the drugs took effect. They glared up at Whumper as their eyes grew hazy. It was only when they finally went limp did Whumper loosen their hold on Whumpee’s mouth. Quickly they slipped the gag into Whumpee’s mouth, taking care to tie it as tightly as possible while leaving Whumpee’s nose free—it wouldn’t do to suffocate Whumpee just yet. Not before they had their fun.

They rolled Whumpee on their side and bound Whumpee’s hands tightly behind their back, taking care to ensure there was no way for Whumpee to slip the ropes. They bound Whumpee’s ankles just as tightly as well. They stepped back to admire their work. Weeks of planning led up to this. And now they were going to have their fun.

Whumper lifted Whumpee roughly, dropping them on the ground with great relish. They dragged Whumpee along towards the door once more. They didn’t care if Whumpee was banged up before they got to their cabin. That didn’t matter. All that mattered was that they had Whumpee. They lifted Whumpee once more, taking a moment to admire how well their plan went as they stared down at Whumpee’s face. Whumpee was theirs now. And they were going to have their fun.

They tossed Whumpee into the trunk of the car, banging Whumpee’s head on the tail light accidentally. “Whoops,” Whumper chuckled, “though I guess a few bumps on the head won’t matter much.” They arranged Whumpee such that they would fit in the trunk, but it would be painful once Whumpee woke. If Whumpee woke during the journey. Whumper was fairly certain they had dosed Whumpee sufficiently that they wouldn’t wake up until after they got to the cabin. But they could always dose Whumpee again.

Whumper hummed as they slammed the trunk closed. They walked to the front of the car with a little pep in their step. They were going to have so much fun.

#serickswrites #whump #whump writing #whumpblr #whump community #tw captivity #tw restraints #tw gags #tw drugging #tw manhandling #tw kidnapping #yandere? whumper #requests #queue

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bomberqueen17 · 7 months

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car shopping part 1

ok i had capslock on when i started typing this and i startled myself, lol. i am. a bit tired and punchy. BUT. All hail my lovely middle-little sister, who volunteered to come take me to car dealerships last night.

Here are my extremely scientific notes on how that went, so that I can narrow down my car choices for definitely for sure:

1) Honda: we went to a Honda dealership, and my mom has a CR-V which I've driven and it's... fine, so I tried the HR-V, which is smaller. The sales guy immediately without asking was like "here you want this one" and had me test-drive a used 2020 model-- low mileage, nice car, but used. "Won't be here in a couple days tho, act fast," he said, and gave me his card. I'd told him this was the very first car of my search and I wasn't in a hurry. He didn't show me anything new, or tell me about anything new, but did say there were often quite long waits for new cars. Gotcha. Like, I'm not mad, but I'm also not going to pay $23,9 for a three-year old car when the current year's model is $24k. You know? I don't care how long the warranty is.

2) Subaru: we went because it was right there. Wandered around the parking lot. Crosstreks look... lower now?? somehow?? than mine? Much lower, don't know why. Specs said same ground clearance but. I'd have to look up what the specs were in 2014. Sales guy came out, asked if we wanted to see anything. M-L said I should try the Forester, so I was like sure, why not; one of the farm workers has a 2020 Outback I figured I'd ask his opinion on, and actually the part time veg helper guy has a recent Outback too, so there's no shortage of those around. So I test-drove a Forester. And like. I hadn't even got out of the parking lot and the guy was like, all casual, "so how's the visibility," and I really looked around and was like holy shit okay i can see through time so I really liked it. It was a higher-end package (had a huge sunroof, i actually really liked that, i'm a shallow bitch i guess) and kept trying to nanny me about leaving the lane on the winding back road but the guy reached over and pressed the button that disables that and it stopped yelling at me, which was great. Anyway. I did not expect that. M-L and I theorized about what kind of guy I'd be to be a Forester guy. "A middle-aged wealthy lesbian with a lot of large dogs," M-L said, and I was immediately depressed to realize that only one of those things is actually applicable. I have no wife and no large dogs. These are major failings of my life. But. I mean. We don't always end up the person we thought we'd be when we were nineteen.

3) Then we got to the Ford dealership, and a guy named Joey was like "ay what's up," and i listed the cars I was interested in and he was like "i can't get those or those but I got Broncos, let's go see one" and walked incredibly fast out into the parking lot without looking like he was hurrying, seriously it was eerie how fast he walked while looking like he was just ambling, and he led us to a "cactus gray" Bronco Sport, said "you wanna try this one? aight hang on" and went back into the building. I was like uh sure, we poked around the parking lot, and then he came back, handed me the key, was like "yah you two go for it, you know the roads around here? yah go see if you like it, I'll be here til eight." and off we went, slightly bemused. But yes, we were quite near M-L's house so she led us around a winding path. The Bronco's hood takes up rather a lot of the view out of the windshield. I raised my seat, which helped slightly. I could not find the right edge of the car and kept straying over into the shoulder. It was so boxy. The visibility out of the windows wasn't fantastic. But it had a lot of zoom and handled all right. Not terrible. I'm not a Ford Bronco guy I don't think, but I liked the Ford dealership folks, they were funny.

The sales manager came out and talked to me briefly and was like "well i mean how many cars are you looking for" and i was like "i have a spreadsheet" and he was like "a what now" and i got my phone out and showed him the spreadsheet Dude made and he was like "your guy is something else" and i was like "i mean, he sure is", and I did feel better about not being a wealthy middle-aged lesbian with large dogs if this is what I have instead but like. I mean. The road not taken etc.

"take notes," M-L said as we got home (after i bought her a sushi dinner bc there was a place right by the dealership and also i wanted sushi), and i was like "yah ok" but this is my notes. i'm sure i'll be able to make sense of them later.

#car shopping #about the author #real life

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papakukui · 1 year

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I need more people to be talking about disabled Ash.

LIKE. IT MAKES SENSE.

Dude's been through, like, severe trauma that's definitely had a physical toll on him (stares at the amount of times he's died, and just. everything he's been through). Bro's issues are def going to manifest after completing his goal. His brain will realize that he's finally able to rest and BOOM he's having issues.

It starts out with little minor hiccups- feeling exhausted quicker, needing more sleep etc. Maybe he thinks its depression- he's obviously going to get the full force of PTSD (probably) on him too so that's another option.

But then comes the shakiness. Or maybe some issues with grip or dexterity. More noticeable but he ignores it. He's Ash Ketchum, Afterall! This won't hold him down.

But then his legs will start having issues- maybe they give out, or are hurting constantly. Maybe some dizziness too. Maybe he passes out. Now he notices an issues- and so do the people around him.

Maybe he uses mobility aids, like a cane or wheelchair. Maybe he has service pokemon. Maybe they give him a diagnosis.

If he gets mobility aids, he def decorates them. bro gets stickers of so many pokemon. especially pikachu. (he also has an alola sticker bc hes their champion always and forever <3)

All I'm saying is- disabled ash. Because I am totally not being self-indulgent here haha

#ash ketchum #pokemon #pokemon anime #pokeani #disability #disability hc #disabled ash ketchum #disabled ash #mobility aids #IM NOT PROJECTING YOURE PROJECTING #im def projecting idc #ash is disabled and so am i what a coinkydink

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lesbianrobin · 1 year

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Would you be willing to share any tropes or pet peeves you have with the fandoms intepretation of HOH! Steve? No pressure at all but I know it’s gaining popularity and that fandoms historically have a shit record with disability and you’ve spoken about your frustrations with that tag. Also thank you for sharing the link to the movie!! I’ve been wanting to watch more historical films especially ones that push back against assumptions of what the past was capable of!

omg YES thank you for asking!!! so to preface for anybody who doesn't know: i myself am hard of hearing and i used to post about steve being hard of hearing sometimes prior to s4, but i haven't posted about it much since it became a Thing in the fandom because i don't trust other people on my posts lmao.

so honestly this is gonna be less about specific tropes and more of a broad ideological discussion bc i don't usually read the hoh steve fics i scroll past and i don't want to act like i Know exactly what all of them are like based off just the few i have read. however, i Have seen the tags and summaries and read the first few paragraphs of a lot of them, and i feel like that's enough for me to have like. an opinion. so ANYWAY.

my first issue is just that pretty much everyone i've seen writing hoh steve is hearing themselves. there's nothing inherently wrong with that, but the thing is that hoh steve is like. entirely a creation of fandom, yknow? there's not rly anything in canon that indicates steve has poor hearing--honestly, if anything, he seems to have rather keen ears (picking up on the background music in the russian code in s3, being the first one to hear dustin in the upside down in s4). you can certainly reverse-engineer it and argue that poor school performance can be an indicator of poor hearing, that his head injuries could potentially cause hearing loss, but neither of those are things where hearing loss naturally comes to mind without somebody looking for it, so this begs the question of why. what exactly is motivating these hearing people to write this character as hoh?

i've noticed some things that tend to go along with hoh steve. one is steddie, which is kind of a given in the st fandom at this point, but it's the things that go along with that which concern me. the "babygirl steve" thing where steve is woobified and feminized to the point of being nigh-unrecognizable seems quite common among these fics. steve often has other medical problems as well--he needs glasses, he gets migraines, he has memory loss, he's depressed, he's got chronic pain, etc, etc, and my disability is just another thing on a laundry list of issues that is seemingly employed for the sole purpose of making steve sad and hurt and pitiable so that (usually) eddie can come along and save him/baby him. i'm not gonna act like i've never tossed some shit at steve to make him suffer in a fic, but it's always for like. a Reason. and that reason has never once been just so i could ship him with somebody and make them into his savior.

i think a lot of people writing hoh steve just don't necessarily have great intentions with it, yknow? they see it as a way for steve to suffer nobly in silence and be self-sacrificial, or they think it's cute to make steve deaf since eddie plays loud music (???).

there are a lot of things i love about being hard of hearing. i love that i get to have a unique appreciation of sound that not everybody has. i love that i can take out my hearing aids when the world is too much. i love that i still discover new sounds at the age of twenty-two. did you guys know that dishwashers make noise? i didn't until today! my house was quiet and i kept hearing something strange until i tracked it down and realized! i love that i have a sense of wonder about every noise i hear! and while i don't begrudge anybody their enjoyment of hoh steve content, i have yet to see any that comes remotely close to capturing these feelings, so it's just not for me.

also this is a silly pet peeve but why is it that in these fics steve almost always learns asl and like rarely has hearing aids? like sorry but unless he's completely deaf that's out of character. steve harrington is not learning a whole new language unless he absolutely has to and has literally no other options. they had hearing aids in the eighties. c'mon people.

anyway. sorry that was so long lmao and thank you for asking!! also thank you for actually reading and caring about my within our gates post!! i highly recommend looking up some 1920s music to listen along with the film, though you can honestly listen to whatever you want--at the time, films didn't typically have dedicated scores, and individual theaters would provide their own musical accompaniment however they saw fit. oftentimes this meant a live musician would play piano during the film, and improvise to suit the mood/plot! happy viewing 💕

#asks #em talks #lesbianrobin.canon

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coffeeandmagicaltales · 2 months

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The Auror&The Devil part 11

McxAesop Sharp (ANGST, 18+ mentioned sex scene, TRAUMA, DISABILITY)

When Morana crossed the threshold, following one of the nuns, she was struck by a familiar, peculiar scent of this place that hadn't changed over the years... Slightly musty, reminiscent of the scent some churches had: a mixture of stale dust, wood, and dampness; mixed with the smell of burnt milk. Similar to Hogwarts, there was the echo of children's voices, but this time dominated by the cries of toddlers who had their room on the ground floor. Children were running in the corridors, which were much cleaner than before, carpeted, and the walls had a pleasant beige color, far from the awful, dirty gray that Morana remembered. She glanced at Aesop, feeling him trembling and squeezing her arm a bit tighter.

Well, she hadn't warned him that the orphanage was a grim sight, and visiting it was rather a depressing experience. Too accustomed to the atmosphere here, she hadn't even thought about it and regretted needlessly subjecting Sharp to stress.

Just past the gate, where the guard had let them in, Aesop had already started to be deeply affected by the sight of so many children, some really tiny, with all kinds of disabilities. Some blind, leaning on canes, others with facial features altered by some deformation, and still others with mental impairments, behaving differently from the rest of the group... Well, it was rare for a family to leave a healthy child here, and even if they did, it quickly found a new home. Others, like Morana, marked by an ugly scar, had been here for many years... And often, upon reaching adulthood, they ended up on the streets, especially if they were unable to work.

Sharp's eyes were glassy, trying to focus on the carpet, completely overwhelmed by his emotions and the sight of human suffering.

"Aesop..." Morana whispered with a concerned tone. "You can wait for me outside... I'll take care of what needs to be done and come back."

He shook his head and gently squeezed her hand tightly wrapped around his arm. Deep down, he knew that if he didn't feel her delicate, assuring grip every time he trembled more, he would probably faint. The scent of this place too strongly stirred up memories from his time at St. Mungo's hospital...

The nun turned into a side corridor, where there were no children anymore, and pointed to the wooden benches facing each other, then instructed them to wait for the superior. They took their seats in complete silence, occasionally interrupted by muffled, distant voices of children.

A faint light seeped through a small window, struggling against the engulfing darkness of the room.

"Mora..." Aesop spoke up, gathering his thoughts. The words were heavy on his throat, and his deep voice trembled. "I'm so sorry."

Surprised, she turned her gaze towards him. He had a sad, sympathetic look, tears glistening in his eyes... He didn't need to say anything more; Morana swallowed her tears as she realized how traumatic the memories from this place were. She had always denied it, in her memories she looked at everything from the perspective of a third person, as if all of this had happened to some little Morana, not her. She felt like something inside her was about to break, breathing quickly, her only desire was somehow to squeeze herself onto the narrow bench between Aesop and the wall, nestle into his strong arm.

For a fraction of a moment, their eyes met, and the world around them seemed to stop completely for a couple of moments.

Aesop was surprised to notice that he could only hear the beating of his own heart and his own slightly accelerated breath.

Morana, sitting across from him in the beam of colorful light from the stained glass window, was surrounded by shimmering specks of dust in the air, flickering like moon dust. Her bright eyes looked at him with such trust... Tenderness... Gentlessness. Yes, the way no one had ever looked at him like that, certainly no woman, even those he had been in a relationship with... Simultaneously pleasing and embarrassing him, it flooded his mind with a wave of questions. "Am I imagining this? Why is she looking at me like that? What's happening? How is this possible?"

A shiver ran down his spine and he felt terribly guilty, as suddenly amidst the torrent of uncertainty, one thing became very clear to him.

She was the most beautiful creature. Her and no one else.

Not only physically, Merlin, if he said he didn't like the strands of hair escaping constantly from her bun, the constellations of freckles on her sun-kissed cheeks, eyes shining like diamonds, all the grimaces on her face and small gestures she wasn't even aware of... he would be a terrible liar. He felt like Morana had something about her that made everyone she met like her, and there was nothing strange about it, because she had extraordinary beauty.

But that was just superficial... He knew he had once been handsome himself, and years of hard work, stress, and, let's not kid ourselves, his age, had wrinkled his skin... and surely added a bit more wisdom to his brain... Looks were just a temporary delight, and he painfully realized on his own skin how many beautiful women he knew suddenly became jealous, spiteful witches, devoid of interests, passions, without the joy that life gives... Morana was passionate about the world. Trifles fascinated her, her desire to help others determined her, she sought knowledge, loved adventures getting into troubles, cared for others, supported... It never ceases to be attractive in people, and he didn't think he would ever stop admiring it in her...

Mora noticed a sparkle in his wise eyes, the one that always made her heart beat stronger, fill her with courage. Was he aware that he could make her find strength within herself, that thanks to him she felt like she would never feel tiredness, despite many tears, and even if she fell - she would rise again?

He sent her a gentle smile, so soothing.

She felt hot tears on her cheeks and was about to say something when she noticed out of the corner of her eye a shadow that moved behind Aesop, and she exclaimed, scared, Sharp jumped up and shielded her with his arm, aiming his wand at the bench.

A small dark-haired girl dressed in a gray smock crawled out from under the bench and rolled onto her back giggling, her face turning purple. Aesop rolled his eyes and, hiding his wand, sat back down in his place, and Morana, taking a deep breath, slumped back into hers.

The girl suddenly, without apology, before Sharp could react, grabbed his left knee and leaned on it as she stood up, causing him an uncomfortable twinge of pain. He hissed, furrowing his brows and glaring menacingly into the dark eyes of the three-year-old.

"Krívaš? Máte drevenú nohu? Si pirát? ”(Are you limping? Do you have a wooden leg? Are you a pirate?) she asked, smiling widely and bouncing like a small, excited ball. Morana analyzed her words for a moment and stifled a laugh. Aesop froze in place and took a breath as the girl scrambled onto his lap and lightly touched his scar with her sticky hand, leaving a gray mark of dirt from the floor on his cheek.

"Help," his frightened expression said, but Morana was completely disarmed by the sight.

"I see you've found yourself a friend," she chuckled, then added, "Sometimes that's how it is with children from the orphanage; they choose someone to bond with for life."

"Don't even joke. That's how wands work, not children. Ouch..." he muttered, sending her a threatening look. "Ouch!" he hissed as she poked his knee with a small shoe, trying to reach his hair, which seemed to fascinate her.

"Raz mal vážnu nehodu a veľmi ho bolí noha, nie je pirát, len čarodejník, ako ja. A ak ho neprestanete otravovať, urobíme z vás žabu!" (He had a serious accident once, and his leg has been hurting ever since. He's not a pirate, just a wizard like me. And if you don't stop bothering him, we'll turn you into a frog!) Morana addressed the girl.

"Čarodejník?" (A wizard?) the girl exclaimed, her mouth agape, unsure if out of fear or admiration, and collapsed onto Aesop's knees. "Ako Baba Yaga žijúca v ruinách?" (Like Baba Yaga living in the ruins?)

"What did you tell her?"

"That you don't have a wooden leg, you're not a pirate, but a wizard, and if she doesn't stop bothering you, we'll turn her into a frog," Morana shrugged, a sly smile dancing on her lips. Aesop analyzed her words for a moment and shook his head sternly.

"You're worse than me when it comes to dealing with kids," he confessed, rolling his eyes.

"Môžeš mi ukázať mágiu? Prosím!" (Can you show me magic? Please!) the girl squeezed out, bouncing again like a little ball, causing a grimace to appear on Sharp's face, his knee crying out in pain, begging for mercy. To his surprise, Morana pulled out her wand and aimed it at the girl.

"You're not planning to do magic in front of a Muggle, are you?"

"Shhh!" Morana silenced him and cleared her throat. "Abracadabra, hocus pocus, magical spell, the girl will rise in the air."

Morana winked at Aesop, who only understood her intentions after a few seconds. He grabbed the three-year-old around the waist and lifted her into the air, soaring her up to the ceiling. She squealed and laughed, once again turning a lovely shade of purple as Sharp effortlessly floated her above Morana's head, who tickled her stomach and occasionally swooped towards the floor, then abruptly flew back up to the ceiling.

Suddenly, they heard a muffled crack and looked towards the floor, where a tiny wooden leg in a shoe appeared. Morana and Aesop exchanged glances and gently lowered the girl to the ground, supporting her as she carefully put on her prosthesis.

"Zdeňka!" the nun who had just entered the corridor, yelled and immediately, rather brutally, grabbed the girl's wrist and dragged her away.

"Warten Sie, bitte zieh nicht an ihr!" Sharp muttered in German, glaring at the nun, who pretended not to hear him.

"She didn't do anything wrong!" Morana raised her voice, but the nun only snorted,

"Už vie, čo urobila! Od rána uteká a skrýva sa v kútoch!" (She knows what she did! She's been running and hiding in corners since morning!) She pointed a finger at the door at the end of the corridor and barked at the girl. "Zdeňka, pochod k sestre Vespasii, hneď! Ideš na obed!"(Zdeňka, go to Sister Vespazia, now! It's time for lunch!)

"Nie som Zdeňka, som Sidónia!" (I'm not Zdeňka, I'm Sidónia), the three-year-old hissed, breaking free from the woman's grip and defiantly jutting out her chin.

"Ticho! Si uzemnená, mladá dáma!..." (Quiet! You're grounded, young lady!) The nun wagged her finger at her.

"Lass sie bitte in Ruhe." (Please leave her alone) Sharp growled, and only then did the nun let go and gently pushed Sidonia to leave.

The girl looked back at Aesop and Morana with sad eyes, then shuffled off in the direction indicated by the nun.

"I know English, but only a little. Please follow me, as you can see, I don't have much time with these little devils," the nun grumbled, turning on her heel and gesturing for Dimm and Sharp to follow her.

"These are not devils, just ordinary children," Morana barked in a tone so eerie that Aesop felt a shiver down his spine, but he completely agreed with her and planned to speak up on this matter soon. However, he first grabbed Morana's hand, squeezing it tightly in a fist and giving her a slight squeeze as a sign to let it go.

"I don't think shouting was necessary here. She just wanted to play with us..." He muttered.

"That's the problem, Mr..."

"Sharp, Aesop Sharp," he hissed.

"...Mr. Sharp," she retorted, leading them upstairs after climbing the rather steep stairs, where Aesop leaned on Mrana's arm. Both had equally disgusted expressions, and they exchanged knowing glances as she lectured them about the difficulty of working with Sidónia and the other orphans.

"Oh, what an Old Haggard Owl, worse than Mrs. Scribner," Sharp whispered.

"I know, I'd give her some of Gareth's tonic to drink," Morana replied in his ear.

"Heh, maybe I have a strong purgation potion with me."

Morana jerked his arm. "What... Where from?"

"You never know when you might need it," he replied innocently, lightly brushing against Morana's side.

"Ugh, and I couldn't give Mr. Dimm any medicine, could I?" she snorted indignantly, Sharp chuckled quietly.

"I'll just add a drop to hers tea,"

Morana's mouth fell open in outrage, "Absolutely not!"

"You were more than willing a moment ago..."

"I was speaking purely hypothetically a moment ago!..."

"And I hypothetically have quite a strong potion with me."

A faint light filled the small room - sunbeams struggled to penetrate through the tiny window surrounded by stacks of documents. In front of them - rummaged through the drawer of the desk was the supervisor, Sister Illuminata, whose rosaries and medals with images of saints rattled with every slightest movement.

Aesop wasn't accustomed to Muggle beliefs, and the number of images of saints staring directly at him, about which he knew absolutely nothing, greatly unnerved him. Sister Illuminata pulled out a stack of papers and licked her fingers before casually opening the folder. If the grimace on her face didn't already indicate to Morana and Aesop that she had no desire to deal with their matter, from time to time disgusted sounds and sighs escaped her lips, as if handling a few parchments cost her a great deal of effort.

"There's nothing more, Mrs. Morana," she finally spoke and leaned back comfortably in her chair.

"Nothing? Any details about the person who found me?" "Ugh, I said- nothing. My predecessor passed away five years ago, perhaps she would have known more, but unfortunately. Once a week, we get five new children like you, if we were to examine their past more closely... heh..." She waved her hand. "This is a modest shelter surviving thanks to the donations of our patrons. The Austro-Hungarian Empire has many orphanages under its care, they are bursting at the seams, documents get lost, or simply are not recorded. When I arrived, I found pure chaos, and only now have I managed to restore order to the center. Money was wasted without apparent reason before... With God's help, I collected donations, renovated everything, provided the children with better clothing, medical care, sent my sisters to a culinary school to learn how to prepare healthy meals, also taught them medicne," Sister Illuminata confessed, taking a deep breath and adding in a somewhat more pleasant tone. "I'm sorry. I can't do anything more. I also believe that sometimes it's better not to know one's past but to enjoy what one has now and build the future."

Morana lowered her head, and at that moment, she felt Aesop's cool hand cover hers. His touch was an unspoken promise that they would continue to search.

The sun was slowly setting as Morana and Madame Niffleur, after lunch eaten at a nearby pub, slowly made their way to a small inn slightly away from the center of Nitra. Since leaving the orphanage, they hadn't spoken much to each other, lost in thought. With heavy hearts, they left those who remained behind the gates of the orphanage; Sister Illuminata didn't allow them to say goodbye to Sidó-Zdenka, as the girl didn't handle farewells well, and the nuns couldn't afford chaos with such a large number of children, which her hysteria would cause, and other children, seeing someone showing interest in her and not in them, might start bullying her. Morana understood these rules, and Aesop didn't quite agree with them, and despite Morana's explanations, he walked even more sullen and gloomy than usual.

Another unpleasant surprise awaited them on arrival. Aesop didn't need to understand Slovak to guess from Morana's expression and her cheeks as red as poppies what she had heard from the innkeeper. Madame Niffleur rolled her eyes and very reluctantly nodded in agreement with everything, because her leg and fatigue were starting to take their toll. They paid and received the key, and in the tiny room, just as Aesop had anticipated, there was a double bed.

"Well..." Madame started very shyly in Aesop's voice, fiddling with the handle of her tiny bag, thinking feverishly about how to resolve the situation. "Let's do this: I'll go down to the bar for an hour, have a beer, and you prepare for bed during that time. I'll come when you've already turned off the lamp and comfortably settled... Hmmm... I have a few moonstones; they should be enough for a mattress for me. And please don't argue with the older lady, because you'd probably want to give me the bed, but no way, nothing will happen to me if I sleep on the floor," she added in a stern tone.

"I'll add my stones to yours, we'll lay the mattresses on top of each other to make it easier for you to lie down. We probably don't have enough for a bed." Morana ordered, and before Aesop could open his mouth to say anything, the woman waved her wand and conjured up a quite neat and thick mattress. Madame Niffleur conjured up another one, and smiling warmly, she said in Aesop's voice, "I'll be back soon; if anything happens, you'll find me in the bar downstairs, by the largest tankard." She turned around, delicately placing her tiny feet in heels on the wobbly planks and hobbled away, leaning on her lace parasol.

Morana sat on the edge of the bed and slowly began to undress herself. She furrowed her brow, feeling the overwhelming fatigue of her body, and half-naked, she fell onto the bed, simply breathing heavily for a moment, inhaling the pleasant scent of the bedding. She heard only the ticking of the cuckoo clock hanging on the wall, the boards creaking under the feet of other guests living here, a willow branch gently tapping against the window... With difficulty, she raised her hands to push herself away from the mattress and even turn onto her back... She hadn't felt such terrible exhaustion in a long time, and without the strength to even get up, she stared blankly at the wooden ceiling, her thoughts racing in circles, showing her the orphanage she felt she had visited with Aesop an entire era ago, not just two hours ago... A surreal feeling. That smell, running children, familiar corridors...

Suddenly it dawned on her that these were actually her first memories. Someone, in good or bad faith, robbed her of everything that was before, robbed her of her childhood, her identity, and made Morana born as she knew her now - a person who from the moment she appeared in the forest, forever seeks. Home, closeness, love, parents... And all this seems more and more like a fairy tale. Something that doesn't really exist, something she will never be able to maintain in her life because it's just an illusion... Deep down, she believed that when she found her past... Everything would change. She would find stable ground on which she could finally build her life... Stop running away.

For now, everything was chaos.

She reached for her wand and turned it over in her hand for a moment, looking at it, until finally she waved it lightly, and a silvery ribbon of ancient magic emerged from its interior.

It's funny. The more she searched, the more questions she asked... The more her life complicated, giving birth to more puzzles, and apparent moments of peace and fulfillment led astray. Those who were supposed to show her the way, created more confusion than usefulness, she could see that perfectly now. The Guardians, especially Professor Rackham, were hiding something. Izydora, even though she strayed, had a lot of truth in her. Fear had completely blinded them.

Hmm. Morana's magic could take away pain, but... it didn't disappear completely. Izydora could only store it, accumulate it. The pain still existed, growing, becoming more like black magic than something completely opposite... And in the end, she began to feel almost divine power, forgetting that she was just a scientist. There was no divine power, only her pride.

Morana's eyes sparkled... What if... she found a way to turn pain and suffering into something neutral using ancient magic? Make even curses, like the one Anna or Aesop carries, dissipate?

There was only one problem... What Ominis always said - one should not toy with black magic because it always required some form of sacrifice, often blood. Yet despite everything, Morana wanted to study it, feeling that something was pulling her towards it...

Lately, Ominis had reacted very poorly to any mention of Durmstrang. She felt that despite his complete infatuation, there was an invisible barrier between them, something she couldn't understand... Ominis didn't want her to ever touch black magic again, didn't even want her to think about studying it, didn't want to let her leave Hogwarts... The closer they got to each other, the more his fear for her safety and future choked her. Reluctantly, she admitted to herself that lately she felt like a bird in a cage with him. She snorted angrily at herself that when she was finally close to him, when her dream of his delicate fingers touching her bare breasts, tenderness, the fire that his kisses ignited in her, and the wonderful weight of his body, came true... Now, all that feeling, teetering on the brink of madness, which she adored a few weeks ago when they first made love, was fading.

Yes... She probably seeks in him something he is unable to give her.

That thought baffled her, frustrated her, angered her, because he was the fulfillment of her dreams: a handsome and intelligent boyfriend... How could she want to reject that!? How could she be so selfish!?

And yet, the thought of staying in Hogwarts only for Ominis... No... That would be senseless. She couldn't stay. She sighed deeply and feeling the pain within her, she curled up into a ball. Ominis was completely different than she thought... than she wanted him to be. He preferred silence, peace, and adventures only on the pages of books. She knew him long enough to know that she wouldn't find in him a companion for her escapades, someone equally fascinated by dark secrets as she was, he often didn't trust her, fearing to lose her as he did Sebastian, who was still in the hospital... And yet she convinced herself that it was different.

Hot tears streamed down Morana's cheeks. She felt completely helpless, overwhelmed.

Dragging herself, she washed her sore body in a basin and quickly changed into pajamas, turning off the light and sinking under the covers.

Again, she stared at the ceiling, which now in the pale light of the moon filtering through the smallest cracks in the lace curtains, had a completely gray color. The clock continued to tick steadily, and the chirping of crickets joined the tapping of branches, giving a concert somewhere in the nearby meadows.

Suddenly, Morana's heart beat faster.

She heard familiar, irregular steps, and immediately after them, timid knocking on the door.

"Can I come in, Mora?"

Aesop waited for confirmation, as if for a blessing, barely holding himself up from exhaustion. He was sure that a dose of hops would soon lull him to sleep, and the thought of those two sad mattresses waiting for him was the most wonderful thing.

"Please!" Morana squinted her eyes, blinded by the beam of light that came from the corridor. The dark figure of the woman entered the room, bringing with her a gust of cool air and the smell of beer mixed with Aesop's cologne.

He changed into his usual form and closed the door behind him out of habit, securing it with a few stronger protective spells. He didn't care about conventions, that a woman was sleeping nearby, that they were unmarried, and blah blah blah... He only saw his two mattresses and smiled broadly, hobbling towards them as quietly and as quickly as he could. With a wave of his wand, he summoned from Madame Niffleur's bag his favorite niffler-shaped pillow his mum gave him on his 10th birthday, an exquisitely soft blanket, and a sheet, which arranged themselves in their place, making him emit a muffled chuckle.

"Sleepy time, finally!" he thought with delight and shrugged off his coat, not caring that it lay in disarray on the floor. He pushed it away with his foot so as not to trip over it in the morning, and his jacket and vest followed in the footsteps of the coat.

Morana didn't quite know where to look... She shouldn't be surprised that Sharp was undressing - he wouldn't sleep in a coat!... Yet she was completely surprised by this. She looked to the left, toward the door, and commanded herself not to move... She heard his heavy boots fall onto the floor; his steps on the soft carpet, the boards singing under his weight. The fabric rustled under his fingers as he untied his tie and began unbuttoning his shirt one by one, until after a while, the shirt fell to the ground. Curiosity began to devour her.

"No, Morana, don't look, DON'T." she scolded herself internally.

In the faint light, she didn't see much, barely the outline of his broad, well-built shoulders, the fair skin of his back marked with numerous scars, bites, and burns... Mementos that his missions had left on him. He reached for his belt. The detachable buckle let out a click that made Morana suddenly feel a wave of heat and stiffen... It was the moment when she definitively should have looked away...

"What the hell are you doing!?" she scolded herself in her thoughts, but there was such chaos in them that she could barely separate reality from her fantasy and wasn't entirely sure if she wasn't dreaming awake.

A drop of sweat trickled down her forehead as she saw, in the dim light, the shapely buttocks of Aesop hidden behind a thin veil of underwear and his graceful legs, narrow hips, the fair skin glistening in the silvery light... and the scar on his left leg, snaking out like a serpent from under the bandage wrapped around his knee. His skin on the upper part of his calf and lower thigh was jagged, some muscles slightly altered in shape, while others seemed to be missing altogether. He carefully untied the knot of the fabric and, summoning a salve from Madame's bag, began gently massaging the ointment into his knee, causing the muscles in his arms to tense and eliciting a very soft groan. It must have hurt.

"Accio dittany!" he whispered, and immediately a dried plant appeared in his hand, which he applied to his skin and wrapped with a bandage. For a moment, he suppressed the pain, and when it subsided, he put on his pajamas and, with a groan, simply collapsed onto the mattresses. He purred with satisfaction and settled comfortably.

Morana tried to control her thoughts, which raced through her mind like a flock of startled sheep. She clenched her eyelids.

"Satisfied!?" she scolded herself in her thoughts. "What did that mean!? Idiot! Idiot, idiot..."

Her stream of thoughts, which dangerously began to veer towards her previous dreams with every word, took her to places she wanted to forget. The nudity of Aesop's body submerged in water, his wet, glistening skin, and the droplets of water creeping over it, the steam of hot air rising from his open mouth... The golden flames shining in his dark eyes... That damn dream... And suddenly her memories of intimate moments with Ominis were distorted, as if some evil spell had touched them. Aesop Sharp gently pressed his body against hers, touching her breasts, his tongue sliding over her nipples, causing her true ecstasy, writhing with pleasure ignited by his kisses, entwining his legs with hers.

"Enough," she whispered aloud in fear, yet her thoughts drowned in what she saw and felt... Felt... The hardness between her legs, which began to rub rhythmically against her vulva, sinking deeper and deeper between the folds of her skin, teasing her clitoris. Aesop emitted soft moans, looking straight into her eyes, his pupils inflamed with desire and... Admiration for her. Love. "Really, can I? Will you allow me?" he whispered, panting, his voice mixing with her heavy breathing and soft moans as his penis slid down, waiting for her word to enter her... One wish.

"Enough, enough, enough!" she shouted and sprang up from her place, awakened from the dream. Her heart pounded; for a moment, she didn't know where she was.

The pair of dark eyes looked at her with concern and apprehension from beneath disheveled brown hair.

"Are you okay, Mora? Having those prophetic nightmares again?" Aesop whispered and threw the blanket aside, as if he wanted to come to her aid.

"No, no... I'm just exhausted, it was just a regular nightmare," she lied and lay back on the pillows, breathing deeply. Merlin, she was terribly embarrassed... Ashamed, she covered her face with her hand and submerged herself under the duvet, trying to ignore the wetness between her legs and control the heat that engulfed her body. He wanted to reassure her, thinking she had had some horrors in her dreams, and her imagination had simply gotten out of control. "I'm pathetic... He's a good man, has such a good heart, and I'm making up some... depraved nonsense! How could I, he's my teacher!? What's happening to me?" she scolded herself again in her thoughts and almost burst into tears.

"Hmm," came the response in the darkness, and she heard the rustle of the blanket he covered himself with. For a moment, there was silence, but Aesop decided to say something since she was already awake. "It's hard for me to fall asleep... I wasn't prepared today for what I saw at the orphanage... heh.. I've seen so much suffering in my life, but those children... I can't stop thinking about them, especially about that little girl... What was her name?... Zde... Zdenka?"

"Zdeňka," Morana corrected him, clearing her throat, pleased that her mind could focus on a different topic. "But she didn't like that name, she preferred to be called Sidónia. She argued about it with the nun."

"You know... She reminded me a bit of... you. Anyway, I imagine little Morana like this: dirty, unruly, talkative... heh... I don't like children... Sidó is quite charming... I wonder what happened to her... If she could find a family for herself?... Maybe I'll ask around my friends if they'd be willing to take her home... Sorry, I'm just thinking out loud..." he sighed deeply and adjusted himself on the mattress, which suddenly became uncomfortable.

Morana felt gloomy.

"Aesop..." she began quietly. "Maybe what I'll say will seem brutal to you, but if she had both legs... no... she wouldn't be there. It's possible that she would end up in someone's home, or maybe... " She paused for a moment and took a deep breath before continuing. She carried on. "I would like a better fate for her, wholeheartedly... And for everyone else, but people can be cruel. It often happened that one of us became a slave... That's... why I ran away that day, hid among the barrels, and covered myself with hops. I don't remember ever crying harder than then, begging for help... for this nightmare to end. I don't want anything like that to happen to her, and maybe the lack of her leg will spare her a lot of suffering, and maybe bring a lot as well... It's hard to predict..." She smiled at the memory of her defiant expression when she talked back to the nun. "...she's indeed charming, it would be good to help her somehow."

"How exactly did you escape back then?" Aesop became interested.

"Hmmm... I don't remember exactly. Everything happened so quickly... Father Horst wanted to get rid of me for quite some time because I caused trouble. I overheard him arranging with the factory owner, somewhere on the outskirts of Vienna, the bastard already had several orphans taken from Horst's shelter, cheap labor. The criteria for the child he wanted to take were complete limbs and at least average intelligence... Well... The guy often came for the "new" ones because the "old" ones, as he claimed, "disappeared"...

"Fucking hell..." Aesop growled, feeling a lump in his throat. He would tear those people apart with his bare hands.

"...When he came for me..." Morana smiled proudly. "...I bit his finger so hard that I could taste his blood in my mouth, punched him between the legs, and ran away. I might have even used magic unconsciously to open the door..."

Aesop chuckled.

"You... I'll never stop admiring you for that..." he laughed, impressed by the lesson the little girl gave her tormentor, but then he sobered up. Morana felt a strange bitterness hearing those words... She didn't think that someone who had just drowned in erotic thoughts was worth anything, especially admiration. "Sometimes I wonder how much your character was shaped by the environment, and sometimes... Sometimes I think there's just something untamed, feral in you... a will for freedom, that incredible empathy, but also danger for anyone who turns out to be your enemy... Qualities that ancient goddesses wouldn't be ashamed of. Femininity... Pure magic..." He cleared his throat and changed the subject, feeling his cheeks redden. "I don't know if you've already planned what we'll do tomorrow... how we'll start the search?"

"No..." she confessed, blushing. Her stupid brain was busy doing other things. "I'm not sure what to do now. I guess I'll need a detective's help..." she joked, feeling a lightness in her heart.

"Former detective..." Aesop corrected and continued. "I suggest we start tomorrow by finding a place where we can access the local newspaper... It's a small town, some unusual event must have been reported... Any gossip or urban legend in this case can become a clue."

"The library?"

"For example. That's where we'll start... And now, sleep... Mo."

Morana felt a pleasant warmth in her heart when Aesop uncertainly used her nickname.

"Goodnight, Aesop... Nifflery dreams." she added, stifling a giggle when she noticed in the corner of her eye his pillow.

She only heard a grumpy grunt, and then only his steady, deep breath occasionally interrupted by a snore.

The last thought that crossed her mind before she completely drifted away was: "Why did he really come here with me?"

As soon as the first rays of sunlight tickled Aesop's face, immediately waking him up, he regretted agreeing to sleep with Morana in the same room. Darkness no longer covered him, and he got up as quickly as he could, stumbling over his own feet, and breathed a sigh of relief only after tying his tie.

He glanced at Morana.

She was sleeping in a tangle of pillows and sheets, her hair in complete mess. The bright colors of the pillowcases, her dark hair and olive complexion, the lights reflected from the water jug on bedside table dancing on her freckled face and slightly smudged makeup... Despite her imperfections, she was like carved from the most expensive marble. She snored and murmured "potatoes" in her sleep. Aesop burst out laughing, unable to control himself. How lovely was she?

He quietly approached her and wiped her delicate lips, whispering her favorite snacks with a tissue pulled from his pocket. At the last moment, he refrained from brushing off the stray lock of hair from her scar. He shouldn't.

He furrowed his brows, the smile faded from his face, afraid that he had allowed himself too much. Quickly, he wrote a note for Morana that he was waiting for her downstairs and hastily drank a portion of the polyjuice potion before leaving.

"Where did Madame come from?" Morana whispered, sitting next to the old woman who was browsing through a Muggle book with interest, which she pulled from one of the hundreds of shelves. The sun looked gently through the round windows of the library, and the smell of dust and parchment hung in the air. The librarian was quite busy, and they had to wait for her to bring the newspapers from the archive. "I guess you never told me about it, did you?"

"Hmm?" he muttered, completely absorbed in reading about machine operation in a sewing factory, leaning closer to Morana. He chuckled and put the book on the desk in front of him. "During my three-year training, we were given a task to assume an alter ego for 8 hours and obtain a certain key hidden within Gringotts Bank's premises without arousing suspicion. We had 2 months to prepare. Since I'm a master at weighing polyjuice potion, the choice was easy... As you can see, I've made many improvements to it... at the cost of my voice, though... but I still consider it an outstanding mixture..." he said immodestly, looking sideways at Morana, a mischievous spark gleaming in his eyes, while she gave him a "sarcastic" smile and rolled her eyes. She loved his self-distance, those silly boasts, worthy of a third-year student. "Everyone in my group came up with something: there were aging and rejuvenating spells, shape-shifting, some were animagi... I'll be honest, I never did well with transfiguration, so I had to come up with something I was familiar with, so I went for potions... nobody wanted to take them because polyjuice works very briefly." he shrugged and added, mocking the voices of his colleagues. "They said: 'Aesop, what have you come up with?' 'Aesop, you've lost your mind!' 'Aesop this, Aesop that.' It annoyed me terribly and perhaps motivated me to a few experiments, and when the potion was ready, I decided to take the least expected form, one that was even unknown to me. I came up with the idea to use floo powder and go to a small, Muggle town in France where I once got lost with my mom and dad on vacation, I ran to the local hairdresser and collected the last client's hair when nobody was looking. It turned out at home that it was an old lady, whom I baptized Madame Zenobia Niffleur. She reminded me of my beloved aunt who infected me with love for nifflers, my dad's sister, who died a few years earlier. I have her hat pin, the rest of Madame's outfit is my invention. I observed the behavior of ladies in Madame's age, I even joined their wizard chess club and slowly built Niffleur. Well, when the day of the exam came, only I passed it." He finished the story with a broad smile.

"Wait a minute..." Morana blinked, surprised by the sudden end of the story, and couldn't believe she let it go. "But how?... How did you do it?" She started asking, grabbing the old woman's arm and shaking it lightly, looking at him imploringly.

"Well... Most people thought that to remain unnoticed, you had to behave quietly... Mistake. Sometimes the best camouflage is a show. Madame caused such a scene that the hallway was dirty, and she was poorly treated by a cashier, that the goblins brought her the key in jumps, just to stop her from bossing around and making a fuss... That's all... Others finished the exam with their tails between their legs, the goblins quickly sniffed out the deceit...

"Oh... I'd love to see that." Morana slumped in her chair, regretting she couldn't see it with her own eyes, and for a moment, she was even ready to beg Aesop to bring back the memory from the Pensieve and let her see it. She was incredibly proud. "You're amazing!" She confessed, which embarrassed Madame Niffleur, and the awkward situation was saved by the librarian bringing a stack of newspapers. She threw them on the table in front of them and left without a word. Morana jumped up and began to feverishly flip through them, looking for a date close to her disappearance. There was nothing interesting: information about a planned fireworks show for the New Year... a two-headed goat born on some farm... obituaries with no one who died unexpectedly... plans for fairs for the coming year. Madame cleared her throat, seeing Morana losing her enthusiasm, disappointed. Aesop uncertainly laid his hand on hers and spoke very quietly, carefully choosing his words.

"Morana... Like I told you before... You don't always find what you're looking for right away... Solving cases often took me many months, and the harder ones took years..."

Morana jumped up and ran outside. She huddled somewhere to the side of the building, and Madame slowly approached her.

"Why can't we find anything?! Can't we use, I don't know, Revelio, some spell, anything!?" Morana snapped. "Damn it, how frustrating!!!"

"Hmm, we just have to keep looking..." Aesop said calmly.

"I don't fucking feel like looking anymore." Morana muttered, her head buried in her arms, barely understandable.

"I'll tell you a secret..." Madame murmured and very cautiously sat down next to her on the ground. "You'd be a terrible detective, Mo."

"All the puzzles at Hogwarts were easier because there were clues, but there's nothing here! Not even a single clue!..." she hissed in her defense.

"And maybe they didn't require patience?... Hm?" Mora looked at Madame with big, sad eyes. "...Probably, they required to whack something hard with Depulso, right?" he winked, and Morana couldn't be angry anymore. She smiled faintly and wiped her nose.

"They required Accio sometimes, excuse me." she muttered in a mock offended tone.

"Oh, my apologies." Aesop chuckled and adjusted his fancy hat, standing up with difficulty. He reached out to Morana. She pulled herself up and stood on her own two feet. For a moment, they stood like this, holding each other's hands, and Madame wiped away a tear running down Mora's cheek. "Oh, my heart always breaks when I see you crying..." Aesop whispered in a velvety tone.

"OOOOO! ZLODEJ!!!" (THIEF!) a woman's scream cut through the air, and there was a commotion on the stalls nearby, and from the chaos of dust, feathers, and gawkers, a figure of a small dark-haired tiny girl limping on a wooden leg emerged, clutching some trinket in her hand. She looked back, not noticing the older lady in the purple dress, and collided with her, and the trinket rolled on the ground.

Dazed, Morana and Aesop looked at each other. Mora immediately grabbed the girl by the waist and caught her like a sack of potatoes, and Madame, grabbing them both instinctively, deported them before anyone realized they were there.

End of part XI, thanks for reading!

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