#actually no wait put a metal spine in me take away my thirty year-old back pain
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Hahaha how crazy would it be for someone to write a short Kyalin fic where Kya is actually the one who’s scared to get emotionally attached because throughout her years of traveling, everytime she’s gotten attached to someone, they’d leave or she’d go to another place hahahaha how crazy...
Hahahaha...
How crazy....
Would that be....
Yall....
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CW: Drug use and sexual content
Words: 3,148
The lights were bright and colourful, and the music was loud. "I can't believe I let you brats drag me here." Lin said to Korra and her friends. "Come on, Lin, it'll be fun!" Korra said. "I doubt it." Lin folded her arms. "And look at how good you look!" Asami gestured to Lin's outfit. She wore a dark green button up with the sleeves rolled up. The shirt was tucked into a pair of black jeans. She kept her metal boots though. "You know what would make it better?" Asami said to Korra. Korra raised an eyebrow, then watched at Asami unbuttoned the first two buttons on Lin's shirt. "Hot damn, you're right." Korra looked Lin up and down. "Can I go home with you tonight, Chief?" Korra joked. Lin scoffed at the two before looking around at the scene. "Ooh, Opal! Let's dance!" Bolin said. "Be careful." Lin said at they walked past her. "Oh, ease up, Aunt Lin. We come here all the time." Opal said.
Lin maneuvered her way through the crowd of people, trying to find Mako to take her home. She hated being out like this. Instead of Mako, however, she ran into a woman who was taller than her, spilling her drink all over her. "Oh- uh- I'm so sorry, I was just uh-" "It's cool! It happens all the time." She bent the water out of her shirt. Lin locked eyes with the woman. "Kya?" Lin said losing her breath. "Oh. Lin!" Kya said nervously. "How- how long have you been back in-" "Please don't tell Tenzin." Kya said. "Oh my spirits, Kya.. are you high?" Lin asked. "Uh-" Kya rubbed her arm. "No?" She said. "Your eyes are red, Kya. Don't lie to me." Lin said. "How long have you been back?" Lin asked. "A month or so now. I've just been kinda living here, staying away from the family." Kya said. "Kya, are you coming out back?" A guy asked from behind her. "Yeah, I'll be out in a minute." Kya waved him away. "Sit down, let's catch up." Kya lightly grabbed Lin's hand. "I was actually trying to find Mako to take me home.." Lin looked away. "Lin," Kya squeezed her hand tighter. Lin looked back at Kya and sighed. "Alright." She said. They sat down in a small booth, and Kya asked one of the many people she knew at the club to bring them a couple of drinks.
"So.. were you gonna tell us you were back?" Lin asked. "Oh, of course. I was just waiting. I didn't want to have to listen to Tenzin's bullshit at eight in the morning as soon as I got here." Kya giggled. "We're you gonna tell me?" Lin asked. Kya's smile faded a bit as she looked down at her drink. "Yeah. Eventually. I've missed you a lot." Kya said. "Yeah well, all the letters you wrote to me sure proved it." Lin said sarcastically. "Lin.. listen, I-" "It's not a big deal. I'm just being a bitch." Lin said with a smirk. Kya nervously giggled. "Don't you have friends waiting for you outback?" Lin asked. "Oh! I do, don't I?" Kya said with a smile. Her and Lin stood up from the booth with their drinks in their hands. "Hey, how about you come out there with me?" Kya smiled. "Not to jump to conclusions but, wouldn't they just run when they saw me?" Lin asked. Kya let out a laugh. "Lin, you're practically unrecognizable without your uniform on." Kya lightly grabbed her hand. "And you look pretty damn good without it too." Kya looked at Lin's attire. Lin tensed up before letting Kya drag her through the crowd.
They walked into the alley behind the building where, sure enough, was Kya's group of friends, standing in a circle, passing around a lillyweed joint. "Kya, there you are." One of them said. They all seemed younger. Older than Korra and her friends, but younger than her and Kya. Kya put the joint to her lips. "Really, Kya? Right in front of me?" Lin said in a whisper that only her and Kya could hear. "What are you gonna do, arrest me?" Kya asked with a smile. They talked with each other some more, and soon Lin felt a nudge on her shoulder and the joint in her face. "Oh- uh- no thanks." Lin said. Kya reached over and grabbed it. "What, you don't wanna loosen up a bit? I know how stressful your job can be." Kya said with a smirk. Lin took a deep breath in, looking between Kya, and that joint she was holding. "Alright then." Lin said. Kya smiled before handing it to Lin, letting her take a hit.
Kya and Lin sat on the sidewalk in the alleyway. "Lin?" Kya looked over at her. "Hm?" Lin looked back at her, making Kya bust out laughing. "What's so funny?" Lin asked. "Your eyes are red." Kya smiled at her. "Yeah, well, so are yours." Lin let out a light laugh. "I never thought I'd see the great Chief Beifong stoned." Kya said. "Enjoy it while it lasts, cause it's not happening again." Lin chuckled. "Trust me, I'm enjoying it." Kya said. “Remember the last time I got you high?” Kya asked. “Yeah.” Lin chuckled. “Oh to be sixteen again.” Lin said. “Spirits, that was.. what? Thirty something years ago?” Kya said. “Thirty Six.” Lin said. Kya chuckled before looking at Lin. "You're pretty when you're high." Kya smiled lightly. Lin's face became red as she struggled to look for a reply. How is it that a single woman can make the Chief feel like this? And how it is that the Chief has been able to hide her feelings for decades? It's simply eating her up inside. So much that she couldn't stop herself from leaning in and kissing the water bender. Kya pulled away in shock, and looked at Lin. "Did you.. did you just kiss me.." Kya asked in disbelief. "Yeah.. I hope that's alright." Lin scratched the back of her head nervously. "That's- that's fine." Kya said. Kya's nerves were through the roof. Her hands were getting sweaty. "Can I kiss you again?" Kya froze in place. Can I kiss you again? Is that what she said? Kya looked back over at Lin, and nodded her head. Lin leaned in and kissed her. It started easy, but it became heated within a matter of seconds. Lin pulled back slightly and laughed. "Spirits, I'm so bad at this." She chuckled. "No you're not." Kya reassured her. Lin leaned back in, connecting their lips. Kya could feel Lin's smile against her lips.
"Chief?" Lin heard behind her. Her and Kya stopped in their tracks. Lin turned around and saw Mako. "Oh- uh.. hey, kid." She said nervously, avoiding eye contact. "I'm gonna go wait outside." Kya whispered to Lin. Lin nodded her head, and Kya walked away. "Who's that?" Mako asked. "Just an old friend." Lin said. "I came to find you to ask if you wanted me to take you home. I know big public places like this aren't really your thing so-" "Actually I'm going home with my friend." Lin said. Thank Raava for the dim lights. I really don’t need Mako seeing me in this state. "With your- your friend?" Mako said. "Yeah. Is that a problem?" Lin asked. "No, not at all, Chief. I just didn't expect this kind of thing from you." Mako said. "Spirits, Mako, I'm not going to hook up with her." Lin rolled her eyes. "No no! That- that isn't what I meant- I- I know you're not that kind of person! I just-" Mako became flustered. He stopped for a second and took in a deep breath. "Just be careful, Chief. And call me if you need anything." Mako sighed. "Thanks, kid." Lin said before going outside. "Ready to go, Chief?" Kya asked. "Yeah. Are you okay to drive?" Lin asked while they walked to Kya's Sato-Mobile. "I can drive perfectly fine when I'm high. I do it all the time." Kya said. "I'm gonna pretend I didn't hear that." Lin said.
"Apartment, sweet apartment." Kya said as they walked into her place. "This is nice." Lin said. "Thank you." Kya said. "The bedroom is nicer." Kya said. Lin started getting nervous as she followed Kya back to her room. Lin sat down on Kya's bed as Kya lit an incense. Kya flipped the light switch, then used a remote to turn on the two lamps on either side of her room, both lighting up red. Kya stood in front of Lin and placed her arms around Lin's neck. Lin smiled nervously at her. "Everything okay?" Kya asked. "Yeah, everything's fine. I've just uh.. I haven’t done this kind of thing in a minute." Lin chuckled. Kya smiled at her. She leaned down and kissed Lin a couple times before pushing her back and climbing on top of her. "Trust me, Lin." She smiled at Lin before kissing her again. Lin let her hands glide under Kya's shirt to rest on her bare sides. Kya slowly unbuttoned Lin's shirt as she kissed down her neck.
Kya unbuckled Lin's belt after leaving a trail of kisses down her stomach. Lin sat up on her elbows and watched as Kya pulled Lin's pants off her legs. Kya kissed Lin above the hem of her underwear, and started sliding them off. When Kya looked up and made eye contact, she smirked, and Lin's breath hitched. "You're obviously really nervous, Lin. Just relax." Kya said in a low voice that sent shivers down Lin's spine. Kya tossed the last piece of Lin's clothing down on the ground.
Kya placed a hand on Lin's shoulder before pushing her back down on the bed, kissing her in the process. Lay back, Lin. Relax." Kya said. She kissed up Lin's jawline and lightly bit down on her earlobe, "Let me make you feel good, Chief." Kya whispered in Lin's ear. Lin felt Kya's hand slide down her stomach as Kya kissed and sucked on her neck. "Kya.." Lin breathed out when she felt two fingers inside her. "Yes, Linny?" Kya teased. "Don't- don't stop." Lin's breath started becoming faster. "Oh trust me, I don't plan on it." Kya said with a smirk before pumping her fingers faster. Kya saw Lin biting her lip to keep from making noises. Kya pulled her fingers out, causing Lin to gasp. "Why'd you stop?" Lin asked, breathless. "Don't sound so needy, Beifong." Kya said in a low voice in Lin's ear. "I'm just taking my time. You're so easy to get worked up. I love it." Kya chuckled and dragged her fingers along Lin's inner thigh while she sucked on her nipple.
Lin lightly gasped when she felt Kya's tongue in between her legs. "Ah~ spirits, Kya.." Lin moaned quietly. "Don't be afraid to get vocal, Chief. I'd love to hear it." Kya said as she inserted her two fingers again. Lin almost lost her breath feeling Kya's mouth around her bud, and her fingers inside her working together. "Kya!" She moaned louder. Lin tangled her hand through Kya's hair, her breathing pattern rapidly increasing. She was close, so close. "Kya.. I'm- I'm-" Lin heard a sinister chuckle come from Kya. Kya curled her fingers inside Lin, then started pumping faster. "Ah~ ah~" Lin now how a grip on the handful of hair. Kya's tongue moved faster, a smile forming on her face as she heard the small moans Lin made while she finished. Kya leaned up and roughly kissed Lin, a hand still tangled in her hand. Lin kissed her back, moving her hand from the back of Kya's head and to the side of her face. "I never would have took you for the hair pulling type, Beifong." Kya remarked. Lin chuckled before flipping Kya over. "There's a lot of things you probably wouldn't have taken me for." Lin said as her hand slowly wrapped around Kya's neck, squeezing the sides.
Lin came out of the bathroom in a pair of sweatpants and her sports bra. "Are you sure it's okay that I wear these?" Lin asked. "For the last time, Lin. Yes, it's fine." Kya said with a smile. "And you're sure it's okay that I stay tonight?" Lin sat down on the edge of the bed. "Yes." Kya laughed a little. Lin didn't say anything after that. It was quiet for a couple minutes before Kya spoke up, "Is everything okay, Lin?" She asked. "Yeah, everything's alright. I just feel like things are awkward now." Lin chuckled. "Why? Because we had sex? We're things awkward with your other sexual partners?" Kya asked. Lin slightly tensed up a bit. Lin wasn't the kind of person to just go out and hook up with people. She chuckled. "All of them but one." Lin said. "Well, lay back, and relax, cause I'd like to be number two." Kya said. Lin looked back at Kya and saw her smiling. Lin smirked a bit before moving next to her and leaning back.
It was five in the morning. Lin was trying to get her clothes on as quietly as possible, trying not to wake Kya. However, "Lin?" She heard a quiet voice from behind her. "Uh- sorry for waking you." Lin said. "No don't be, it's okay." Kya sat up a bit. She still didn’t have clothes on from last night. "Do you want some coffee before you go?" Kya started to get up. "Oh, no, no, no. I don't need coffee. Lay back down and get some more sleep." Lin sat down on the bed next to her and stopped her from getting up. Kya laid back down and pulled the blanket up to her chin. Lin couldn't help but stare at her. "What?" Kya asked in a raspy voice. That voice. "Nothing." Lin said. "I'm gonna go." Lin said softly. "Mhmm okay." Kya was almost half asleep. Lin went to get up, but she paused. She looked back at Kya, who's eyes were closed. She leaned over and gently kissed her forehead, then left.
Two weeks later
They haven't spoken to each other since that night. Well, Kya hasn't. Lin, on the other hand, had been trying to message her and get ahold of her. But since she's had no luck for the past two weeks, Lin went to her apartment. She was worried about Kya. What if something happened? What if she isn't okay? Did I do something to upset her? Did she only want me for that one night.. Lin's mind raced with thoughts. That was until she saw Kya's surprised face open the door. "Lin, what're you doing here?" Kya asked. "Making sure you're okay, given that I've been trying to get ahold of you for the past two damn weeks, Kya." Lin pushed her way past Kya. "I'm fine." Kya said in a monotone voice as she closed the door. "That's not the point, Kya. I-.. I was worried about you.." Lin said that last part quietly, hoping maybe Kya wouldn't hear her. "Well, stop worrying about me." Kya said. "I didn't hear from you for two weeks. I'm allowed to worry about you. Why weren't you talking to me?" Lin said. Kya shrugged her shoulders, no expression on her face. "Damn it, Kya, I want and actual explanation-" "Because, Lin, I fucking like you, okay?" Kya said.
Lin had to admit, she was sort of taken back by Kya's sudden outburst. She never yelled.. at least not at Lin.. "Well... I like you too." Lin said. "I know that! That's why I refused to talk to you." Kya said. "Why? Why do you have to stop talking to me?" Lin asked. "Because if I don't, then I'm just gonna like you more, and then you're gonna leave me." Kya said. "What're you talking about, Kya-" "Everyone I've ever been in a relationship with has ended with her leaving, or because of my traveling." Kya had tears in her eyes. "I have been left time after time, Lin. I can't handle anymore leaving!" Kya said. "Kya.." Lin said in a soft voice. She grabbed Kya's hands gently and sat her down on the couch. "I don't want you to leave me, Lin." Kya sniffled. "I'm not, Kya. I'm not gonna leave you." Lin said. "I care about you too much to do that to you." Lin said. Kya sniffled again, but this time a little laugh came out. "I never thought I'd see Lin Beifong talk about feelings." She said. Lin chuckled and she leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees.
"Lin?" Kya said quietly. "Yeah?" Lin looked at her. "What if I decide I wanna go traveling again. Then what?" Kya said. Lin looked down at the floor. "Would you.. would you wait for me?" Kya asked, causing Lin to smile a bit. "What's so funny-" "Kya.. I've waited thirty six years for you." Lin said, her eyes still focused on the floor. "There'd be no harm in waiting a little longer." Lin said. "Do you really mean that?" Kya asked. "Of course I do." Lin said. "Kya, if you don't want to be in a relationship, then we won't be, and I'll leave you alone. But if you do.. just know I don't plan on getting into it just to leave you." Lin said. Kya leaned over and kissed Lin's cheek. Lin's eyes widened slightly and her face became red. "You're too sweet, Beifong." Kya said. "Don't go telling people that. I like my rookies scared of me." Lin joked. They were quiet. Neither of them knew what to say to each other. "I um.. I should probably get going-" Kya pulled Lin into a kiss. Just a short one. "Don't go." Kya said when she pulled away. "Do.. do you want me to stay?" Lin asked. "Yeah. I do." Kya said. "I want you to stay for awhile." kya said. "How do you mean?" Lin asked. "I want a relationship, Lin. I'm willing to give it a shot.." Kya said. Even though Lin tried to hide it, she was smiling. "Are you smiling? You know how to do that?" Kya joked. "That's it-" Lin stood up and walked towards the door jokingly. "No, Lin, wait!" Kya laughed as she ran to Lin and wrapped her arms around her from behind.
They laid in Kya's bed, wrapped up in each other. "Are you gonna put clothes on?" Lin mumbled into Kya's neck. "I might." Kya chuckled. Lin took a deep breath, inhaling Kya's scent. Kya pushed Lin away from her a bit and kissed her. "Thank you for giving me a chance." Lin smiled at her. "Well after that, i'm glad I did." Kya smirked. Lin chuckled before kissing Kya, running her fingers through Kya's hair.
#atla#lin beifong#beifong#lok#legend of korra#lin and kya#kyalin#kya ll#kya could absolutely kick my ass and i would thank her#lin fucking beifong#lin beifong owns my ass
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The Stone’s Toll - Chapter Four
Read on AO3
cw: medical trauma/abuse
They stripped her to the bone and prodded her towards the corner with the spigot about a metre above her head. Their eyes were focused intently on her every move, calculating each misstep. One of her guards called out into the hall and the water surged down in high pressured spurts. She had been naked with strangers before. Had been dressed by them. Bare and vulnerable. Mrs. Fitz came to mind. But this was not anything like that, it felt demeaning, dehumanising. It was intended to humble her.
The other guard threw a bar of soap which Claire fumbled with and fell to the floor. The grime on the floor had built up for years and mould dotted the edges of the shower. She scrunched her nose at the thought of picking the soap up from such an environment, but the stares of the guards burrowed deep into her skin.
“Two minutes.”
Claire carefully traced the spot above her heart. It stung less than before when she was weaned off of the pain medication. Claire was heavily sedated for those six days in hospital. She felt like she had when she returned through the stones, a crushing weight bearing down on her body. And she was all alone. Her injury was monitored until she could be properly transferred to Danvers State Hospital, or rather the Danvers Lunatic Asylum, where they placed her unceremoniously in her cage-like room. The pounding force of the shower left a dull pain, almost opening the wound on her breast again. She scrubbed the dirt, the pain off of her skin until she felt she had no skin left.
Claire was soon in the plain cotton uniform they provided everyone. Her hair flew wildly above her head because she was unable to comb through her curls. They at least deemed her safe enough to not need restraints on top of the guards that flanked her. How kind. Those were reserved for the more violent afflictions.
She watched as her tangled curls floated down to the tiled floor around her feet. Her hair was shorn to about her chin to conform with the other patients.
The institute had yet decided what to do about her condition, which they concluded was melancholia and the hysteria which accompanied it. All unnecessary consequences of her female persuasion.
“I assure you, sir, I am perfectly fine. Now if I could just speak to my husband.” She forced herself to put out the last word.
“He is still considering the terms of your release and treatment. You gave Mr. Randall quite a shock.” Doctor Lionel Brown quirked his eyebrows at his patient, placing the pairs of his pointer and middle finger against his lips in thought.
“I know. Now if you’d just-“
A knock sounded at the door.
“Mr. Anderson you may come in.”
“Mrs. Randall, this is Mr. Anderson, our specialist in mood disorders. He’s shed some insight with me earlier about what may be best in order for you to be released. If you don’t mind, Mr. Anderson.”
“I think our electroshock therapies would be very conducive for her recovery. When repeated twice a week, these treatments help ease pain and reduce memories that are hard to pass on their own.” Anderson glanced at Doctor Brown and continued. “Another option if the treatments are unable to hold and improve your condition is the transorbital lobotomy which is guaranteed to permanently improve it. I can assure you ma’am this avenue has been thoroughly researched and our patients report a calm demeanour within weeks of the operation.
“I highly doubt that’s necessary sir.” Claire scoffed.
Claire slumped in her chair and considered for a second. She could be free of the pain, of the man who haunted her every waking moment. She could stop mourning her husband, her family at Lallybroch, and her children. Maybe she would forget and finally be able to return to Frank as Jamie had intended. But she could never forget Jamie, no matter what happened to her. Her mind may forget but her soul would always keep him within her.
It was four doors later that she reluctantly followed one of the nurse’s in the ward down the dreary halls. No matter her reluctance to it, her treatments would begin according to the doctor’s schedule.
Claire was instructed to take off her shoes as she entered the room. She glanced around the room only to be met with unfamiliar faces. She had comforted the woman who went before her who was convulsing and writhing on the treatment table. Claire tried to soothe her and soon her breathing evened out and a dazed look took over her face. There was no fighting this. If Claire refused to comply, it would be much worse. The woman slouched to the floor and began her walk away from the machine.
The orderly wiped off the metal table from the woman’s sweat and perhaps even a small amount of urine: the reactions to the terror. He sighed and wrote on the chart, detailing exactly how the patient’s body handled the treatment. He pointed to the table, not even sparing a glance at Claire. One. Two. Three. She thought as she forced each step. Her back and limbs arched away from the shocking cold of the metal and her muscles tensed reflexively.
The nurse placed a flat wooden stick in her mouth and instructed her to bite down. Her arms and legs were strapped down before she could change her mind and start thrashing against her jailer. Two firm ovals suctioned to her temples and a strap ran around her head securing the device to her head.
Perhaps it was her indifference that led them to choose this method of torture. She would be sure to smile and have all the warmth of a womanly countenance when she next met with Doctor Brown. Her fate depended on her first husband, and the doctor that held her hostage within the suffocating walls of the institution. She had made her feelings quite clear to Frank, and perhaps he was enacting his vengeance this way.
As the first wave of electricity passed through her body straight to her heart and mind, her body convulsed under its strain. After the base time of thirty seconds for her treatment, her body slumped back down onto the cold surface that sent chills down her spine. She was left disoriented and stupid, waiting to gain back her senses.
“Who’s this, Smiley?” Claire’s mind could barely discern the shape of the figure hanging on the doorframe before her. The glum nurse who was addressed was the farthest thing from smiley.
“Mrs. Randall, your newest neighbour.”
“Oh, how exciting!” The girl who couldn’t be more than fourteen slipped something into the nurse’s pocket. “I think I’ll call you Miss Curly Wig.” She grinned and eyed the mess of curls fanned out around on the silver surface enviously.
The orderly nonchalantly slipped a lollipop into the girl’s waiting hands and a piece of gum, payment for whatever she had smuggled in for him.
“You’ll be just fine Miss Curly Wig.” The girl who was barely a teenager patted her shoulder in comfort. Claire couldn’t do more than stare blankly at the girl, no words appearing on her tongue. “Sure the first one is a bit of a shock. But you get over it. Your brain is like cotton the first few days, and you look as dumb as ever, but if you comply, they shorten it to every three weeks instead. I haven’t gotten the shock in four weeks now because I’ve been on my best behaviour. Haven’t had the urge to steal in months. Isn’t that right Smiley?”
Smiley grunted affirmatively in a way that reminded her of Murtagh while he put away the equipment from the day’s treatments. Her heart ached along with her head and tears pricked at the corner of her eyes.
“Can I escort her back to her room Smiley? You are done here for the day, aren’t you?”
“Yes, Miss Emily.” The nurse clearly was uncomfortable straying from protocol.
Claire walked back in silence to the plain white room, filled with only a white metal bed and mattress. Emily patted her hand on the sheets and Claire plopped down on them. The rambunctious child flitted out of the room, excited to find a new face in the dreary and tedious schedule of the ward.
Claire laid back against the stiff pillow of her twin bed. It was impossible to get comfortable here. Her brain was buzzing and her fingers felt tingly, like the static from the radio. In the night, when the other patient's cries filled her mind, she traced the fading scar on her palm where he cut her. The rings, sgian dubh, pearls and her old clothes were the only physical proof it had been real. Now she had none of them. No tangible proof in her grasp. The only reminder was the memory of the slight pain when he marked out the flesh into a J.
“Milady!” Fergus screamed into the empty air of the great room. His body curled up into one of the velvet chaises by the fire and his whimpers woke Jamie, who rested his eyes on the floor beside the inconsolable child. Jamie had almost drifted off to sleep himself, but his mind buzzed with thoughts of his wife. He rose and gathered Fergus in his arms, hushing the boy.
“Milady.” The tears renewed themselves and tumbled without end down his cheeks. Jamie stroked the hair from his son’s face and cursed when his hand felt the hot and sweaty skin.
Claire woke up shaking on the sweat-soaked sheets. “Fergus.” Her guilt of leaving him, her family was insurmountable. But she felt deep in her bones something terribly awful. A dread that squeezed at her heart. Just like any other person could feel the earth shift under their feet, before possessing the actual knowledge of what happened to their loved one. A fellow war nurse once told her of her premonitions, and the next day she was sent an impersonal letter declaring his death in battle.
She pressed the pillow against her ears, trying to block out the vivid visions of the young French boy.
Emily became an ally to Claire in the short amount of time she had been in the B ward. She followed her constantly like a lost puppy and accompanied her to the electroshock therapies every week. Claire supposed the girl had deemed her the sanest out of their fellow patients, so she must have felt more at ease in her presence. The girl had even taught Claire a neat trick, how to pretend to swallow her medicine and then spit it out later.
At night, the faces in the flecks of the popcorn ceiling above taunted her. Every move of the shadows was a demon reimagined in her mind. Of her family and those who wished her harm. They all played an equal role in the play stretched out before her. Two straight lines and a curve mixed together into one evil, Black Jack Randall and her husband. Her mind drifted to the sight of her son, curled up and shivering in his sickbed. She was stuck between the tormenting images in the ceiling or the all too real feel of Fergus’ small body pressed against her in a tight hug.
“Miss Curly Wig!” It took her a moment to recognise her young companion, the thoughts seeped slowly through her mind like molasses.
“Where on earth did you get these?”
“I filched them from Doc B when I was snooping through your files. I was going to trade them to Smiley, but I thought better. Hide them in your bra, they never look there.” The child winked at her.
“Thanks for the advice.” She slipped the silver down her shirt and was about to scatter the gold across the wooden boards of the floor when she thought better; it was a valuable chunk of money. “What do you want in return?”
“Nothing yet. But those locks of yours sure are pretty.”
“You want a lock of my hair?”
She stared at the child dumbfounded. Hers easily rivalled Claire’s, the fiery red waving around her ears and growing slowly towards her shoulders. What harm was there in giving a child a piece of a muddied brown curl? She gripped a strand of her hair from the base of her head and held it taut. Claire ripped the piece just below the hold her hand had on it so it wouldn’t be plucked directly from her scalp. Her palms opened, gifting the rare thing to the adolescent. Her face visibly brightened and she snatched it immediately. She tucked in safely within her shirt like Claire had done with her rings and skipped down the hall towards the dark wood staircase.
Claire plastered a sickly sweet smile as she sat on the plastic chair. Dr. Brown shuffled some papers on his desk and ignored her. He licked his finger to card through the pages and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He cleared his throat before finally acknowledging her.
“Ah, Mrs. Randall. And what, might I ask, lead me to the pleasure of seeing you in my office today?”
“As you can see, Dr. Brown, the treatments have worked splendidly and I would very much like to return home now. I see no need to be kept here further.”
“I’m sorry ma’am it’s just not how- oh looky here! Your husband signed for your release when he visited me yesterday.”
“Great, so now this has all been sorted.”
“Just hold on Mrs. Randall.” He emphasised her proper name. “Yes, he’s clearly signed your release here, but we’ll need to keep you here for an observation period of at least three more days. Make sure you’ll do no more harm to yourself or others. But, you’ll be glad to know we have seen an improvement from your treatments, and your last one will be this Friday, a day before your release.”
She bit her tongue to hold back the avalanche of defiant words and insults she wanted to fling at the man who held her fate in his hands. Finally, she settled for a simple, “thank you,” and left back to the empty halls.
The bastards in the hospital had made zero progress in truly helping her. If she was asked, Claire knew she wouldn’t be able to recall any detail at all about the last few months of her life. If she could call it that, she was dead living. The therapies only added to her already failing memory. Emily was the only bright part of her day, and now she was leaving the poor girl in the hands of these people alone.
Her final night, when her brain sludged forward through its thoughts, a consequence of her treatments, she finally allowed herself to relax back into her bed fully. But that was a mistake. Fergus sat before the fire at Lallybroch, playing soldier with some chess pieces. The sight of the son of her heart pierced through her chest. He turned around and smiled at her softly.
“Come back, Milady, please. Milord needs you. I miss you maman.” He had never called her maman before, only Milady.
On closer inspection, his eyes were wide with fear at the apparition before him. He knew Milady would never harm him, but there was something otherworldly about her appearance now, much different than her usual strange demeanour. Sensing his trepidation, she kissed his forehead gently, taking the pain and fear into herself from that small point where her lips met his curl that dangled there. A tear dripped down the edge of her nose to his cheek. A flash of red and blue entered the dream, but by then she was already awake.
#outlander fanfiction#adsofraser writing#claire beauchamp#claire fraser#jamie x claire#frank randall#insane asylum#fergus fraser#canon divergence#jamie fraser#medical trauma#I am inflicting pain onto my characters because I can#outlander fanfic
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Almost lost him
Pairing: James ‘Rhodey’ Rhodes x Stark!reader
Synopsis: Tony’s little sister had always had feelings for one James R. Rhodes. She’s kept it a secret for years, but will everything come out after he is injured during the fight against Cap?
word count: 2.4k+
Warnings: Brief cannon violence. Angst. Mentions paralysis. Swearing. Age gap. Also I have a specific age for the character mentioned.
A/N: This has been sitting in my WIP’s for over a year because I loved it so much and I didn’t want to end it poorly lmao. I know no ones gonna read it since he isn’t a popular character, but oh well. I love this fic and I love Rhodey so that’s all that matters.
Tony and (Y/N) Stark have saved the world from terrorists once again.
“Can you believe this title?” you laugh showing Rhodey the article on your phone.
“I was there too,” he says gruffly.
“You just aren’t special enough,” you tease, sticking your tongue out like you’re five and not thirty-six.
“Not everyone’s lucky enough to be a Stark,” Tony, your annoying but lovable older brother, enters the compound’s kitchen.
Tony took you under his wing and raised you since your parents died. It was a lot for a twenty-one year old to handle, no one he knew had to take care of an eleven year old. Especially one with newly discovered powers. They weren’t much, but when emotions would get overwhelming you would have white colored beams come from your hands. This later helped Tony come up with the idea for the repulsors on his Iron Man suit, which you helped him build.
As the years passed, you got a better hold on your new found powers. The more you and Tony dug into your parents past, you started to think that your dad had either given you something when you were a baby or your mom was given something while pregnant to make you like this. Your Dad always called you special, but you never thought you were this special.
“Any progress with Steve?” you ask hopefully. You know how much Tony values his friendship with Cap, he just won’t admit it. Especially because he’s hurt.
“No,” he grunts, but tries to brush it off like he doesn’t care. You and Rhodey give each other unamused looks, clearly not believing the bullshit Tony is trying to feed you.
“I think you should try to reach out to him again, you clearly miss him Tony,” you frown at the dark haired man in front of you.
“I agree with (Y/N/N),” Rhodey speaks up from behind you. He’s closer than you remember, and you shiver as you feel the little licks of his breath on your neck as he speaks.
“You love birds can shut up now,” Tony rolls his eyes, he leaves the kitchen without anything.
Heat immediately rushes to your face and you can’t look Rhodey in the eye as you stutter out an apology for Tony’s actions. You quickly leave the kitchen before he can respond, wanting to put distance between your blushing self and the man you had been in love with for years.
--
You had hoped that the conversation in the kitchen would have convinced Tony to reach out and make amends with Steve and half of the Avengers. But things only continued to escalate, where it seemed a battle between friends was unavoidable. So that's how you ended up in Germany, with your newest recruit Spider-Man, facing off against the people you cared most about in this world.
“Rhodey!” you scream as you watch him plummet to the Earth. Time seems to slow to a near standstill and all you can do is watch, too far away from him to be able to help somehow. Your knees buckle and you hit the ground at the same time his body does. There's a scream that’s so loud it rattles the windows of the airport hanger, a scream you weren’t even aware left your own lips.
Vision tries to approach you, but you let out a sound that's between a sob and a scream as he gets closer. You’re angry, and scared, you can feel a rush of something in your veins. You ball your hands in fists, bringing them to your chest as you curl into yourself.
The sound of metal crunching together pulls you from your rocking back and forth on your knees. You see a white glow, one that you're extremely familiar with, dissipating from around two shipping containers, now crushed together where vision was hovering. If he had stayed solid, he would have been crushed. You’re shaking even more as you stare down at your hands, you had never been able to move objects before. You could have hurt somebody. You can’t dwell on it too long because Peter runs to your side, telling you that Rhodey had a heartbeat and help was on the way.
It had felt like hours since Tony, Peter, and you had landed back down in the states. Dr. Cho was working with a spine specialist and a neurosurgeon to figure out the extent of the damage. After a while, they had updated you three, telling you that Rhodey broke his spine and they were taking him into surgery. Tony had left to go fiddle with one of his suits, his coping mechanism. He left the kid with you because he didn’t want you alone.
“How did you two meet?” Peter breaks the silence.
“Hmm?” you look away from the painting in front of you for the first time since you sat in the waiting room chair, to look at the boy.
“Mr. Rhodes, how did you two meet?” he clarifies.
“That’s a long story,” your eyes glaze over as memories start to come flooding back.
“I have time,” Peter gives you a small smile, you can really see what Tony see’s in the kid. The kindness that his Aunt May has taught him is abundantly clear, you know he’s only asking for your benefit.
“He met Tony when they went to MIT together, he somehow found a way to put up with my brother's antics. I didn’t meet him until two years after Tony graduated, so I was eleven,” you let out a little laugh as you realize just how long the older man has been in your life, and in your heart. “He came to my parents funeral for support for Tony, but he became my support system. Everyone seemed to ignore me and go straight for the golden boy, but Tony became too overwhelmed quickly. He introduced me to Rhodey who was the first one, besides Tony of course, to ask me how I was. He ended up spending the entire wake and funeral with me, giving me support and effectively distracting me from my pain.”
You look over at the younger boy, who seems to be staring at you with fascination. He sees the pain on your face when you stop talking, reaching over he grabs your hand loosely. Testing the waters to see if you’ll pull away from affection like Tony has with him. You give him a thankful smile and hold his hand before continuing your story.
“He joined the military not long after that. At first I would send him care packages and letters so he didn’t feel alone when he was deployed. One day when I was writing a letter one of Tony’s flings came into the kitchen and called me a pathetic child because I was crushing on Tony’s friend after I explained what I was doing. He never got that letter, or any after that. We didn’t really talk much after that, if he came to visit Tony I’d be pleasant before locking myself in my room. I guess I was embarrassed over my school girl crush. Years passed, lots of years, before Tony went missing, James was the one that told me what happened. And in those following months he would rarely leave my side, he wanted to make sure I was okay. We were finally both adults, and we gained a real friendship.”
“That sounds like more than a friendship,” Peter sends you an innocent look. You furrow your eyebrows at him in response, Rhodey definitely doesn’t like you back. “I’m just saying, if Liz was like that with me I would be ecstatic that she liked me back.”
“He sees me as a little sister, Peter,” your heart breaking a little more knowing that you’ll never be able to be with the man you’ve loved for years. Before Peter can refute you, Rhodey’s Neurosurgeon walks into the waiting room- some guy named Dr. Strange.
“How is he?” you jump out of your seat, Peter quickly following suit, his hand falling from yours at the movement.
“He’s out of surgery Miss. Stark,” his voice coming out as cocky and full of himself, like he’s overly proud that he did this surgery. “But the recovery will be the difficult part.”
“What happened? What’s still wrong? And when can I see him?” you’re shooting out questions faster than the surgeon can answer.
“I’m not at liberty to discuss that with you Miss. Stark, and you can’t see him until he’s out of the ICU,” the smug look is still on the surgeon's face, making you grow angrier with each word that leaves his mouth.
“Excuse me?” Peter looks between you and the surgeon with wide curious eyes.
“You aren’t family,” he states matter-of-factly. “Therefore I can’t tell you and you can’t see him.”
Your eye twitches in anger as your body starts to warm, your powers start to react to the strong emotion. You take a deep calming breath, keeping you from accidentally lashing out at the surgeon.
“I suggest you rethink that answer,” you say deathly calm, Peter stares at you in awe as you talk back to the man. “And consider who paid for all of the new state-of-the-art Stark technology and equipment you have in this hospital. Things I’m sure that you used in that surgery, that I donated to this hospital through the outreach program that I created. Technology created by both me and my brother.”
“Is there a problem here?” a man’s voice comes from behind you, he sounds irritated that someone’s making a scene. You turn around to face the man, who is wearing a badge that says medical director on it. Perfect. His eyes widen as soon as he recognizes who you are.
“Actually there is,” you frown. “My colleague, my friend. My favorite person after my brother really, he just had a pretty big surgery, but your surgeon here won’t tell me any details or let me go see him. So yes, we have a huge problem.”
“I’m so sorry Miss. Stark,” he exclaims. “Why don’t we go update you in private.”
“Did I sound like a bitch?” you frown, whispering to Peter as the two of you follow the MD and the surgeon. He nods a little with a smirk adorning his face.
“But it was awesome!” you grin at the young boy, remembering the excitement you felt when you saw Tony use his name to get what he wanted for the first time.
“He’s paralyzed,” the surgeon throws the statement around like it isn’t a big deal as soon as the four of you enter a separate room. “From the waist down. There was nothing we could do.”
Your heart and your lungs seem to stop working at the same time. Peter discreetly uses his super strength to catch you as your legs give out at the surgeon's words. Tears start to pour down your face as you realize all of the things Rhodey will never be able to again. Like never being able to help defend his country again, or chase after you when you steal the last cookie that he wanted.
You can’t help but feel guilty. If he had never met you and Tony he would be fine. He would still be able to do what he loves. He never would have been put in that situation. He’ll never be able to walk again. He won’t have the opportunity to dance at his wedding or chase his children around if he decided to have either of those.
“I know it’s a lot Miss. Stark,” the MD’s voice is muffled. “But there was nothing we could have done-”
“When can I see him?” you cut the doctor off.
“I could take you to him now,” he glares at the surgeon. “He won’t wake for at least a few more hours.”
“Peter, go call Tony and tell him the update,” you look at the young boy, he gives your hand a reassuring squeeze before heading back to the waiting room.
The surgeon and the MD both ramble on about Rhodey’s condition but their voices sound muffled- like you’re underwater. You feel like you're suffocating in all the pain and grief you feel for the love of your life. He’s lying on the bed, oxygen tubing up his nose, at least ten wires connected to him, and the disgusting beep of his heart monitor reminds you how lucky you are that he’s still here with you.
The two men quickly leave you with Rhodey, but not before the MD promises that he’ll be under constant supervision and he’ll receive the best treatments they offer. Not that you're shocked to hear that with the scene you cause in the waiting room. You grab Rhodey’s hand, careful to avoid yanking the IV in it, pulling his hand up to your mouth to give it a feather light kiss. Tears slip down your cheeks as you stare at his still body, you were so close to losing him today.
The tears have stopped by the time Tony shows up close to an hour later, he had dropped Peter off at home before coming up to the hospital room. Your older brother looks as distressed as you feel, although he seems to be tryin to hide it more than you are.
“How is he?” his voice is quieter than you imagined, like he’s afraid any louder will make you crumble.
“Stable,” your voice is monotonous, and you refuse to tear your eye’s from Rhodey’s face as you respond to Tony. “About as good as he could be I guess.”
“How are you?” he cuts you off as you go to respond that you're fine. “And don’t bullshit me (Y/N/N), you’ve been in love with him since you were eleven. How are you feeling?”
You don’t respond, not with words at least. Instead you do crumble, letting out a quiet sob as you grip Tony’s hand that he was about to place on your shoulder. Tony runs his free hand through your hair and down your back, trying to soothe you like he used to when you would have nightmares after your parents deaths.
“We almost lost him today Tony, I almost lost him-” another sob racks through your body. “And now he’s paralyzed. He can never walk again, can never defend his Country again. And for what? A disagreement between you and Steve? We could have lost him Tony for something so fucking stupid.”
Before Tony can respond, a muffled voice breaks through the tension in the room. The voice is gravely, but one you love so dearly, it’s Rhodey’s. “(Y/N)?”
Permeant tags: @crimson-knuckled-queen @rexorangecouny @mrs-malfoy-always
#rhodey x reader#james rhodes#war machine#war machine x reader#stark!reader#rhodey x stark!reader#war machine x stark!reader#tony stark x sister!reader#marvel#marvel imagine#marvel one shot#marvel x reader#marvel fanfiction#iron man#the avengers
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What She Really Wants X: What Really Matters
❛ pairing | hvitserk x reader
❛ type | multi
❛ summary | hvitserk has a way of getting what he wants. magnus is sick of being one-upped.
❛ tags | verbal arguments, wedding oriented, referenced underage sex, referenced sexual interaction, underage relationships, original characters.
❛ sy’s notes | i've actually had this fic done for some months and totally forgot about it until i was in my drive. thank you @chibisgotovalhalla for making me feel good enough to post this. It’s more a connecting chapter.
What Magnus hates about Hvitserk (aside from everything) is how whatever he said, went with you.
The world could crumble, pebbles could shake boulders on your house, and you would still have Hvitserk on your mind. Because he was your first-- and no one could beat a first. No matter how he worked or raged for a new beginning or for better for Mads. It was still Hvitserk at the end of the day. Mads’s eyes had almost popped out of his skull when Magnus joined the clustered group of friends and parents. It hadn’t gone unnoticed.
“What did I miss?” he asks because he knows Mads by the expression slapped over his face. That boy has been like his son. He raised him. Loved him.
“Nothing,” Mads quips quickly, snapping his head back around to the field. His coach howls something long and loud. Mads jabs his finger in that direction. “The game is about to start. C’mon Soren.”
Despite the fact that Magnus knew there was a certain something very wrong, he didn’t speak as you returned to a very familiar set of bleachers alongside Mad’s new girlfriend. She was pretty. There was a soft and innocent glitter behind those big brown eyes that reminds him of a simpler time in yours. He makes a note to ask Mads after the game all about her when Hvitserk stops on the uppermost stair, guiding you in after Alaia.
It’s not until they sit, and your hand is laced in Hvitserk’s, does he notice the gems glistening on your finger.
“What’s that?” he asks, leaning over Alaia’s lap. The girl squints at the rings too, watching it glisten, and smiles when she realizes that she’s forgotten to say something. She speak words that make his stomach drop. As if someone had hauled him off to sea, strapped that very same boulder shook loose by his crumbling world, and threw him out into the deep sea. He was drowning and couldn’t find a way out.
“Oh my god! Congratulations on your engagement, mama,” she beams. “Can I see the ring?”
Magnus sputters. He’s caught between your jovial smile and Hvitserk’s smug smirk as his eyes burned into the glittering gem. Hvitserk’s hand leaves yours, taking a drink of the metal tumbler that he brought with him as if that would draw attention away from what he’s done this time.
“There’s two?” Alaia asks.”Papa you didn’t. You’ve gone so far!”
Hviserk chuckles and swashing alcohol between his cheeks before swallowing the spicy liquid.
“We were engaged in high school. Hvitserk thought I should wear both.”
“Gonna put that money to use,” Hvitserk mutters, the faint scent of yeasty alcohol on his breath kissing your cheeks. He looks out to the field and catches Mads sheepishly waving. He waves back. “Been waitin’ to get married to my old lady for years.”
“It’s going to be so great,” she claps her hands together. “I’m happy for you.”
The field cheers through the end of the national anthem. Two dozen players jog onto the grassy stage, flicking the ball between their feet. Go Mads, go! Alaia squeals until her voice becomes high pitched, grating, and odd. She’s the kind of girl that should be on a cheerleading team, but belongs on the football team. She’s outgoing, witty, and you find you like her.
For all that screaming, Mads’s team loses 2 to 1. Alaia beats you off the bleachers and zooms down the stairs to find your son. You’re stuck with the impending explosion that has been boiling to ahead all evening. It finally overflows as people filter out of the bleachers like a herd of stampeding cattle. Their loud chatter blocks out the bulk of conversation.
“You really thought that was a good idea.” Magnus curls his fingers under the cold metal of the bleacher seat. “He hasn’t been back a year and you’re already going to marry him.”
“What is with you? It is her choice,” Hvitserk interjects.
“I wasn’t talking to you.”
“Fuck off, rat faced motherfucker.” Hvitserk snaps. “You don’t know when to quit bitchin’.”
It’s spiraling. You know the men well enough to know when Magnus and Hvitserk are headed for trouble. Hvitserk loves a good fight. He lurches up in his seat, probably ready to chuck him down a few flights of bleacher stairs. You grasp Hvitserk’s hand, settling it on your thigh for to restrain him from doing something that you knew he’d regret. Not for his sake, but Mads. Rather than answer Magnus, you stand up and wipe your skirt down.
“Mads is waiting. C’mon baby.”
You leave him feeling unheard. In the seventeen years that Mads had been alive, he’d not once felt this way. He had been the father figure here. The one who took the kid out to these father events that you lost with the death of your father and the disappearance of your family from Hvitserk’s clutches.
Then he came back. He gave Magnus that same, age-old shit-eating grin, and disappeared behind you. It wouldn’t have burned so much if he wasn’t at the exact same school of the past. The same one where he got his teeth knocked in-- right here. The bleachers may be different but the area is the same. It’s the same place where everything changed. He sits there long after you’ve disappeared down the steps to meet your son.
“Where’s morbror?” Mads, sweaty and panting, has his hand slung over Alaia’s shoulder.”I thought he was coming for burgers.”
You reach for Hvitserk’s hand and lace his fingers with yours. Hvitserk stands behind you with his hand latched neatly around your waist. He cradles your hip as you come up with the latest of poorly formulated excuses.
“He has to go to work in the morning, baby.”
Better you lie than Hvitserk.
Alaia is way too touchy.
You recognize it in the way she clings to his arm on one hand and punches him with the other. Whatever the cost was, she had to be touching him. All over him. Not just a little friendly kiss or holding hands, but you know for a damn fact that she strokes his thigh or trails up the taut pale muscles of his flat belly.
“They’re fucking,” you say pointedly.
Hvitserk throws a look over his shoulder to where they were a few rows down. Alaia slips a salty-sweet strawberry candy between Mads’s lips. Alaia’s other hand is certainly not on her own lap, that’s for sure.
“Huh?” Hvit says around a half eaten sausage. He takes a swig of his booze, “Ya think?”
You thwack him in the arm and glance at the dark aisle beside you. The movie Mads wanted to watch was old. So much so that the theatre reflected its age. “How is he not fucking her? Hvitserk!”
Hvitserk took a glance down. From what he could tell, Mads was the shy one. He glanced down to what had to be a handsy— because he had plenty of those in his day.
“Calm down. He ain’t initiating anything.”
“So she’s a predator?” You hiss.
“C’mon baby, they're the same age.” He says, as if that’s exclusionary, and as if that made any difference in the world. “Ain’t like he’s screamin’ for help.”
There’s a shush— the next few aisles down.
“Aw, you poutin?”
No reply. Hvitserk glances toward Mads and Alaia, content with his choice, and slips his hand underneath the lip of your skirt. He considers himself a rather patient man but your worries when all he wanted to do was relax? Na.
“Hvit stop— We used to be like that. Remember?” Hvitserk cuts you off, rubbing his thumb where he shouldn’t, cutting an outrageous smile.
“This isn’t about us.”
“Ain’t it?”
It’s not. The soft tingles of his fingertips, caressing your thighs, runs shivers up your spine. Your hand falls on top of his wrist, holding him firmly where he was. Hvitserk glances down toward his hand, then back up. An easy fix: you loved it when he pressed his lips to your neck.
“You’re doing it again.”
Hvitserk’s lips part, broadening his shit eating smile. “Doing what?”
Oh, he knew what. But he loved being called out for it.
His far isn’t bad at football.
“Fuckin’ what the fuck was that!”
The ball whizzed into the goal behind him and Mads was left wheezing for breath. Not because he was tired. The old man might only be thirty-six but he sucked at playing against him. Hvitserk plucked up the football between his fingers and spun it over and over between his finger tips. He twisted his head from the goal to the ball in his hands.
“A goal,” Mads gestures. “You know? Or, guess you don’t since you ain’t scored all night.”
“Shits rigged,” Hvitserk says, dropping the ball and kicking it back to Mads.
Mads shrugs and suggests, “Should’ve picked something you’re good at. You won’t beat me at this.”
“Tch,” Hvitserk throws his arms behind his head. “I ain’ good at shit.”
Except maybe selling drugs and chasing prostitutes. All of which his father has made exponentially clear he doesn’t want Mads doing. Mads stops with his sneaker on top of the ball, rolling it up and back, then flicks it between his feet.
“Have to be good at something. Don’t you have a hobby or something?”
Hvitserk peels off his white shirt sodden with sweat and uses it to wipe away the moist sweat dribbling past his eyebrow. He gestures his hand to the dark wooden wedding band that was strapped to his finger. The wedding is next week and while he’s not technically married yet, Hvitserk wore it as some sort of unspoken promise.
“My hobby was women. Not allowed to do that shit anymore. Getting married next week, yeah?”
���Wow, well, uh.” Mads picks up the ball at his feet and searches for words. It’s always nice-- when your own son is amazed at how amazingly shitty of a person you were. Hvitserk chews his cheek, running his thumb along the drawstring at his hips to tighten it up. They walk lazily with one another to start the trek back home.
“I...” Hvitserk starts. “Liked to paint.”
“Gang signs?” he teases. He imagines his father with a can of spray paint or something-- tagging some poor idiot’s unsuspecting business.
“Na, women-- like Renoir.”
“Ren who?”
“I fuckin’ hope ya ain’t going to France like that,” he tsks his tongue, throwing his hand around Mads’s shoulder, chasing away the thought of the Wolves that were so at the forefront of his mind. “Take a class in French first.”
“I’m taking Spanish.”
“Spanish? Wha’s so important about-- oh wait. Fuck,” Hvitserk almost laughs, but it comes with the realization that Mads’s little girlfriend was, in fact, Hispanic. He ruffles Mads’s sweaty hair, shaking loose droplets into the air. “Tha’s my boy.”
There are moments in which Mads feels like his father’s son.
Today was one of them.
The date sped up on him faster than it should have.
This time, Hvitserk was insistent: the wedding had to happen as soon as possible. After all, he was thirty-six. He wasn’t going to be a man that was forty and single. No, he wasn’t. Not if he had everything he wanted; a woman and his very own grown-ass son. He had something to prove to that son. That he was serious about his family.
“What’cha think,” Hvitserk grumbled. His hair, newly cropped short, waved in silky honey waves around the side of his face. His jaw was peppered with a new sort of scruff, worlds apart from his clean-shaven, long-haired past. The suit was slim, crisp, monochrome like you liked it. Better be like you liked it: he wasn’t the type to wear suits for just anyone. His woman? Special exception there.
His son stood back. “Yeah, looks nice.”
“Yeah?”
He slipped in front of the mirror and gave himself a once over. He turns the ring on his finger over and over until he has residual finger ring burn. He bites down on his lip, ripping it between his teeth. It wasn’t just saying goodbye to his single man’s life; it was the fact that his remaining brothers were coming. Bjorn, Ivar, and Ubbe. Would Mads like them?
“Where my boots?”
He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t anxious. There’s a powerful thud at the door, then another. Booming laughs fill in the hallway just outside the room. Hvitserk exhales strongly. His large hand lands on Mads’s shoulder with a clasp.
“Those would be your uncles.”
Mads, the little baby, looks panicked as the door cracks open. Ivar knocks open the door, dressed in a deep maroon and black suit. It’s crisp and formed to his chest. You should at least like it-- given the shit that Ivar has given you this year, he looks good. Why would be expect anything less?
“Man c’mon,” Hvitserk rolls his eyes. “Could’ve waited man. My kid--”
“Why would I wait?” Ivar hums, hobbling forward. “You’ve been keeping my nephew hostage from me. Come here boy.”
“With good reason,” Sigurd can’t help but to comment. “You don’t really want to know him. He’s a--”
“Would you both shut up,” Mads hears another man say. He has ruddy hair and a ruddy beard, with sharp blue eyes. He is almost considerate-- if not for the wolfish look in his eyes, he could almost be considered the most placid of the brothers. Instead, he seems to be someone who is always planning. “You’ll scare him away.”
Hviserk settles a lily in the pocket to his suit and fiddles with the cuffs of his sleeves. Strange, he thinks, how you pick lilies. They’re a bittersweet flower for him to this day. When he bought you flowers, they were roses. Whatever possessed you to chose lilies, he’s not sure. It couldn’t possibly be-- Thora. No, you couldn’t remember her.
“Far,” Mads looks over and pleads for some guidance in those soft, bright eyes of his. His eyes snap toward Ivar’s dragging feet, then the drunken stamped in from huge Bjorn and comparatively more calculated steps from Ubbe. “Help.”
“What is there to be afraid of, hm?”
“Go on, go to Ivar.” Hvitserk swings his hands at his hips. Mads looks up the broad body of the blond man and inches toward the darkest haired brother. Probably not the safest of brothers to be speaking to but he’s heard his name multiple times before. Uncle Ivar was scary. And safe. “They won’t hurt you. They’re my brothers.”
“You want a drink, boy?!”
“A dr-- drink?”
Hvitserk wonders why he ever thought he could be a Wolf.
Asta has always been supportive. Too supportive. You knew, somewhere inside, she wasn’t happy about your choice to get married to a man that had gotten her into some trouble. Her whole life could have gone down the tubes thanks to him.
“Are you sure about this?” she said in her slim baby pink maid-of-honor dress. Your hairdresser affixed a soft baby pink pearl pin into your hair. “You can always wait like we said.”
“Waiting…” You glanced down toward your dress, smoothing out the dress’s slim bodice, leading out into its flowy a-line tulle skirt. Your loved the crisscrossing pearls that formed the straps over your shoulder and connected front and back-- maybe a little sexy for your hypersexual husband-to-be. Everything had gone perfectly. Your make up-- a natural, gentle shimmery pink. Everything was soft and natural, and pretty-- and you were so damn happy. “I’ve been waiting long enough.”
“I know.”
“And I want to do it,” you held the bouquet of fresh pink lilies. “I want him.”
“That’s too much information,” she teases.
The door creaked open behind you. While subconsciously, you knew that it wasn’t him-- you needed to know. “Magnus isn’t coming, is he?”
“It’s just me, mor.”
You exhale forcefully. You knew it would be a stretch to ask Magnus to give you away. After what happened to your father, Magnus had agreed to do so with whoever you chose. For sixteen years you banked on that promise. Only now, when it came down to it, he refused to do so.
“It’s a silly tradition anyway.”
Asta begins to protest that she can do it when your son, bless him, intervenes by kneeling down by your knee. His large hands overtook yours. Your hairdresser stepped aside after having affixed the veil to the top of your head. Everything had been going so well. Something… had to go wrong, right? That was the way that days went. They could never be absolutely perfect!
“I’ll do it. I can give you away.”
“You’d do that?” you ask him, unbelievably. You look between Asta-- and Alaia, who looks angelic in a puffy pink dress beside your son. Mads perches kneels beside you, looking like all the man you ever hoped he could be in every sleepless night that you spent up with him as a baby-- wishing that Hvitserk was there. Knowing that your mother said he could never be.
“But you thought I should wait.”
“Yeah but; I love you. That’s what matters, right? That you’re happy?”
That, more than anything, was enough for you. You press back the insistent prick of heat at the corner of your eyes and nod. As you stand up on clumsy metal heels, your boy is there with his hand encouragingly around your waist. Alaia looks for your bouquet of assorted blush and white flowers: lilies.
For a moment-- just a moment, its you and him. No one else matters in the grand scheme of things. He settles the bouquet of flowers between your fingertips, pulling the sheer veil back over your face. “You look… perfect, mor. He’s missing out.”
“Yeah, that’s what matters, baby.”
@tephi101 @alicedopey @supernaturalvikingwhore @tootie-fruity @titty-teetee @queen-see-ya-in-valhalla @ethereallysimple @deathbyarabbit @deathbyarabbit @readsalot73 @natalie-rdr @lol-haha-joke @lisinfleur @hissouthernprincess @marvelousse @dangerous-like-a-loaded-pistol @vikingsmania @wish-i-was-a-mermaid @lif3snotouttogetyou @gruffle1 @cris101071 @gold-dragon-slayer @babypink224221 @wonderwoman292 @naaladareia @beyond-the-ashes @generic-fangirl @chinduda @laketaj24, @peaceisadirtyword, @ly–canthrope @cris101071 @daughterofthenight117 @unassumingviking @ladyofsoa, @inforapound @winchesterwife27 @feyrearcheron44@readsalot73 @squirrelacorngliterfarts @gold-dragon-slayer @medievalfangirl @sallydelys @bluearchersstuff @affectionrabbitt @whatamood13 @notyouraveragegirl17 @igetcarriedawaywithyou @unacceptabletatertots @ivarandersen @stra-vage @tgrrose @cookies186 @learninglemni-blog @theleeshanotlouise @soiproclaim @msmorganforever @destynelseclipsa @soleil-dor @strangunddurm
#hvitserk x reader#hvitserk/reader#vikings imagines#vikings imagine#hvitserk's heathen feast#honestsycrets fics#hvitserk ragnarsson x reader#hvitserk x you#hvitserk/you
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Hiraeth Chapter 35: Disquisition
Masterlist can be found Here!
Chapter Thirty-Five: Disquisition
Note: This was such a fun chapter to write. It feels good to be back in the swing of things. Sorry for the extended hiatus. I had a lot going on with my emotions and my computer. Life is just… life, you know? Anyway, thank you so much for all of the support while I was gone! I was worried I wouldn’t have anyone to come back to if I took too much longer! But onto the new chapter! And sorry it was so late! I slept until 7:40pm somehow…
(-~-)
Most of the Ludwig manor was quiet, a serene landscape of lengthy halls, winding stairs, and large windows covered in thick curtains that blocked out most of the ambient light from outside. The only indication that there were people living here was the occasional passing by of a servant going about their daily tasks, and that was exceedingly infrequent by design. But even so, the library was a bastion of contemplation and peace, the only notable sounds being that of the turning of pages and the soft click of boots as the group navigated the vast array of books at their disposal. It was almost as if the room absorbed any and all outside noise to help facilitate a better reading environment. Truthfully, no one would be surprised if that was the case. There was a litany of supernatural energy in this house, more than any of them had an explanation for.
Dante sat at the other end of the long table that spanned the center of the room, flipping through some sort of book that had pictures in it. It seemed to be an encyclopedia of some sort that contained droves of information about demons and just about everything associated with them on a species level. Maybe it was more of a bestiary than anything else, but it was one of the few tomes that the youngest Son of Sparda had been able to locate that was actually in english. Okay, maybe not quite, but it was close.
“So what brought you here in the first place, Vergil? I feel like I'm missing a joke.” He said casually, flipping through the hand-illustrated novel to try and locate what he was looking for. In truth, he didn’t have anything in particular in mind, but he was still doing his best to try and help. Books like these were more Vergil’s jam than his, maybe even Nero’s to an extent. And V was a given. Dante was somewhat sure that his older nephew’s blood was actually ink at this point with how much he liked to read taken into account.
Vergil was flipping through an even larger less approachable book with such nonchalant ease that Dante was almost certain that his older twin was doing so just to make him feel more inferior than he already felt at the moment. When had Vergil learned to read this kind of stuff? Had he picked some of it up as a kid from all the time that he has spent with their father before his untimely disappearance? That seemed to be the most likely answer. Regardless, he was able to read it, and had been up until Dante had asked him that question, seemingly interrupting the flow of his train of thought. He clasped the book gently and laid it flat on the table, looking over out of the corner of his eye at his younger twin. It seemed that Dante was onto something.
Vergil casually gestured towards a bookcase on the other side of the room that was behind a locked metal door. None of them had even noticed the room until now, the other bookcases concealing it relatively well. Bars stretched from floor to ceiling, allowing the books to still be visible, but not accessible. The bookcase on the other side contained about a hundred thick books that seemed to be exceedingly old, and they were each locked inside of individualized cages with only their spines exposed. A chain attached to each book and the bookcase on the other end ensured that you wouldn’t be walking off with one.
“You are, Dante. I came here in search of a book in my youth. I… encountered more than I bargained for.” He said, seemingly almost embarrassed. He broke eye contact and returned to the book, not at all willing to elaborate.
Magnolia snickered slightly, taking a sip from the tray of tea that had been brought to them a short while ago. Normally people were not permitted to eat in the library, but they were all adults and could be trusted to not eat and then rub their hands all over everything without cleaning them off first. There was literally a washroom twenty feet from them, but the dining room was on the other side of the house and down a flight of stairs. No one felt like going that far just to drink a few sips of tea and enjoy a macaroon or an eclair.
“What your twin brother is trying to say is that he absolutely tried to lift a book from our private collection while we were asleep one night, and he was caught. We have his assurances that he would have returned it, but I do believe he was smart enough to realize that he might have been in over his head.” She giggled a bit harder then, covering her hand in a polite attempt to not die laughing at something that only she and Vergil truly understood, given the circumstances and the context. Plus, they were in a library, after all. Best to keep it down. “He got more than he bargained for, indeed.”
Nero was not intrigued by what was going on, peeping over at them from a bookcase a few feet away. He seemed to consider yelling his question over to them before it occurred to him that he was in a library. He flinched, knowing that idea wouldn’t go over well before walking over to them with the book he had been examining and leaning over the table. Something told him that this was a story that might actually keep his interest for a moment, at least better than the book that he was trying to read that he barely understood. He was going to have to ask for an assist on this one. Time to go get V and pick his brain. It wasn’t that he couldn’t read it so much as he didn't understand the knowledge that was being imparted upon him. “Okay, so now you’ve got my attention. What did you do to him, Magnolia? I know it has to be something you did. You're barely holding it together.”
At that, she gave up and actually laughed, holding her hands over her face in order to try and stifle her laughter. There was no holding it back, but she could at least try to block the sound a little. The eldest Son of Sparda shook his head, closing his eyes for a moment as Magnolia tried to collect herself. It seemed that they were at two different ends of the spectrum in regards to the context of this memory. Now Dante was intrigued as well, waiting to hear the answer elaborated on.
“See, what Vergil forgot to say was that I snuck up on him, caught him, and used a relocation spell to drop him head first from the ceiling! He had no time to even try to react. He just hit the floor like a brick.” She pointed to the ceiling and shook her head, clearing her throat as she attempted to put herself back together. Her hair had fallen into her face, and she battled it out of the way, unwilling to allow it to stay there. “It was easily the most uncoordinated thing I've ever seen him do, and just recalling the totally flabbergasted look on his face is enough to make me choke. He lost a fight to a little fourteen year old girl, and he’s the one who brought a sword.”
Everyone looked over at Vergil in various states of disbelief. Surely Magnolia has to be exaggerating just a little bit? The mental image of the Darkslayer plummeting head first from the easily forty foot ceiling was just too improbable to believe. And the idea that he had been snuck up on? Vergil practically had radar built into his brain, at least from what they could tell. But the look on his face was all that it took to come to the conclusion that she wasn’t telling a tall tale. This had actually happened.
“Pardon my interruption, but did you say the ceiling?” A familiar voice inquired from above them on the balcony. It was V. He and Lucia had approached the edge of the railing, holding books from different ends of the bookcase that they had both been examining. The young summoner seemed more than a little bit amused by this turn of events. How on earth had she managed to drop Vergil from that kind of high head first and not kill him? Were his father’s bones made of titanium?
“Unfortunately, she did. Every word of that exceedingly unpleasant tale is factual. My neck and head still hurt just recalling it.” Vergil said grumpily, attempting to conceal the fact there was actually a part of him that was impressed by her aptitude at such a young age. It was slightly astounding to him that she had even managed to sneak up on him, even if he had been in a dark, unfamiliar space and his sole focus had been on the task at hand. It was a learning experience, to be sure. Never again would he drop his guard like that.” I suppose I am lucky to be able to heal at the rate that I do, as I am certain that I cracked my skull and, at the bare minimum, dislocated a vertebrae in my neck. If I’m being honest, I probably broke it.”
“I was trying to use a compressing spell to hold him in place, but I panicked when I saw Yamato, and the first thing that came to mind was a relocation hex. I tried to eject him from the property, but unfortunately for him my powers were unable to draw from a location that I couldn’t currently see, and I didn’t know how to make him pass through a solid object yet, so he just fell three stories from the ceiling.” Magnolia laughed nervously, clearly horrified by the fact that she “My parents were impressed, nonetheless, and I was rewarded for my “quick thinking” even though I was sure I had just killed another child. Those were high times.” She allowed a wistful smile to spread across her face, the warmth from the distant memory spreading through every extremity she possessed. Yes, that had been a fun occasion.
Lucia chuckled lightly under her breath. The history of Dante’s family was fascinating, if not tumultuous and filled with problems. But it seemed that their frankly ridiculous durability made from some extremely interesting situations at times. She was just glad that they always seemed to recover and no permanent damage was done. She had come to like Vergil during their short time together, and to say she was fond of Dante would be a bit of an understatement. He had always been a wonderful friend to her, and she wanted nothing more than the best for him, perhaps even a bit more.
As if he had sensed her thoughts, V pulled himself away from the scene below for a moment to look over at her, hoping that he had yet to give away his intentions in regards to speaking with her. He just had to get the nerve up to explain what he couldn’t quite put into words, but he had noticed that of the two of them, he was not the only one who seemed to possess this issue. He saw the quiet little moments that she spent thinking, normally looking over at Dante. At times she became flustered around him for no apparent reason, much as he did around ehr. He couldn’t help but wonder if she too was longing for something or someone that she knew she couldn’t have.
He wished her luck in that regard, realizing that this was something that had probably been in the works long before he had come into the picture. Had Dante noticed the way that she looked at him? Had Lucia noticed the way that V looked at her? It was hard to say, and he knew that at some point he would have to simply ask her what it was that she was after. Whatever answer she gave him, he would fully respect and accept, even if it wasn’t the one that he was hoping for. That was what a responsible adult did. But leave it to him to suddenly realize that perhase the only person he had ever felt remotely attracted to was interested in another member of his family. There had to be a certain irony in that. He just hoped that if that was what she wanted, her affections would be returned.
Dante seemed to be the sort that was perpetually single by choice, never indulging in any of the impulses or desires that he might possess. Perhaps he felt that he was protecting those that he cared about by not becoming entangled with them? It was all that he could imagine. Dante was likeable enough and, at least to him, he seemed lonely. It wasn’t so much something that his uncle did as it was just a way that he was. He could see a little bit of himself in him at times in ways that he didn’t expect or wish, hoping to spare everyone that he knew and cared about the majority of the feelings that he kept bottled up and pushed back so deep within himself. But these were things that had been set in stone long before his arrival. He was simply witnessing the aftermath.
But maybe it didn’t have to be that way? After all, something was only set in stone when someone accepted that and didn’t choose to alter it. Even the hardest stone could be chiseled with the right tools. That was the nature of such things. Maybe there was something that he could do…
Griffon cackled slightly from behind him, manifesting and landing on the railing between him and Lucia. The wiley bird shook his head for a moment before looking over at V, then looking down at Vergil from above. “Ya know, I make alotta jokes about Dante having brain damage, but maybe he’s not the only one. Maybe it runs in the family. A fall from a room this high? Yea, that’s gonna bruise your brain a little.”
While the rest of the inhabitants of the lower level of the library giggled, Vergil shot the demonic bird a hard to read look. She seemed to be considering saying something, but decided against it. V could only wonder what his father thought of Griffon and Shadow, considering the history he had with them and the nature of their creation. There had to be some hard feelings on his end, even if there didn’t seem to be any from theirs. Dante had some prior with their previous iterations it seemed, too. But unlike Vergil, he didn’t seem to care much about that. One could only imagine that his experience with them had either been shorter or less tragic than his father’s, and considering how little he knew about that experience aside from what he’d gleaned from Griffon, he knew that he wasn’t in a position to say literally anything about such matters. But he did hope that one day he would be able to make some sort of peace between them.
Just as was about to turn and head back over towards the balcony with the book that he had been holding, he looked over and noticed that Lucia wasn’t where she had been a moment earlier. Intrigued, he walked down several rows until he located her. She was leafing through some sort of book, a curious look on her face. She seemed to be having some sort of eureka moment, and he had no intention of interrupting, but he had to know if he could be of assistance.
“You seem preoccupied. Is something the matter?” He asked quietly, wanting to make his presence known, but having no desire to destroy her train of thought. She looked up, seemingly slightly startled, but making no physical indication of this knowin. It seemed that she had simply been so deep in thought that she hadn’t been able to sense his presence when he had approached.
“... Have you… is there a card sorting section in this library?” She asked, glancing between him and the book in her hand. If he didn’t know better, he’d say she looked almost concerned, and that in of itself was somewhat startling to him. He stepped back and turned to face the railing with her close behind him before taking the opportunity to turn towards the desk near the entrance. V gestured towards it before watching as she nodded politely and headed down towards it. Wondering what was going on, he took a moment to gently place the book back where it belonged before heading down to meet her, noticing that she was flipping through the cards on the table.
By the time he reached her, it became apparent that she had not located what she had been looking for. Her somewhat hurried and slightly alarmed minor threw him off as he contemplated if he should ask. She clearly noticed this, shaking her head slowly. “I didn’t mean to upset you. Forgive me. I found something troubling in this book, and it makes reference to a certain section “X” in this library that contains a book with the requisite information in it. But I don’t know where that section is, and I don’t see it anywhere in this guide.”
“That’s because no one goes in there, darling. Those texts are dangerous.”
Everyone in the room turned around, clearly alarmed by the presence of another individual that they had not noticed. Standing before them was a tall woman in a trailing black and silver dress with a gray hooded shawl over her head. Her face was exposed a moment later when she lowered the hood, revealing her to look very much like Magnolia and Luta. She was soaking wet, and none of them could find any indication that she particularly cared. A certain darkness almost seemed to radiate from her, making them all uneasy in different ways, specially Magnolia and Vergil, the pair seemingly recognizing her but alarmed by the state that she was in. Was something wrong with her aside from what was obvious to them? Because that was the only thing they could place.
Looking over at the two of them, the woman nodded for a moment before turning towards the stairs. She didn’t have to say that she would return. They could just feel it. And before long she vanished up the stairs, more than likely to change into something less saturated. V and Lucia both looked over Magnolia, clearly desiring an explanation as to who this absurdly unnerving woman was. Nero seemed to concur, slowly making his way over to the table and sitting down. He suddenly didn’t want to read anymore.
So… Who the hell is that?” He asked, his voice little more than a faint whisper. He didn’t seem scared so much as he was concerned, wanting to know if they were in any sort of danger. He had no idea what anyone in the Ludwig family was capable of, or if they were all on the same side. There had to be at least one outlier, didn't there?
Vergil and Magnolia shared a glance between one another as she nodded in response to her longtime friend’s unspoken question. Vergil almost seemed to pale slightly before leaning quietly on his elbow, thinking. But before any of them could inquire as to what was going on, Magnolia spoke. His voice was slightly shaky as she spoke.
“Section X is forbidden. It contains dark texts that you dare not view without the requisite knowledge. But if you must view them, that might be facilitated. And luckily for you, the only person with a key to it has just returned. Though she has changed significantly since I saw her last… ”
Making himself known for the first time in the better part of an hour, Sirrus came from behind a nearby bookcase and walked over to them before speaking quietly. He looked as though he had just seen a ghost, his normally pale complexion drained of all evidence that it had once contained blood or melanin. Magnolia’s youngest sister. Aluta. My father’s ex wife.”
(-~-)
I literally stopped to order macarons when I wrote the part about them and the eclairs. Something about it just triggered my sugar tooth. I’ve literally never eaten a macaroon in my entire life. But they are just so pretty! So anyway…
I hope you all had a great week! See you all in the comments, and on Wednesday with a new chapter! Gosh, it feels so great to say that again! I’ve missed you all! Things are about to get very interesting, and I can’t wait for you to be able to read them. I haven’t been this excited about the start of an arc since the flashback sequence!
#Hiraeth#My Post Devil May Cry 5 AU#V#Vitale#Devil May Cry 5#DMC5#DMCV#DMC#Vergil#Dante#Nero#Lucia#Nico#Magnolia#My OC
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WORM 1.5 : In which we are saved by the bestest of good boys
You don’t properly appreciate what superhuman strength means until you see someone leap from the sidewalk to the second floor of a building on the far side of the street. He didn’t make it all the way to the roof, but he came to a point maybe three quarters of the way up. I wasn’t sure just how Lung kept from falling, but I could only guess that he just buried his fingertips into the building’s exterior.
Holy shit.
He just mega jumped to the building where Taylor is and is hanging on the outside wall by his claws!
You better come up with a way to escape or to do something, cause you seem preeetyy dead right now.
I heard scraping and crunching as he ascended, and looked to my only escape route. I didn’t harbor any delusions as far as my ability to get down the fire escape before Lung came over the top of the roof and deduced where I’d run off to. Worse, at that point he could probably just beat me to the street level by jumping off the roof, or even just shoot fire at me through the gaps in the metal while I was halfway down. The irony of the fire escape being anything but didn’t escape me.
Yeah that’s kind of a disadvantage of being in high-up places if you can’t fly or teleport or something. Pretty easy to get trapped.
I wished I could fly. My school offered the choice between Chemistry, Biology and Physics, with Basic Science for the underachievers. I hadn’t picked Physics, but I was still pretty sure that no matter how many I could gather together, jumping off the roof with a swarm of flying insects gripping me would be just as ineffective as the 9 year old superhero wannabes you heard about in the news, jumping off ledges with umbrellas and bedsheets.
I really don’t think they can carry your bodyweight, or even slow down your descent. You would splat on the floor like a, well, bug.
Also holy shit that is kinda dark and probably a likely consecuence of powers in our world. Poor kids.
For the time being, I was stuck where I was.
Home BuildingStuck
Reaching inside the convex armor that covered my spine, I ran my fingers over the things I had buckled in there. The EpiPens were meant to treat anaphylactic shock from allergic reactions to bee stings and the like, and likely wouldn’t do a thing to Lung, even if I could get close enough and find a point to inject. Worst case scenario, the injections would supercharge his power by prompting a surge of whatever hormones or endorphins fueled his power. Not useful, dangerous at best. I had a pouch of chalk dust that was meant for climbers and gymnasts, I had seen it in the sports store when I was buying the lenses for my mask. I had gloves and didn’t think I needed the dryness and extra traction, but I had gotten the idea that it could be useful to throw at an invisible enemy, and bought it on a whim. In retrospect, it had been kind of a dumb purchase, since my power let me find foes like that with my bugs. As a tool against Lung… I wasn’t sure if it would explode like regular dust could when exposed to flame, but fire didn’t hurt him anyways. Scratch that option.
...Fuck yes
I love characters that think about what they could do best in every situation with the resources they have. If Taylor is like this for the rest of the serial....God I’m gonna enjoy this.
The problem is that I don’t think she has many options at all
I tugged the little canister of pepper spray free from my armor. It was a black tube, three inches long, not much thicker around than a pen, with a trigger and a safety switch. It had been a gift from my dad, after I had started to go on my morning jogs for training. He had warned me to vary my route, and had given me the pepper spray for protection, along with a chain to clip it to my belt loop so it couldn’t be taken and used against me by an attacker. In costume, I had opted not to keep the chain for the sake of moving quietly. Using my thumb, I flicked the safety off and positioned the tube so I was ready to fire. I crouched to make myself a smaller target, and waited for him to show himself.
Hmmm could pepper spray work? Maybe if he doesn’t have his eyes or face fully armored...
Also I find the mental image of this possibly hilarious.
Lung’s hands, still on fire, were the first thing to show up, gripping the edge of the roof hard enough to bend the material that covered the roof’s raised lip. His hands were quickly followed by his head and torso as he hauled himself up. He looked like he was made of overlapping knives or spades, smouldering yellow-orange with the low temperature flame. There was no skin to be seen, and he was easily seven or eight feet tall, judging by the length of his arms and torso. His shoulders alone were three feet across at the very least. Even the one eye that he had open looked metallic, a glowing, almond shaped pool of liquid-hot metal.
He probably looks more like a daemon than a dragon now. At least he doesn’t seem to have wings...
Just a veritable inferno of molted metal and flame and a looot of anger
I aimed for the open eye, but the spray fired off at a sharp angle, just glancing off his shoulder. Where the spray grazed him, it ignited into a short lived fireball.
Taylor used improvised flamethrower against the fire demon! Doesn’t seem very effective...
Hopefully the spray doesn’t ignite before touching his face because I think a pyrokinetic can handle himself otherwise...
I swore under my breath and fumbled with the device. While he brought his leg over the edge, I adjusted my angle and shot again. This time – with a small tweak of my aim mid-shot – I hit him in the face. The ignited spray rolled off of him, but the contents still did the trick. He screamed, letting go of the roof with one hand, clutching the side of his face where his good eye was.
AAGH MY EYE! WHY IS IT ALWAYS THE GODDAMN EYE??!
Taylor could be an excellent markswoman, she seems to have a lot of precission and nuance in aiming.
It had been vain to hope that he would slip and fall. I just counted myself lucky that however metallic his face looked, there were still parts of it vulnerable to the spray.
At least for now...
Lung hauled himself over the edge of the roof. I had him hurting… I just couldn’t do anything about it. My bugs were officially useless, there was nothing left in my utility sheath, and I would hurt myself more than I hurt Lung if I attacked him. Making a mental note to pick myself up a concealable knife or baton if I managed to live through this, I bolted for the fire escape.
Time to use the Joestar’s secret technique then!
Also yeah some hand to hand weaponry could be useful for the future. Probably not with this warp-demon, but with regular joes, so that we can be less squishy wizard in our approach
“Muh… Motherfucker!” Lung screamed. With my back turned, there was no way to see it, but the roof was briefly illuminated before the wave of flame hit me from behind. Knocked off balance, I skidded on the gravel and hit the raised lip of the roof, just by the fire escape. Frantically, I patted myself down. My costume wasn’t on fire, but my hair – I hurriedly ran my hands over it to make sure it hadn’t been ignited.
Oh fuck!
Yeah the fact that the costume is not yet fully complete came back to bite you it seems. Let’s hope we don’t end up with too severe burns in our first night out, christ.
Small mercies, I thought, that there was no tar used on the roof. I could just imagine the flames igniting the rooftop, and just how little I’d be able to do if it happened.
That... would have been unfortunate. 100% fucked instead of the .... 87% we are at right now.
Lung stood, slowly, still covering part of his face with his hand. He walked with a slight limp as he approached me. Blindly, he lashed out with a broad wave of flame that rolled over half the roof. I covered my head with my hands and brought my knees to my chest as the hot air and flame rushed over me. My costume seemed to take the brunt of it, but it was still hot enough I had to bite my lip to stop from making a sound.
The costume seems to be fire resistant! Mostly.
Spider silk is fucking badass.
Lung stopped advancing, slowly turning his head from one side to another.
“Cock. Sucker,” he growled in his heavily accented voice, his cussing interrupted by his panting for breath, “Move. Give me something to aim for.”
Actual perfect recreation of trying to hunt a fly at 4 am in the morning when you can’t sleep, and aren’t a white hot metal terror.
I held my breath and stayed as still as possible. What could I do? I still had the pepper spray in my hand, but even if I got him again, I was running the risk that he would lash out and bake me alive before I could move. If I moved first, he would hear me and I would get knocked around by another blast of flame, probably before I could get to my feet.
Eeeh your options are...
1) Spray him in the face, get blasted
2) Stay quiet.... probably get blasted as well.
3)Try to get away, and get... I’m starting to see a pattern here
Lung moved his hand from his face. He blinked a few times, then looked around, then blinked a few more times. It was a matter of seconds before he could see well enough to make me out from the shadows. Wasn’t pepper spray supposed to put someone down for thirty minutes? How was this monster not an A-Lister?
Well ain’t that a fucking horrible thing to think about.
Either:
1) He’s way stronger than he should be and he’s basically content with being small-time thug, even with the potential he has in the larger world stage
or...
2) He’s a big fish in a small pond and the people out there make him look silly by comparison which is.... holy shit.
He suddenly moved, flames wreathing his hands, and I screwed my eyes shut.
At least he’s not saying feel the heat over and over
And also how the fuck will you get out of this one
When I heard the crackling whoosh of the flame and wasn’t burned alive, I opened my eyes again. Lung was firing streams of flame, aiming for the edge of the roof of the adjacent building, a three story apartment. I looked to see what he was aiming at, but couldn’t make anything out in the gloom or in the brief second of light Lung’s flames afforded.
!!!!!
Reinforcements!! Someone has come to help!! Or at least to fight AGAINST Lung!!
Yes!
With no warning, a massive shape landed atop Lung with an impact I could swear people heard at the other end of the street. The size of a van, the ‘massive object’ was animal rather than vehicle, resembling a cross between a lizard and a tiger, with tangles of muscle and bone where it ought to have skin, scales or fur. Lung was now on his knees, holding one of the beast’s sizable claws away from his face with his own clawed hand.
OH FUCK
A GIANT FUCKING METAL-LOOKING BONEY FERAL BEAST JUST FELL FROM NOWHERE AND IS FIGHTING AGAINST THE INFERNAL DRAGON MAN
Lung used his free hand to strike the creature across the snout. Even though he was smaller than the beast, the impact made it rear back. It took a few short steps back in reaction, and then rhino-charged him off the edge of the roof. They hit the street with an audible crash.
AND THE TWO BERSERKERS ARE HURLING THEMSELVES OFF OF THE BUILDING TO THE STREET BELOW
This is glorious.
I stood, aware I was shaking like a leaf. I was so unsteady on my feet, from the mixed relief and fear, that I almost fell over again as two more impacts shook the roof. Two more creatures, similar to the first in texture, but slightly different in size and shape, had arrived on the rooftop. These two each had a pair of riders. I watched as the people slid off the backs of the animals. There were two girls, a guy, and a fourth I identified as male only because of the height. The tall one approached me, while the others hurried to the edge of the roof to watch Lung and the creature duke it out.
THEY WERE JUST THE RIDES FOR THESE PEOPLE
What a fucking entrance
“You really saved us a lot of trouble,” he told me. His voice was deep, masculine, but muffled by the helmet he wore. He was dressed entirely in black, a costume I realized was basically motorcycle leathers and a motorcycle helmet. The only thing that made me think it was a costume was the visor of his helmet. The full-face visor was sculpted to look like a stylized skull, and was as black as the rest of his costume, with only the faint highlights of reflected light on the surface to give a sense of what it was. It was one of those costumes that people put together out of what they can scrounge up, and it wasn’t half bad if you didn’t look too close. He reached out a hand towards me, and I leaned away, wary.
Damn he looks cool. He’s giving me ghost rider vibes in his outfit, but without the flaming skull part. Just badass biker energy
I didn’t know what to say, so I stuck to my policy of not saying anything that could get me into a worse situation.
At least you are not on fire, even though mr black leather and his zombie behemoths aren’t really giving me heroic vibes
Withdrawing his hand, the man in black jerked his thumb over one shoulder, “When we got word Lung was aiming to come after us tonight, we were pretty freaked. We were arguing strategy for the better part of the day. We eventually decided, fuck it, we’d meet him halfway. Wing it. Not my usual way of doing things, but yeah.”
Oh! ooooohhhh.
So the “Killing kids” part wasn’t actually murdering random civilians for the evulz
It was probably a territorial dispute! Cause these are totally villains or anti-heroes/vigilantes. Either/or
Behind him, one of the girls whistled sharply and pointed down at the street. The two monsters the group had been riding on bounded across the roof and leaped down to the street to join the fight.
Seems like that one is the trainer.
The guy in black kept talking, “Wouldn’t you know, his flunky Lee is there with a half dozen guys, but Lung and the rest of his gang are nowhere to be found,” he laughed, a surprisingly normal sound for someone wearing a mask with a skull on it.
He doesn’t seem to consider us a threat at least so that’s a relief
So they fought his underling while our girl here, on her lonesome, straight up picked a fight with bossman.
“Lee’s no slouch in a fight, but there’s a reason he’s not leader of the ABB. He got spooked without his boss there and ran. I guess you’re responsible for that?” Skull-mask waited for a response from me. When I didn’t offer one, he ventured towards the edge of the roof and looked down, then spoke without turning to look at me, “Lung is getting creamed. The fuck you do to him?”
Oh shit the venoms or the eye-injuries are making a difference in helping the hell-mount win!
“Pepper spray, wasp and bee stings, fire ants and spider bites,” the second of the girls said, answering the question for me. She was dressed in a skintight outfit that combined black with a pale shade of blue or purple – I couldn’t tell in the dark – and her dark blond hair was long and windblown. The girl grinned as she added, “He’s not holding up too well. Gonna feel a helluvalot worse tomorrow.”
She can know all that with just a look??
Information-based powers!! Intuition? Clairvoyance? Omniscience? Those always seem crazy OP to me in terms of offering support!
The man in black suddenly turned to look at me, “Introductions. That’s Tattletale. I’m Grue. The girl with the dogs-” he pointed to the other girl, the one who had whistled and directed the monsters. She wasn’t in costume unless I counted a plaid skirt, army boots, a torn-up sleeveless T-shirt and a hard plastic, dollar-store rottweiler mask as a costume. “-We call her Bitch, her preference, but in the interests of being P.G., the good guys and media decided to call her Hellhound instead. Last and certainly least, we have Regent.”
Grue? Huh, I can’t really guess what he could do based on that. Isn’t it like an urban legend or fairytale monster?
Tattletale...so her power IS information based! I also like the simpleness of her costume which I hadn’t mentioned
Bitch (Hellhound think of the children! ) looks really butch and badass from what I can hear. She seems to be the one with the beast power, cue the “Bitch” in her name
Regent...hmmm, something nobility-related?
I finally caught up with what he was saying. Those monsters were dogs?
Abyssal doggos!!
“Fuck you, Grue,” Regent retorted, with a chuckle and a tone of voice that made it clear he wasn’t really that offended. He was wearing a white mask, not quite as decorative or made up as the ones I associated with the carnivals in Venice, but similar. He’d placed a silver coronet around his short black curls, and wore a ruffled white shirt with skintight leggings tucked into knee-high boots. The outfit was very renaissance faire. He had a build that made me think more of a dancer than a bodybuilder.
He looks really theatrical. I really like his aesthetics. I still wonder what his power is.
Introductions done, Grue looked at me for several long moments. After a few seconds, he asked me, “Hey, you okay? You hurt?”
“The reason she’s not introducing herself isn’t because she’s hurt,” Tattletale told him, as she continued to lean over the edge of the roof and watch whatever was going on at the street level, “It’s because she’s shy.”
Damn omniscients and their lack of privacy!!
Her power is actually scary though. No secrets with her around..
Tattletale turned around and it looked like she was going to say something else, but she stopped, turning her head. The smile she’d been wearing faded, “Heads up. We’ve gotta scram.”
Bitch nodded in response and whistled, one short whistle followed by two long ones. After a brief pause, the building was suddenly rattled by impacts. In just moments, the three creatures of hers leaped from the alleys to either side of the building and onto the roof.
Grue turned towards me. I was still standing on the opposite end of the roof, by the fire escape. “Hey, want a ride?”
What?? Oh god is someone else coming as well?? What now?
I looked at the creatures – dogs? They were bloodied, snarling creatures out of a nightmare. I shook my head. He shrugged.
The dogs look like something you would see on doom and it is amazing
“Hey,” Tattletale said to me, seating herself just behind Bitch, “What’s your name?”
I stared at her. My voice caught in my throat before I was able to get the words out, “I don’t… I haven’t picked one yet.”
“Well, Bug, a cape is gonna show up in less than a minute. You did us a solid by dealing with Lung, so take my advice. Someone from the Protectorate shows up, finds two bad guys duking it out, they’re not going to let one walk away. You should get out of here,” She said. She flashed me a smile. She had one of those vulpine grins that turned up at the corners. Behind her simple black domino style mask, her eyes were glittering with mischief. If she had red hair, she would have made me think of a fox. She kind of did, anyways.
It’s true she doesn’t have a name yet! I guess bug would suffice for now.
And yuup they were bad guys, I knew it. Seems they have mistaken Taylor for one!
Well when you take into account the possibly too-grimdark edgy-lite costume and what she fucking did to Lung with her bugs in his eyes.... yeah I could see how they can draw that conclusion
With that, they leaped over my head, one of the three beasts hitting or stepping on the fire escape on the way down, eliciting a screech of metal on metal.
When I realized what had just happened, I could have cried. It was easy enough to pin down Regent, Tattletale and Bitch as teenagers. It wasn’t much of an intuitive leap to guess that Grue had been one too. The ‘children’ Lung had mentioned, the ones I had gone to so much effort to save tonight, were bad guys. Not only that, but they had mistaken me for one, too.
Happy first day out as a hero, Taylor! Well done!
And it still might not be over yet, let’s see what happens with this hero arrival. Let’s hope they don’t reach the same conclusions this time.
But we will see that next time! See you in the next update!
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hello yearning: a'plyae mae.
Summary:
Jung Taekwoon, a fourth tier soccer player in the K3 division of Korea's football leagues, juggles the struggle of raising his nephew as well as pushing his career forward when he unconsciously commits an act which bestows a faerie of good fortune upon him. A problem; the faerie is very mischievous. Another problem; the faerie is also very, very attractive.
Rating- Mature.
artwork by @changbaegi. used with credit.
Chapter 1: Gallimaufry (or read on ao3)
Taekwoon accidentally saves the life of a child, and that’s how it starts. He hadn’t thought that the kid was in danger or anything like that, it was just that he didn’t want his nephew’s friend to fall into the depths off the coast of Hallyeohaesang National Marine Park, where the air is always tangy and the wind tastes of sea salt.
At seven years old, the child was full of wonder, and had leaned too far for Taekwoon’s comfort over the edge of the fence that separated the small group from the crashing waves below. With the reaction time of a caregiver who had spent too much time with a toddler, the six foot something Korean man swooped the boy from the top of the fence- only to watch as the section of the chain link fence the boy had been climbing on fell away with a clang.
Taekwoon watched apprehensively as the metal crashed against the rocks that made up the cliffs below, swallowing thickly when he realized, whoa, that was a really close call.
The child in his arms seemed to grasp this concept at the same time, because wide and terror-stricken eyes searched Taekwoon’s own chocolate hues before he began to cry. They were loud, body wracking sobs, and the football player resigned himself to his fate, consoling the fearful creature before it was snatched from Taekwoon’s grasp and coddled by an equally panicked mother.
He didn’t think he’d done anything particularly heroic, but when he was being thanked like he was Herculean, it was hard not to have some pride. Taekwoon totally didn’t puff out his chest at the praise from the kid’s mother, as it was. Nope. Not a bit.
As he’s busy trying to bring both mother and child to a state of calm, Taekwoon’s gaze wanders, searching for the child that he was actually in charge of supervising.
Taekwoon’s nephew was away from the commotion, thankfully, within a horde of students listening intently to a folktale that he was sure the park highly capitalized on. Actually, he was thankful there wasn’t much propaganda around the place. It meant the kids could actually enjoy the scenery. Taekwoon did, however, nearly roll his eyes when the tour guide -a woman in her mid-thirties who was supposed to know the area like the palm of her hand- sent a wink his way. Very professional. Luckily, he remembered himself in time, and managed a wry smile in return before gathering his bearings. They would have to head back soon to the bus waiting for the twenty some kids to take back to their school. Considering that it had taken an energetic bunch almost two hours of walking just to reach this part of the trip, Taekwoon knew he was going to be hearing more than a few exhausted grumbles on the way back.
There were already Park Services officers attending to the area devoid of fence under the watchful eye of a few other parents that had been suckered into child supervision for the field trip. Rolls of yellow caution tape marked off the empty space, and Taekwoon took this as a sign to leave. With a gentle hand to the back of the still sniffling mother’s back, the football player steers them toward the rest of the group. No doubt the park would want a statement, and Taekwoon knew this day was going to be a lot longer than he expected.
“Oh, Jung, I just don't know what I would have done,” Minjee was blubbering, clutching the son who was no longer looking so much scared as annoyed. Taekwoon shakes his head, actually smiling sincerely now.
“I can imagine. If anything happened to Minyul, I would be beside myself,” is his curt reply, voice neutral. He had an image to uphold after all. It wouldn’t do well if someone were to snap a picture of him speaking to this woman looking too comfortable. He didn’t want a dating scandal on his hands when he was well on his way of getting out of the fourth tier of the football league. “But, Dohyun is safe. There is no harm done.”
Minjee opens her mouth again as if to argue, but Taekwoon can already tell that she’s coming back to herself and he thanks all his lucky stars for that. Taekwoon liked her, he really did. She was a doting mother, even if she was forgetful at times, and the school events that they sometimes worked together for always went well if she had anything to say about it. It was just… He really didn’t enjoy long conversations with people he didn’t very well know. They just didn’t do much for him, so when a park officer -not either one of the previous two who were aiding with the fence- emerges from the tour station and approaches the pair, Taekwoon happily leaves to let the situation unfold. A growing sense of unease was building in the pit of his stomach, and he wanted to get Minyul home and safe as quickly as possible.
Minyul hardly seemed to have noticed what happened, too enraptured by the story of the Fae Folk who were said to have crossed the ocean to come to this very spot and make peace with Korea’s own mythical creatures; most notably Chollima. A pretty tale, if Taekwoon were to admit, and he allows himself a moment to listen.
Excerpt From Third The Work of Han Gyeon (1625)
With trepidation we walk through these woods, the crunching of twigs beneath our feet crisp and echoing as the trees hum with life. Every so often a face appears woven into the framework of branches and leaves and we know that this is the world we were not meant to be, but have been granted permission for this occasion and this occasion only. A man, I think it is a man, whistles a tune from behind me, but I do not dare to look back lest I forego any sight of the beauty we are to exchange greetings with. In our hands, the pools of fresh spring water we were ordered to gather so often drip onto the pathway below, gnarled limbs of roots clearing the way ahead of us. There is so far to go as of yet, and ahead, the faint neigh of a horse beckons us forward.
This is what Taekwoon remembered. He could recite the passage off by heart, which wasn’t surprising considering he had asked his mother to read this to him again and again before he found it in him to rest for the night as a child. Watching his nephew experiencing the same feelings, developing the same glint in his eye as he heard the story told to him, it warmed something within Taekwoon’s heart that he didn’t know was there. Or, maybe he had just forgotten about it.
“And that’s about all the time we have for today!” Is the cheerful exclaim from the tour guide, the park badge glinting proudly off the chest of her uniform as she stands to attention. Minyul blinks the same way he does when he comes to from a particularly satisfying nap, and it takes far too much energy than Taekwoon will admit not to coo at his nephew’s cuteness even as the rest of the kids start to rouse again. They’ve gotten pretty used to lining up already, and for that Taekwoon is thankful, because he did not want another incident like the previous one. All of the adults, parents and park workers alike, seemed to be paying more attention now anyway. Unfortunately, the weight on Taekwoon’s chest had yet to ease, and he reached out for Minyul’s hand so that the press of a tiny palm against his could help. It did, and he was much more confident that nothing would happen to his precious nephew as the group moved further and further away from the sets of jagged rock jutting out from the water below. What kind of an uncle would he be if he couldn’t even keep his own family safe. Taekwoon was Minyul’s legal guardian after all.
Excerpt From The Third Work of Han Gyeon (1625)
To be understood as a translation into modern speak of the 20th century. Translation as approved by professors Choi Yongmin and Kim Soyee of Korea University’s Linguistics Department and the International Circle of Korean Linguistics.
To behold the Senrima in its pure essence is a majesty beyond the words I can put to paper. Feathered wings gathered into a graceful arc when the beast was at rest, grazing peacefully, hooves of silver and gold trotting across the expanse of green grass as somewhere, the gurgle of a creek sets the music for the grove. It is not white as I have come to know it as, but a glorious deep amber, pelt reflecting the sun so that a sheen of honey hues decorated its flesh. We did not go unnoticed by it for long, as with one turn of its mighty head the ancient brute regarded us with a level stare. In the briefest of moments, I made contact with the creature and a shiver ran down my spine. Eyes of far too human a making mirrored mine, copper eyes flecked with bright brass a cacophony of colours and its tail flicked once to the left. It seemed to me and mine that the monster- for what else could a creature of this size be as it dwarfed even the tallest of men?- was determining our worth. The bravest soul among us stepped forward, and to me caught unto my sleeve and whispered a warning. “Master,” he began, “do not fret. This is what is meant.” And he stepped forward with not a break in pace to allow the Pegasus a drink from the spring water in his hand. With fascination and repulsion I saw as the mortal’s hand was enveloped, only to emerge from Chomilla’s mouth unscathed. A right of passage. Many of us followed. Only three were left behind, not to engage with the folk that lay just beyond this patch of land. Perhaps Chomilla sought their company. Perhaps Chomilla were protecting the sky- dancers. Free of our first burden, the group of seven now marched on, not allowing our gazes to linger behind us for fortune be lost.
There were markers like this littering the way to the cliffside tour base they had left, and while it was nothing for Taekwoon to read, Minyul was still having some trouble.
“Ta,” the child began, referring to his uncle with the nickname Taekwoon had long since been branded by. “My feet are tired.” Ah, so it was a complaint. Nothing to fear, Uncle Ta was here. Without so much as a sound, he knelt down to do exactly what his nephew liked best; give the kid a piggy-back ride. A squeal of excitement and then Taekwoon grunt as the weight of the pudgy child was added to his back. It wasn’t so bad. Years of fitness training meant Minyul felt more like a sack of potatoes than a growing boy. Taekwoon smiled at that, even as the boy’s face nestled into the crook of his neck between his head and shoulder. If all blessings were in order, Minyul would fall asleep like that and make the rest of the walk back a lot easier for his caregiver.
Taekwoon loved that kid. Loved him more than he could remember ever loving anything else. It could be because Minyul was essentially his child now. The circumstances could have been a lot better than they were, but if Taekwoon had to lose a sibling, then at least there was someone left behind. But, he wasn’t going to think about that now as the group was entering into the first part of the trail. It would be easier to walk from here on out, and the football player cast a glance behind him to ensure that the rest of the group was, indeed, following just behind them. Taekwoon couldn’t really help but walk ahead. His long legs were an asset on the field just as much as they were in everyday life. They got him places a lot faster, that was for sure.
“Ta…” He hears the call, softly at first before the whining voice grows and Taekwoon knows for sure that something is wrong.
“Min-ah,” he responds like he’s sure is expected, slowing his pace. Only a half kilometer to go. They had been so close.
“Gotta pee.” Taekwoon groans.
“C’mon, kiddo. Can’t hold it?”
“Gotta pee NOW.” Well, shit. If he wasn’t around a group of first grader’s Taekwoon might not have been able to hold that one back.
“OK, ok, let’s go and find a spot.” He was just glad that they were somewhere still somewhat secluded. If there wasn’t an abundance of shrubbery around, they would have been in a tight spot. As it was, they were far enough ahead of the main group that the uncle and nephew could step away from the main trail and find a more private place to, er, do the deed. Normally, Taekwoon would frown at such behavior, but Minyul wasn’t even old enough to walk to school by himself, so what could he really expect?
“Alright, I’m right here. You can be a big boy and do it by yourself if I turn around, yeah?” It was mostly to keep watch. Taekwoon had a keen eye, and he was always sure to put it to use, particularly if Minyul’s safety was jeopardized.
Said nephew seemed to have already gotten the idea, because Taekwoon heard a zipping sound that could only be an actual zipper and so he took to staring out into the green that surrounded them instead.
This place really was quite beautiful if one took the time to see it. It was particularly nice now, when the September air had yet to become too chilled to enjoy the day but the sun was still pleasantly warm on his face even through the dappled shade of the foliage above. Taekwoon smiled. He felt just like a character from one of the old stories when it was like this, so different from the hustle and bustle of daily life that lie just beyond the trees.
And then he sees it. He almost doesn’t believe it at first, because surely if there was a person out here, they wouldn’t blend in so well to the scenery? Taekwoon squints, trying to peer further at the spot that he was sure the face sprung out of, trying to give some clarity to the image. It wasn’t a trick of the light. Or, at least, he didn’t think it was. The face had been so realistic, staring benevolently right at him with an unwavering gaze. Hell, Taekwoon thought he’d even seen a twinkle in its deep set brown eyes. Big eyes. Not like Taekwoon’s own slanted ones, but round like the cheeks they were set above and curved with impish glee.
So where had the face gone?
Taekwoon really wished he had decided to walk alongside Minjee, and as soon as there’s an affirmative noise from the adolescent at his side, he wastes no time, swooping Minyul up and onto his shoulders so that pudgy calves rested on either side of his neck. Minyul whooped. Taekwoon stared solemnly at the place that he knew the face disappeared from before beginning his walk back to the carved out trail through the forest area. Every so often, he glanced back, but even though there was never a sign of anything following him, Taekwoon couldn’t shake the feelings that he was being watched.
When they got back to the buses, gratefully unscathed but for a manner of scrapes and bruises that all children seemed to get no matter what activity they were engaged in, the sensation had subsided somewhat. Taekwoon was a large man, powerfully built with broad shoulders and a shorter torso that sometimes made it hard to find shirts that fit properly, but he was certain he would be able to hold his own in a physical altercation. He just didn’t particularly want to if it wasn’t necessary. He did think about what he would do if that thing from in the trees came after him, though, and there weren’t very many pretty images that came of it.
Don’t think about manslaughter, Taekwoon, you’re with juveniles.
A whistle sounds from somewhere, the blaring screech cutting through the din of activity in the parking lot.
“Ta, gotta go,” Minyul tugs at Taekwoon’s ear, the larger man obligingly tipping his head to the side to allow for the minor abuse. Ah, right. Minyul was still on his shoulders, which meant that Taekwoon was incredibly careful as he knelt down to allow the small boy down to gather up with his friends again. He chatted so animatedly, using big gestures of his arms and his whole body to convey his ideas, and Uncle Taekwoon was glad that Minyul could be so confident. (Regular Adult Taekwoon knew that this behaviour would soon be frowned upon and that he’d have to teach the boy proper manners soon, but for now he would have the pleasure of watching his nephew grow up in his own loud way.)
“They are cute.” And Taekwoon smiles at the sound of Minjee’s voice, the one that he was familiar with, the one that wasn’t jittery and unstable. He nods a confirmation, the look in his eyes much more tender now as he watched Minyul board the bus with the rest of the class. One small, plump hand raises to wave at his uncle, and then the youth is gone in a flurry of bright colours that suited toddler fashion to a T.
The football player would be following close behind in his own car, partly to make sure that there was no danger of him getting lost on the way out, but mostly because he could be overbearing and he wanted to know that the bus was going in the right direction. He was living in a scary time, and he wanted to take every precaution, especially when there was a trip all the way out here, where there were places so secluded that he was sure no person had actually trod there yet.
For some reason, when Taekwoon starts driving away from the park, he starts thinking about the face he had seen.
#hello yearning#fae!au#vixx#leo#Ken#keo#mine#do not repost!#i put it on 3 fucking sites dont repost it!#fanfic
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Follower- Jeremiah x Reader (Kidnapped 2)
Kidnapped 1
This is what happens when Jerome steals the one thing that Jeremiah has cared about in a long time. (With a special retelling of 4x18)
Words: 1949
Rating: T
Warnings: Major Character Death (Mentioned), Kidnapping, Stockholm Syndrome, Slight Jerome x Reader but only for this part
Your eyes widened as you stared at the figure sitting in front of your laptop. “Weren't you just out there?” you stammered.
“Little ol’ me? Oh, Darling, I’ve been sitting right here for the longest time,” the man spoke. He stood up and towered over you. His menacing smile forced you to back up and reach behind you for the doorknob. He placed his arm on the door forcing it to stay closed. “I’ve been waiting here so long for you to return and this is how you treat your guest?”
“Jerome,” you whispered the name falling from your lips like a curse.
“So he has told you about me. I thought he might be too ashamed of me to tell his girlfriend,” Jerome cackled. You were leaned against the wall. Jerome’s face was so close to yours you were sure that he could feel your heart pound. “I’ve been watching you for a while now, Dollface.” You pulled your phone out of your pocket.
“Why don’t we just sit down on my bed and talk?” you suggested fear drenching your every word.
“Do you really want to get on a bed with me?” he retorted, an eyebrow raised.
There was a knock at the door, and your eyes widened. “One minute!” you shouted to the other side of the door.
“You left your coat, (Y/N),” Jeremiah spoke loudly in response. You let out a deep breath.
“Fuck, get in the bathroom,” you whispered attempting to push him in that direction. He smirked as he followed your direction closing the door behind him. You took a sigh and adjusted your hair before opening the door.
“(Y/N)! Here’s your coat, Madame,” Jeremiah spoke as he handed you a jacket.
“This isn’t mine,” you spoke, slightly confused as you took it.
“I also really need to use your restroom,” he blushed.
“I think my roommate is taking a number two right now, but I think there’s a bathroom downstairs,” you smiled toward him.
“Well then I’ll just wait,” Jeremiah spoke as he began to enter. “Hey whose coat is that?” he pointed toward Jerome’s coat on the back of my desk chair.
“It’s mine. I just got it,” you spoke as you put it on. His eyes widened as he caught the familiar scent of the jacket.
“Jerome,” he whispered as he looked over to the bathroom. “You lied to me.”
“Jer, he showed up here and threatened me!” you shouted.
“Hey, Babe. Hello, Brother,” Jerome smirked as he exited the bathroom. He walked over to you and put his arm around your shoulder. “I see you’ve met my girlfriend.” You could feel the chill of the gun as its metal pressed against your back.
“(Y/N), is this true?” Jeremiah asked you. “What am I saying? Of course it’s true. Let me guess, Jerome, you’re here to kill me off once and for all?”
“Now, now, Dear Brother. Killing you off now would be too easy. Taking the girl that you love? Now that would be a feat,” Jerome laughed.
“Jeremiah. Please,” you whispered unable to break free from Jerome’s grasp.
“What, (Y/N)? You promised.” You could see the tears fall down his cheeks.
“Let’s go, Dear,” Jerome spoke tugging on your arm. Tears fell down your cheeks as you were forced to leave your dorm room and go with Jerome.
There you sat against the plush leather seat of the car that you were sure that Jerome stole. He was driving 90 in a 55 weaving in and out of traffic. Why? You decided that it was for the hell of it. “Where are we going?” you shouted against the wind flying against your face.
“Gotham, Baby!” Jerome shouted throwing his fist in the air.
Of course you’d heard of the legendary city. There was no way to tell what he was going to do to you in the city of criminals. Would he sell you to a sex trafficker? Would he just kill you? There was no way to tell what was going on in his mind. You knew that it would be something dangerous, however. The mere thought of it got your adrenaline pumping, and no matter how afraid you were in that moment the uncertainty of your future was something that you’d never felt before.
As the hours passed you watched the rural area that you were just in turn into a urban trash can. As you pulled up to the circus, a shiver ran up your spine just looking at the eerie scene of each section. You knew as you stepped out of his stolen convertible that your life would never be the same.
Five Years Later
“Hey, Sugar Plum,” Jerome greeted as he hugged you from behind.
“What are we doing today, Jerome?” you questioned leaning into him. Of course he had changed since you met him. There wasn't a single strand of softness in his body except for when it came to you, his partner in crime.
“We are going to meet up with an old friend of ours,” he smirks.
“Are we dressing to the nines?” you smirked feeling his vibe.
“Oh yes we are. This is a suit and tie occasion, Dear,” Jerome laughed pointing in the direction of the dress that perfectly matched the pale, yellow collared shirt that he had on underneath his white jacket.
“It’s beautiful,” you spoke walking over to it. “How long until we leave?” You picked up the dress and matching white heels.
“Thirty minutes,” he spoke. Your eyes widened as you rushed back into your shared bedroom and began to fix your hair. Twenty-eight minutes later, you walked out of the room wearing the getup that he gave to you along with some minor makeup and hair. “Gorgeous. You might actually upstage me.” He laughed. He extended his hand out to you and you took it. You looked back at the apartment that the two of you shared knowing that this would be the last time that the both of you ever stepped into it.
The music festival was in full swing. The bass rocked through each and every person but especially through your heart. You walked up behind Jerome as he interrupted their performance. You stood alongside Jerome as you obediently agreed to doing all of the things that he asked you to do. You not only did this out of loyalty but fear. Fear that was deeply rooted in your skin since he took you. Your greatest fear whilst in his arms was that he would one day get sick of you and just slice your neck open only to watch in curiosity as the blood dripped from your carotid artery.
You blinked the fear away from your memory as you watched James Gordon push his way through the crowd. Jerome laughs at Gordon’s attempts to get Jerome to stop his plan. It’s too late, however, and Jerome makes his demands. James sighs and agrees to give Bruce Wayne and Jeremiah Valeska.
“Jerome,” you whispered as Gordon walked away.
“Yes, My Sweet?” Jerome smiled.
“What are we going to do to Jeremiah whenever James comes back?” you question as the music begins to play.
“Oh, Darling, we are going to make him as mad as the both of us!” Jerome let out a loud cackle that forced you to wince at the first note. You knew that you were still as sane as the day that you had first been in contact with Jerome, so you shook your head in confusion. Seeing this, Jerome clarified his earlier statement with, “You’ll see soon enough.”
You stood next to Jerome and put back on the insanity act for the public. You slung your arm around Jerome’s shoulders and planted a kiss on his cheek. You reached for the gun that was strapped around your thigh underneath the skirt of your dress and aimed it toward the sky pulling the trigger several times and laughing maniacally. You knew that Jerome could see through your facade, though you knew he was grateful to have someone to ground him through his entire plan. The plan that he had been spilling to you since for years upon years now.
It was only a little while longer when Jerome made the announcement that Jeremiah and Bruce were here. There was a shiver that ran up your spine as you could feel an ominous vibe that filled the area. Jerome, off in his own little parade, continued with his plan as you slowly walked away. You turned around for a second to make sure that none of Jerome’s friends followed you as you ran as fast as you could. Your chest rose and fell as you began to lose your breath as you continued to run toward the only person who you knew could help you.
You zoomed past the trees, making sure to observe your surroundings every few seconds. You held two small gift boxes in your hands with instructions written in sloppy handwriting and a red pen which you still were unsure if the ink was his blood.
“(Y/N), when I die I want you to follow these directions. And whatever you do, don’t get too torn up about it. My mind is already too gone, but Jeremiah’s. Oh My Dear Brother’s, his mind is perfect,” Jerome spoke as he handed you the sheet of paper.
At the time, you were confused, but you agreed to it. And this morning when he gave you the two small gift boxes, you just knew that it was time. You tried not to let the death of the truly broken man that Jerome was get to you. You turned around to see the blimp not in place, and you knew that Jerome’s final plan had failed, but it was your turn to prove his loyalty.
As you arrived at the door of the underground bunker, you knew that there was no other person who could complete the task like you could. This was your test to prove that you were loyal to Jerome and no one else. As you entered the maze that was Jeremiah’s home you felt the tears fall down your cheeks as your heart realized something that it should have already known. You had not feared Jerome himself, but you feared loving him. You feared that when you succumbed to loving the psychotic man that you too would lose your sanity. I truly have lost my mind, you thought as you placed down the two boxes in Jeremiah’s control center.
Step 7: The smaller box is for you. Thank you for everything.
You picked up the smaller box that was specifically addressed to you and pulled open the ribbon. There was a letter and a small perfume bottle.
(Y/N),
When you miss me. Feel free to spray some.
Jerome.
You smiled as you uncapped the small bottle and held the circular bottle spraying a few sprays in the air to get the scent. Your eyes widened as the smell was something that you’d smelled before. “No!” you shouted as you collapsed to the floor. You felt yourself losing grips of everything that you’d ever worked for. As the letter fell back to the floor with the backside up you read the small print on the back.
P.S. You wanted to be with Jeremiah? You can have him.
Your vision was blurry as you attempted to get up and leave the house. You tumbled, but made sure not to knock anything over. You walked back into the woods and collapsed finally giving in to the spray that Jerome had specially made for you.
#jeremiah x reader#jeremiah valeska x reader#jeremiah valeska#gotham x reader#gotham#jerome valeksa#jerome valeksa x reader
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The Angel’s Workshop
A/N: Some stress relief Moicy, playing around with headcanons and stretching my writing muscles. Special thanks to @theivorytowercrumbles for the title.
Summary: Sometimes we just want to feel bad. Moira is deeply familiar with the concept, even if Mercy isn’t.
Warning for insinuations, though nothing explicit.
Read here on AO3
She'd seen the angel's workshop in many times and many places. They scattered across her memory, each one cast in a different light.
A psychologist once recommended that Angela take up some sort of artistic craft, because of the sense of completion a finished project could bring her.
That made a certain amount of sense to Moira, since they both rarely got to see the final product of their work. A set bone, a list of instructions, and occasional follow ups. Then their patients might as well fade into the abyss, unless they were lucky to get stationed together again, or unlucky enough to be a patient again.
It carried over through the years, ranging from stacks of those cute, kitschy "adult" coloring books to puzzles, painting, music, and for a brief period, wood carving. She blamed Lindholm for that one. There'd been loose shavings all over the floor for months afterward.
It was certainly Angela's adopted father that gave her access and insight into smithing and engineering and how to make metal come alive. That’s how they built Genji. Moira always found it fascinating to watch Angela shift from one mode to the other, stitching flesh and melting steel and forming something new from it all.
Now, decades after they had first met, Moira saw the angel's workshop was a desk in the corner of their shared office. Angela had long strips of paper cut up next to her, soft white with pale pink roses. She folded them into little cranes, ten each evening, and put them into a jar.
Tonight she only did five. Roughly thirty feet away, in the ward across the hall, Hanzo Shimada was in critical condition and there was no way of knowing whether or not he would survive the night.
The two of them were still recovering from the surgery in their own ways, too exhausted to acknowledge the tension that always existed between them outside the operating room. Moira was a traitor to Overwatch and Angela’s ex-wife and she didn't know which part Angela hated more.
"You want a cup?" Moira asked quietly, nursing her own mug of very sweet, very strong coffee. It would keep her up all night but it was one of the few ways Moira knew how to reward herself without dipping into old, unsavory habits. She was curled protectively around it, slouched on an old tattered loveseat they'd shoved into the space. Steam coiled up in the cold room.
"No," Angela said so quick it must have been an impulse. Because then she said, "Yes," and Moira got up to make another cup, when they heard a knock on the door. It must be Genji; nobody else had knuckles that sounded like a drummer on a tin roof.
He opened the door a fraction, poking his head in. "Hello? Doctors?"
"Genji," Moira greeted him with a low voice, warm but not entirely kind. Angela didn't say anything. "Did you get my message?"
Taking it as invitation, Genji stepped inside and lifted up his communicator. "Yes. I was just wondering if now was a good time to see Hanzo?”
The new lenses over his eyes were an attempt to hide the eerie red glow of exposed circuitry and blood vessels. The blue only did so much, washed out by the light. But the violet was preferable, in her opinion. "He's not in stable condition just yet. But yes, you can. Just don't touch anything."
Even with the respirator on, she could see the way his eyes softened in a smile. "Thank you." Then his attention turned to Angela, who was still seated at her desk with a half-folded strip of paper in front of her. "Both of you. Thank you for saving my brother's life."
"Actually," Moira started.
That's when Angela finally moved, sitting up straight. The blood drained from her face, but she remained stoic, if a little wide-eyed.
"I hardly did anything at all," Moira finished. "Dr. Ziegler makes me feel like a glorified nurse at times."
In her confusion, Angela allowed herself to relax, shooting her a glare.
Picking up on the mood, Genji's brow furrowed. He wasn't stupid; he could sense a game was afoot, but had no desire to play. So he bowed his head in thanks and left, his new feet not making a sound against the bare floors.
"Did you enjoy that?" Angela sounded strained, tension making her shoulders straight. "Playing mind games with me?"
"More than you know." In truth she felt nothing more than a brief flash of wicked glee, but pretending was part of the game.
The only way she felt pleasure was when the stakes were much higher. And even then, that rarely justified most of what she did. Working off of impulse and stubbornness, Moira latched onto whatever might further her goals and rode along as far as it would take her.
Angela spun in her chair, eyes narrowed suspiciously at Moira. "Why didn't you tell him the truth?"
"Why should I have?"
Why would she tell Genji that when his brother was wheeled in, the impeccable Dr. Ziegler choked? That was a precious gift, something Moira had never seen before. What purpose would there be in sharing that?
No doubt Angela expected her to rub it in, to gloat that their guardian angel played favorites. That if you crossed her, she might let you die. That kind of reputation held no appeal to Angela, which is of course why it presented itself to her most often. Moira was envious of how Angela wielded power, with restraint and purpose. Moira wasn't capable of doing that. She was too hungry for it. Too open in flaunting it.
In any case, no one needed to know that Angela took off her gloves and said, "Moira. Please." without tearing her eyes from the man flatlining in front of them.
It had been two years since the recall. Moira's communicator, the one buried at the bottom of her desk, blipped weakly. The agents of Overwatch were needed, desperately, and Moira responded out of curiosity more than anything else. Did they consider her one of them? Did they forgive her for her part in their dissolution?
Lots of difficult questions. No easy answers. Her favorite kind of chaos.
Two years and Angela finally said her name again. Of course she tackled it all on her own, and Hanzo might live or he might not, but Angela Ziegler played little part in that decision.
"I was merely doing my duty." Moira unwound herself, setting her mug on Angela's desk and propped herself right next to it. "Would you have given him to me if you didn't think I could do it?"
A question with no answer. Angela did her best. "No." She didn't sound like she believed it. Then she rested her face in both her palms, elbows propped on top of her desk. "I don't know. It's been so long, I don't know why..."
Moira waited.
"I spent fourteen hours putting Genji's body back together after what Hanzo did to him," Angela said. "It took ten years for him to heal the damage my scalpel couldn't touch. And I couldn't even help with that."
"And?"
"And?!" Mercy's head snapped up. She got to her feet, shouting suddenly, still not at eye level with the taller woman but trying her best. "And I don't know why Genji even wastes his energy trying to forgive him! He doesn't even deserve to breathe!"
A little tremble rolled up Moira's spine at the viciousness in her words. Rattled, Angela started patting herself down with the desperation of an addict until she found the pack of cigarettes, tapped one out, and tried to light it with a shaking hand.
"And you're loving this," she said with a dark mutter. "Aren't you?"
She was. She started laughing, but not for the reasons Angela suspected. "Please. I've seen you treat much worse than Hanzo Shimada. There's no reason you wouldn't have done it again,” Moira said. "But you always were more likely to believe things based off of your emotions rather than fact."
"If you weren't there--"
"But I was. Relax."
Angela refused, scowl deepening. "But--”
Moira leaned in, cutting her short. "You just wanted a moment to pretend you were capable of letting him die and you knew I'd give it to you." She held her hands clasped between her spread knees, smiling serenely down at Angela. “Just like I needed you to beat the demons out of my skin from time to time."
When Angela’s eyes landed on her she swore she felt that righteous fire, set ablaze just under her skin. Blue eyes wide with shock, Angela’s hand froze with the cigarette midway to her lips. She seemed gaunt, and starved, and afraid, the way people get when they’re too accustomed to watching things break and die in their hands.
Moira hung there, for the first time nervous that she might have finally pushed Angela too far.
She'd seen the angel's workshop, after all. She knew what Angela was capable of. That she could have killed Hanzo, a million times over, drew the lines over life and death and crossed them every day. Moira had been strapped to that table herself while Angela picked shrapnel from her spine, or beat her until her pale skin was criss-crossed purple and blue and red.
Moira was a "project person" by her own admittance, but one that couldn't ever be completed.
Then the doctor shook her head with an insincere laugh. Another long drag from her cigarette gave her the opportunity and time to compose herself again. “You always were a brat.”
“I prefer the term tease, myself.”
“Yes,” Angela said. “I’m sure you do.”
The rest of the cigarette went into the ashtray and Angela announced she was going to go check on the patient.
"Still want that coffee?" Moira called out after her.
"Some other time, perhaps. Good night, Dr. O'Deorain."
"Good niiiiight," Moira sang out, grinning as she left.
When she was gone, Moira lingered on top of her desk for a while. The jar of paper cranes was open, and next to it was an old, heavy coin. It was big enough to fit in Moira's palm, faded bronze and white stripes of Overwatch. The call to duty they all received, the one Moira wasn't quite sure she was here to answer yet.
Ten cranes every day for months, exactly. Was Ziegler aiming for a goal, or just seeking to fill the empty space?
When she was sure no one was watching, Moira reached inside and took a crane, tucking it into her pocket.
She finished her coffee and left, feeling lighter than she had in months.
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In the air part two
Fandom: Torchwood.
Trigger warnings: suicide
Characters: Owen Harper, Toshiko Sato, Jack Harkness, Ianto Jones, Gwen Cooper, Elise Carter (oc)
Rating: Teen and up
Blurb: From semi mythical creatures to some rather interesting technology Torchwood deals with it all.
The next week drifted by quietly. With the rift in a more stable position it didn’t cough up as much dimensional debris and that meant a less stressful time for Torchwood. That was, of course, until they got a call about a body found at the local swimming baths. It had been found beside the pool but it looked as if it had been mauled. Owen hated bodies that ended up in water. They bloated incredibly quickly and if left would burst or fall apart and if nothing else would be a bitch to transport. He’d dragged Elise along as her leg had finally healed enough for him to no longer worry about infection. The smell of chlorine only covered the decomposition smell for so long as their boots splashed in the puddles of pool water carried by the showers that lined the short corridor to the pool.
“You had to bring me to the pool.” She complained, keeping close to the wall.
“Why? Can’t you swim?”
“I can swim. I just don’t like being this close to the water. It brings up bad memories.”
“Well, don’t worry. I don’t plan on spending all day here.” He took the corner and headed towards the body laying near the deep end. It looked as if the man had been trying to crawl away from something but his legs were undamaged. His back on the other hand had been slashed open, deep enough to reveal his spine. Four long claw gashes ran from his left shoulder to his right hip. The pool water was yellowed and blood had congealed between the tiles at the side.
Elise winced at the burning sensation in her eyes. “I bet they’re glad they over chlorinated now.”
Owen looked up at the high ceiling and the bars that held the lights. “Up there. Third bar down, two lights in.”
She tried to follow his directions. “Wha-...” She cut herself off seeing the gouges in the metal and the slight bow something heavy had caused. “Please tell me we’re not going to have to look up there.”
“You’ll be begging to, once we start moving this guy.” He opened up the body bag and, with help, scooped the body into it relieved the skin didn’t burst.
Elise looked green. “You’re right. This is gross. I’d rather be up there.”
“Told you so. Let’s get this out of here before we start swinging from the ceiling.”
“Yea, yea.” She helped him lift the body bag that was lighter than she’d expected with the water weight though she suspected that Owen was lifting more than his own share out of concern for her. After storing the body they headed up to the second floor to get a better view of the lighting system. Elise stopped a member of staff who had been called in to lock everything up after they left.
“How do you maintain the lights?” She asked.
“Oh, we have an outside contractor come in. They have these cherry picker things they use to get up there.”
“Is there any other way ?”
“Not safely… I mean you can try going through the ceiling. It’s all wired through there and I think there are places up there you can walk, but if you do go up there then we can’t take liability for anything that happens.”
“Don’t worry. We don’t plan on putting ourselves in any danger.”
“Well, if you want to take a look there’s a door just through that office that has a ladder to the top.”
“Right. Thanks.”
“How long do you think you’ll be? I’m not trying to rush you but the smell…”
“I understand. We’ll be as fast as we can.”
Owen had heard the conversation and decided to at least look, telling Elise to grab everything from the mans locker while he was gone. Through the office there was indeed a door. It opened into a small storage room that had a ladder set into the wall. He flicked on the lights and climbed up. Wooden planks were set down as a kind of walkway. He carefully made his way towards where he remembered the light fixture being. Whatever had killed the man by the pool hadn’t travelled from above as there were no prints of any kind in the dust and the tiles that made up the ceiling hadn’t been disturbed.
Owen knelt down on the wooden plank and pulled up the tile, now able to see the marks in the hollow metal pole. The metal was unusually thin for its purpose, the result of cost cutting he suspected, and the gouges looked more like indents. As if something had used it to kick off from. On the underside of the tile he could see where the paint had been pulled and had bubbled. To make sure it hadn’t just been water damage he pulled back some of the paint and found it to be bone dry. Placing that one back he checked the one behind it. The same effect. They lead across like footprints. He pulled the tile free and took it back down with him.
“Did you see what happened to the pole?” asked Elise, a gym bag slung over her shoulder and a pair of boots in her hand.
“I think something kicked off from it.” He walked over to the staff member. “We’re done here but you might want to get new contractors for your lights. They’re using the cheapest metal they can find and it’s going to end up dropping one of those lights into the water. And we need to take this.” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Let’s go.” He called to Elise who was still looking down towards the pool from the viewing window.
When they got back to the Hub Owen hadn’t let Elise get away.
“You want to be part of the team then you’ve got to sit in on this.”
“What? Why?!”
Gwen smiled sympathetically. “He’s done this to all of us. He waits until he gets one of the really bad bodies and you have to stay and suffer with him as he does the autopsy. I’m telling you now, there’s no shame in throwing up.”
Elise deflated. “Seriously?”
“Yep. Better to get it out of the way now. Good luck.”
“Be thankful yours isn’t a six days dead blowfish.” Shuddered Ianto as he walked past, remembering the eye watering stench and the sound that haunted him.
Elise squared her shoulders and vowed to keep her stomach no matter what.
The body from the pool , a thirty six year old male with a tattoo of a lion on his left bicep, hadn’t just died from the single attack to his spine. Once turned over the man was found to have multiple smaller lacerations all over his torso and face. Unlike in most animal attack cases he showed no signs of his attacker trying to consume any of him. It had killed him for the sake of killing him. Owen had found the broken tip of a claw stuck between two vertebrae so it hadn’t been mechanical. Elise was still getting used to that being one of the criteria.
She was proud that she hadn’t thrown up and was finally able to leave as Owen cleaned up. As she emerged Tosh called her over.
“What’s up?”
“I copied everything from our victims phone and I found these.”
Tosh brought up a set of photographs on her computer screen, each blurry but seeming to show a humanoid shape with what could be a pointed red hat. Though humanoid the proportions of the being didn’t quite fit, the hands too long and torso malformed. Its skin was a sickly yellowish green. Sadly no fine detail could be seen to confirm what it actually was.
“You sound too chipper to have just found a few photos.” Smiled Elise.
“I found this too. It was recorded three nights ago.”
A shaey video began to play. The man, recognisable by his tattoo, sat in what seemed to be the locker room.
“Everyone’s finally gone. I can’t go home with that thing there. I woke up last night and it was on the end of my fucking bed. Just sitting there with those big red eyes. It laughed at me when I woke up… I’m not going mad! I got those pictures of it and I think… I think I can stay safe here. When I woke up I threw a glass of water at it and it freaked out. It was covering its head. It must not like water so I’m going to hide out here. I cant stay forever but maybe it’ll give up and stalk someone else. This place is locked up tight… I’m going to set this to upload then get in the water. If you don’t see anything else from me then it got me. My mam warned me about the red caps when I was little… If they’re real then... ��
The video ended.
“He tried to upload it to youtube but the WIFI is turned off a little while after the building closes. I checked on his youtube channel and he just has footage of few parties, trips with friends and this.” She clicked on a second window and set it to play.
It showed a group setting up tents. The mans voice could be heard narrating the events.
“So we’re out in the middle of nowhere cos these dick heads don’t know how to use a sat nav but it’s a beautiful day so fuck it. We’re going to set up here. Over there is Garth and Tina.” The couple waved, laughing and ducking into their tent. “The bloke bringing the drinks is Sanjit.” A man carrying a cool box rolled his eyes at the amature camera man. “Over there starting the barbeque we have Robbie and still in the car over there… There... Is Frankie and David. Oi! Come on and at least help!” He walked towards the car to see two concerned faces. One man, presumingly David shook his head.
“Mate. We shouldn’t stay here.”
“Stop worrying. We’re in the middle of nowhere, just come out and have some fun with the rest of us.”
“This is redcap land.”
“You’re hiding in the car from tinkerbell?”
“No. You don’t mess with redcaps. We’re going. You should too.”
The footage paused as David and Frankie drove away. A jump cut transitioned to nighttime, Robbie sitting with a beer in his hand.
“Fucks sake Matt, put the camera away for once.”
“Aww come on, show everyone your pretty face.”
“Sod off.”
Tina walked through the frame and sat down with her own drink. “You going to tell everyone about what you found?”
“Oh yea.” Matt, the man with the tattoo, turned the camera towards himself. “I walked off into the trees to take a piss, as you do, and I found this cave. It had a circle of rocks, big ones, in front of it with these weird letters scratched into them. They looked old as fuck. I thought one might be a good souvenir so…” He turned the camera to a mid sized stone that had been dug up, dirt still covering the bottom of the rock. On the face of it a symbol was etched, glimmering slightly. Another jumpcut interrupted the video switching to the sound of leaves crunching. Matt’s voice returned.
“Here it is. Thought you might want to see the cave before we left.”
“Pause that.” Said Elise, squinting at the screen. “Look at the top right of the darkness in the cave. Something’s looking out from there.”
Tosh nodded and pushed her glasses up. She zoomed into the stone on the far right.
“That symbol.”
“Is this where he got it from?... He never mentioned anything like this before. But symbols are usually just words, right?”
“Often yes. It just seems a little too coincidental.”
“I’ll look into it. Owen should be up in a sec, could you give him the rundown on this?”
“Yes. Ely? Are you ok?”
“Yea. It’s just a shock. I don’t really even know where to start looking.”
“Ask Ianto. He might know.”
“Thanks.” She kissed her girlfriend on the cheek. “Hopefully this won’t take too long.”
“With all the languages on and off Earth that’s pretty unlikely.”
“If I don’t find anything I’ll just move on to looking up redcaps.”
Ianto pulled a large book down from one of the shelves and placed it on the central table.
“It’s been a while since I had to look in here.”
“I guess most of it’s digitised now.”
“That and I can google a lot of things. The internet is a wonderful thing.”
Elise laughed softly. “I feel like I’ve just heard an awful secret.”
“Don’t tell them. It’ll just break their hearts. Here we go.” He scanned down the page covered with hundreds of symbols with his eyes. “This is the closest language we’ve found to the symbol style you’re looking for but it’s only partially translated. The only items found using these were dated back to the iron age.”
“Yes. These here look like the symbols on the other stones. Let’s see… Blood… Water… to bind… to banish… I don’t see this last one. Typical.”
“Don’t give up yet. Maybe it’s a composite symbol.” He took a small notepad from his pocket and copied the symbol on Elise’s hand. Looking through the list they had it seemed to be made from three of the other symbols. The first being life and the last being death, the central glyph was untranslated.
“Nice. I mean for the rocks we can work it out from the context. The first one pertains to the creature… The second a way to fend it off…”
“The third would be to keep it there… The fourth would weaken it?”
“And the last one… Hmm… Maybe, time?”
“It’s the one thing that life and death have no control over.”
“So the central part of it is outside. Outside life and death.”
“Contextually it works. They couldn’t kill what they were afraid of so they locked it away.”
“Until our guy took the binding stone home.”
“Any idea what the creature is?” He asked, putting the book away.
“He called it a redcap.”
“All mythical creatures come from somewhere.”
“Mythical creature?”
“Redcaps are meant to be little cave dwellers. They’re like garden gnomes but they have big teeth.”
“That sounds down right cutesy.”
“They’re called redcaps because they dip their hats in peoples blood. They’re meant to die if the blood ever dries.”
“Not so cutesy… But it might be why it was afraid of water. If the blood got washed away it might die. Shit, it also means it’s going to be looking for fresh blood. Thanks Ianto. I owe you one.”
“Is there any way we can track this thing?” Asked Jack, knowing that the older the creature the less chance of it leaving a trackable trail. It didn’t look good.
“It stalked the last victim before attacking so maybe we have some time to find it. I’ve got a scan running for certain keywords.”
“It’s something. Gwen, get in contact with your old friends. See if anything at all has been reported.”
Gwen nodded, hoping for any kind of lead.
“Owen, what did you get from the body?”
“The redcap left the tip of its claw and a few hairs. Its DNA doesn’t match anything on the system but I think we were wrong about its motives initially. I thought it hadn’t fed on the body but its claws and hair are hollow and show traces of the victims blood the whole way through.”
“If it feeds only on blood maybe we can lure it out. I doubt it would have gone too far from its last attack… Let’s go hunt ourselves a redcap.”
Jack tipped the bucket of cows blood over onto the earth, hidden in the trees. He hoped it would be enough to draw in the creature. The police had already had reports of a suspicious figure seen lurching around the trees so, thanks to Gwen, he knew it was still around. Owen stood on the rooftop above, keeping a view of the whole area from above. It wasn’t easy in the late evening but also not the toughest to see, especially when the leaves began to shake.
“Something’s heading your way.” He said over comms.
Jack hid, listening out for movement. At first he could hear it running across the ground but then the sound stopped. He carefully looked out from where he hid but saw nothing.
“False alarm.” He said before the redcap dropped down behind him from the tree trunk. “Or not.”
The creature dodged Jacks swift elbow but it did what it needed to. It gave him some room to move. He drew his gun and fired but the bullet landed in the tree behind. The redcap spider walked backwards up the tree, letting out a rasping laugh to match the permanent grin its face formed. That laughed stopped suddenly as a hole was punctured through its chest. It looked down, confused, Owen taking a second shot that ripped through the redcaps right eye.
“Nice of you to join me.” Smiled Jack, watching the creature fall.
“Thought you might need a hand. That is one ugly fucking gnome.” he walked over to the body to turn it over but before he could even get close it jumped back up, tackling both men and disappearing into the foliage. Both men scrambled to their feet to give chase, following the trail of green, gelatinous, ooze it called blood. They followed until they hit tarmac. A childrens play area sat at the centre of the wooded park, surrounded by a fence. The slime trail lead into a covered play structure made to look like a half submerged ship. This case was literally getting messy, and the darker it got the harder it was to follow the thing. They needed to stop the redcap now. The rasping laughter echoed around the playground that had become eerily still.
Even though it was two against one Jack and Owen felt as if they were surrounded. Both could have swore they saw red eyes peering out from every shadow. The redcap thought it had won but it sorely underestimated how many illusionary creatures Torchwood had dealt with over the years. After a while you learned how to feel the effect of the illusion but not let it stop you. The sound of laughter spread and multiplied to fill the air.
Jack pulled a blade from inside his coat and crept to a small porthole in the structure while Owen made his way to block off the short, arched, entrance. The injured redcap backed itself into a corner, growling and hissing at Owen. Before it could think Jack reached through and grabbed the redcap by the hair, slicing its forehead and pulling as hard as he could. Its scalp tore away as it screeched before falling limp and beginning to shrivel. Finally dead.
Arriving back at the hub Owen was ready to clock off for the night and get some sleep, but fate had other ideas. Gwen looked over to him, feeling bad.
“Owen?”
“Yea?”
“The police sent over a body.”
“Can it wait? I’m knackered.”
“You’ll have to be the judge of that. Ianto put him away so it’s up to you. Sorry.”
Owen waved her off and went to check the body quickly, hoping it would just be a weevil attack or lazy police work so he could go home. Upon opening the draw it wasn’t immediately clear what had killed the man but upon checking a note left on the door he realised that the body had been found with something attached to its head. The item had been left for Tosh who’d already gone home, Gwen only staying a little longer as to soften the blow of extra work. It could wait.
The next morning Elise and Jack went to investigate their newest corpse’s home. It was a very expensive looking two bedroom home in a gated community and they’d just entered when there was a knock at the door.
“I’ll go check out the crime scene. Good look with the neighbors.” Smiled Jack, pulling rank so he didn’t have to deal with what he knew was behind the door.
Outside stood a sour faced, middle aged woman with a ‘can I speak to your manager’ haircut. Before Elise even managed to open her mouth the woman began.
“Do you know when all this police tape is going to be taken down? It’s making the neighborhood look messy and my children don't feel safe with all these vehicles coming and going.”
“Ma’am, this is an active crime scene. A man died.”
“So? That doesn’t mean the whole place should go to the dogs.”
Elise blinked, wondering if the woman had heard what she’d just said. “Did you know the man who lived here?” She asked, trying to change her tactics with this odd person.
“He wasn’t very social. Always keeping to himself. I heard he got his money from drug dealing but he was always well dressed and left every morning for work. He seemed like our kind of people. Not that you’d understand.”
‘Bitch I could buy your ass’ Elise thought but tried to keep her composure. “Well, ma’am, if you have any information you know who to call.”
“What are you going to do about the mess?” She huffed, crossing her arms.
“My job ma’am.” Elise didn’t give the woman chance to continue, closing the door.
Upstairs Jack was already searching the room, noting that the police hadn’t taken evidence of any kind.
“Where does she get off speaking to people like that?” Elise grumbled.
“She doesn’t. That’s why she’s so angry.”
She chuckled to herself. “Anyway, has Owen found a cause of death for our guy?”
“Not yet, but we have a few possibilities.” Jack held up a small bag of white powder.
“If he just OD’d why did the police send him our way?”
“He was found with the device that Tosh is looking at attached to his head. Does this room look strange to you?”
“Not really… It looks tidy.”
“Think about that.” He was trying to teach her something.
“Ok… So, if he did OD then he came home to relax...But … There’s no blood or vomit and no signs of active drug use…”
“And what does that tell you?”
“He didn’t OD.”
“And?”
“He didn’t struggle… How old was he?”
“Mid twenties by the look of him.”
“So he shouldn’t have died of natural causes. The only thing that could have killed him was the thing around his head.”
“Bingo. We’ll make an investigator out of you yet.”
Owen sat down in his desk chair, annoyed.
“Something wrong?” Tosh asked, not looking up.
“He died of shock, but I can’t find what triggered it.i thought I had something when I found an injection site at the back of his neck but nothing’s damaged and there’s nothing in his blood. Nothing. “
“I might have something for you then.” She brought up a new window on her screen. “This device seems to override the nervous system.”
“The leaf shape is a control box and the two contacts hold it securely on the temples. When it’s switched on the back contact extends a fine needle into the spinal cord. From there it enhances whatever signals it’s given to a scale depending on how high it’s set. On the lower settings it favours the pleasure centres of the brain but once it gets half way…” she continued.
“It becomes a torture device… Maybe he was just trying to get off and slipped. He wouldn’t be the first.”
“I wish I could say you were just being crude but I can’t think of any other reason it would have that range of settings.”
“The few things that unite every lifeform. Eating, fucking and dieing. Trust us to find the alien sex toy.”
“Better here than in the wrong hands.”
“I think we count as the wrong hands.”
“Worse hands then.”
Elise seemed to be the only one who liked Jacks driving. It was fun even if it was technically dangerous.
“We’ve got one more stop before we head back.” He said, eyes on the road ahead.
“Oh? For what?”
“Your Owen left me a warning about a shapeshifter. Apparently it turns up before and at Gwens wedding somehow so I want to get it dealt with now. He didn’t leave many details.”
“He couldn’t type for long. I wonder how long it took him to write something for everyone.”
“A long time... Are you sure this is the life you want? You could just start your life over.”
“You know I can’t give this all up!”
“I’m just giving you the option.”
“He tried to give me the same option. This is my second chance and I’m not going to waste it being normal. Anyway, there’s no way I’m leaving Tosh.”
“I always thought she’d end up with Owen.”
“I think that was the original plan but life doesn’t usually follow plans too well. Jack why are we taking every side road you see?”
“We’re being followed. We have been since we left the house.”
She looked in the rear view mirror and there was a smaller car with heavily tinted windows keeping pace with them.
“So no shapeshifter?”
“We’re still doing that, just gotta lose this guy first, hold on tight.” He suddenly spun the steering wheel, throwing them both around a sharp corner. The car behind tried to turn and keep up but spun out, slamming into a lamppost.
“Should we stop and have a chat with this clown?” Elise asked, looking over her shoulder.
“Can you run if you need to?”
“My leg feels fine. I can run.”
He nodded and brought the SUV to a halt, reversing enough to see if the guy had got out of the car. Hopping out, gun drawn, Jack took a few steps towards the car.
“Out of the car! Hands on your head!” He ordered. Now able to see the man in the drivers seat. “Now!”
The driver shook his head, wide eyed. He reached for something next to him. They could barely blink before he placed the gun he’d hid in the car under his chin and fired.
Jacks shoulders dropped.
“What the hell?” Breathed Elise, lowering her own weapon.
Owen sighed at his second body of the day. The first had been the very picture of health, other than being dead, but this man looked as if he’d been through years of abuse. Scars covered the mans back, some old, some relatively new but what interested Owen was the injection point in the back of the mans neck that matched the earlier corpse exactly.
“Looks like he was trying to get the toy back.”
Elise leant on the railing. “Why did he kill himself though?”
“Desperation. When he saw he wasn’t going to get the thing back he just gave up.”
“This just feels so empty. I feel like I’m missing something.”
“Sometimes cases are like that. The world seems like shit and there’s nothing you can do about it.”
“I guess.”
“Ready to get back on your feet tomorrow?”
“Back on my feet?”
“You need to start moving that leg. Usually we would have started training by now but you got shot so…”
“Ok, ok, that doesn’t seem so bad.”
Three weeks later Elise had finished her sixth lap around the hub.
“I… Fucking… Hate… You!” She panted, leaning on her knees.
Owen smiled. “You did better that time. Still too slow, but better. Go again.”
“Are … You… Serious?”
“Deadly.”
“Jack!.. This has to count... as abuse!”
Jack looked up from his desk. “I’d have you carrying a full backpack too.”
“He would. Up a muddy hill.” Owen agreed.
Elise shook her head, giving the best glare she could.
“Tell you what. Give me one more lap and if you can catch me I’ll let you punch me.”
She sped off, boosted by anger alone. On her way back Owen almost jogged backwards, just out of reach.
“I swear… to GOD!... I’ll… Kill you!” She growled, at Owen mocking her.
“If you can catch me.” He finally turned, still staying just out of reach, knowing she was too tired to do any harm to him even if she could catch him. “Want to give up?”
“I’m finishing this!... Out!... Of!... SPITE!”
“It’s how I live my life. Aaaand out of space. Though that was your best time.”
She wiped her brow and flipped him the bird before staggering off to shower.
“That was mean.” Tosh pouted from her desk.
“Better than her getting hurt again because she can’t outrun someone.”
“Still.”
“You’re just grumpy because she’s been too tired to put out.” He’d barely finished the sentence when a ball of paper hit him in the centre of the forehead. “Ok. I kind of deserved that, but don’t complain. You got to watch her run around in shorts and a crop top.”
Tosh blushed lightly and threw another paper ball that he caught this time with a grin.
Ianto walked in with Elises water bottle and placed it on her desk. “We just got a new report. A woman found dead with one of the head band devices on.”
“But it was archived.”
“It was. It seems there are more.”
Owen deflated. “Shit. Why do I get the feeling there’s going to be more of these.”
The doctor hated cases like these. He could handle aliens killing people because it gave a little distance. There was a wall between us and them, but when he got bodies that had their lives ended by another human, alien technology or not, it blurred that line. It made him angry. In moments like these he understood what had sent Suzie off the deep end. Sometimes humans were worse than the aliens they hunted.
Owen pulled a pin from underneath the bodies left hand index fingernail, adding it to the small collection he’d gathered. The woman on his table had dislocated her wrist as she’d fought against her restraints, rope burn covering the skin that hadn’t been rubbed away. The headband had burned the skin at the temples where the contacts sat and the needle had snapped in her spine. He guessed that was why the murderer hadn’t taken it with them.
Flora Daniels, forty one years old, had green eyes and bleached blond hair and seemed to have spent a long time making her makeup perfect before her tears and sweat had melted it away. Her designer skirt and blouse spoke of a high company position but the tan line that was fading on her left ring finger told of a divorce. Every corpse had a story to tell, whether telling of their death or the life they had lead before. Flora had run from her killer. The soles of her tights were torn to shreds and her high heeled shoes, presented by the wear on her feet themselves, were long gone.
Owen had found fibers caught between her top right molars meaning she’d been gagged. Whoever killed her had made her death as painful as possible, not for information but for its own sake and now she was on his table. No one deserved that fate.
He gently removed the headband, worrying that as it was damaged it might fall apart. On the metal strip that connected two of the pieces was an etching that didn’t look like it matched the rest of the design.
A scan of the symbol linked back to a website for a company known as Dodolias closet. The front page was obnoxiously pink and made it very clear the level of business it was.
“Oh god it’s a hunbot hive.” Elise grumbled.
Tosh paused to let that sink in. “A what?”
“It’s a multi level marketing scheme. Like a pyramid scheme but targeting single moms and girls just getting into the workforce.”
“That explains the site but what’s a hunbot?”
“It’s a nickname for the people that get sucked in to this sort of thing. They go all over social media like a bot and contact everyone they can trying to sell their stuff. They usually start with something like ‘hi hon’. So, hunbot.”
“Pyramid schemes are illegal so it shouldn’t be hard to shut down.”
“That’s where they get you. They technically have products to sell so the law can’t stop them. Should I ask what this lot are selling?”
“It seems to be like Anne Summers, but I don’t see anything similar to the headband.”
“Scroll down to the bottom. They don’t always show their whole catalogue otherwise they couldn’t get their presenters to sell for them but there might be a few overlooked links there. The employees are kind of dense by design.”
Tosh laughed softly. “No need. I know what database to break into now.”
Elise watched Tosh backtrack through the site to its origin and use digital brute force to get onto the companies internal system.
“You’re so cute when you do that.”
“What, my job?”
“Yea.” She leant on Toshiko’s shoulder with a goofy smile on her face.
“You’d think anyone who had worked out how to use something from another planet would have a more secure system… Let’s see… Current employees.” She scrolled down the extremely long list before searching specifically for the recent victims names. Flora had been filed as the secretary to the head of product development and the man who’d died in his home had been the head of sales and marketing.
“Did we ever find out who the guy in the car was?” Elise asked, curious as to if he too had been an employee.
“Possibly. He didn’t have any ID, but his dental records showed that he was a missing person.” She pulled up the profile that had been put together for the man. “Carl Alexander Higgins, 25, went missing after leaving a club three years ago. The car he was driving when he followed you was stolen and using stolen plates.”
“Was he an employee?”
“Let me see... No… But this database was put together after he went missing. I’ll see if I can find a link. You should sit down. You must be exhausted.”
Elise stretched and rolled her shoulders. “I’m fine. The shower helped.”
“Are you still going to kill Owen?”
“Naa. All my hard work would have been wasted if I did that, anyway it is kind of embarrassing that I can’t keep up.”
“We all have different skills, it’s not that big of an issue.”
“Maybe on a weevil hunt but for anything else I can’t risk getting left behind.”
“None of us would leave you behind.”
“Not intentionally. Anyway, give me a kiss. I’m going to go get lunch with Ianto.” She leant down to kiss her partner softly. “Anything you want me to get while I’m out?”
“Surprise me.”
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Hullo there, Bruce & Jason family bonding. A fic request response for @mylittleangelxxx set in Cor Et Cerebrum continuity.
Gen Rated T for language
The leaves from the puny, withered decorative landscaping tree in the crumbling plaza are tinged red with early autumn. The cracked parking lot with faded yellow lines is not the sort of place one might expect to find Bruce Wayne on a Tuesday afternoon, but he is there nevertheless, sitting in a nondescript car chosen for the occasion, waiting.
After five minutes pass, the low roar of a motorcycle engine grows closer. A figure in a full mask helmet takes a swooping right into the plaza and pulls up next to the car, almost too close to the driver door. The bike shuts off and Jason Todd takes his helmet off and hangs it on the handlebars.
He's parked so close that Bruce can barely open his door enough to climb out. He frowns at the bike and twists sideways to fit through the narrow opening. Jason makes no effort to move the motorcycle but grins crookedly at him.
“Hiya, Dad,” he says, and Bruce almost shuts the corner of his jacket in the door when he starts.
“You do that on purpose,” he says, only mildly irritated and mostly, secretly, pleased. He means, vaguely, Jason’s tendency to only pull out the familial name when he's either genuinely distressed or hopes to startle or otherwise jolt Bruce.
“What?” Jason asks, a hand over his chest. “‘Me? Call you father? The nerve.”
Despite the offended tone, Bruce is relieved that Jason seems to be in a good mood. He's been the most temperamental of their patchwork family unit for some time, but the past year has had the lemons-and-sugar effect of drawing the kid closer to family and rattling him physically and emotionally all at the same time.
As if Jay, of all people, needed more of that.
Instead of answering Jason’s mock outrage, Bruce tousles the boy’s hair hard enough to make him duck his head and swat at the side of Bruce’s face in retaliation. The blow cuffs Bruce’s cheekbone and even Jason looks surprised at how solidly it landed.
“Ow,” Bruce says, putting a hand to his face. “I probably deserved that.”
“You crybaby,” Jason shoots back, heading across the lot for the small store that is their intended destination. “It was frickin’ nothing,” he calls out behind him.
Bruce follows and quickens his pace to be walking alongside Jason, whose shoulders are hunched while his hands are jammed into his pockets.
“Jay,” Bruce says, as they step up on the curb in tandem. “Don't worry about it.”
Something in Bruce’s tone must convince Jason, because instead of tightening toward explosion, the young man visibly relaxes. The door bell chimes as Bruce pulls on the metal handle and they go from the bright autumn light into the dim interior.
The inside of the musty, crowded shop smells of ink and old paper and Bruce inhales deeply. Jason has pulled his hands out of his pockets and is already picking up clothbound books on the new arrivals shelf, turning them over as he studies the spines.
“Hullo,” a voice calls from the back of the bookstore. “Be right with you!”
The towering wooden and metal shelves are so closely spaced, it’s hard to see very far from the front counter. The shelving doesn’t match and Bruce has always guessed it was picked up piecemeal from library auctions, but he isn’t certain. The layout of the store is older than him, by maybe a decade or more.
Jason’s already tucked a book under his arm before turning for the taller stacks. Bruce catches a glimpse of it as he walks by-- it’s a worn Tom Swift.
“Are we looking for something?” Jason asks, scanning the shelves. They’re a mix in this aisle of more recent used books, none older than twenty or thirty years. Some of them have intact dustjackets with faded or folded edges.
“I haven’t stopped by in a while,” Bruce says, crouching in the narrow space to study a shelf of densely packed paperbacks. He makes a quick study of the vertical names, searching for Allingham or Sayers or anything missing from Alfred’s worn collection.
“You needed a babysitter?” Jason asks, amused, without looking down. There’s a tenseness in his voice when Bruce stands and Jason glances over, doing a single sweep with his eyes of the fluid motion. “You’re not nursing broken ribs or a fucking concussion, are you?”
“No,” Bruce says, letting the slight sting of the assumption wash over him and choosing to let it fade away. “Just thought you’d enjoy it. It’s been a busy few weeks.”
“Frick, but it has,” Jason sighs, pulling a book out to look at the cover. He makes a face and nods to it.
Bruce looks. It’s a painting of a vampire in a black cape with shining silver teeth, embracing a woman with blonde, curling locks and a sheathed knife strapped to her bare back.
“It’s you and Selina,” Jason says with a smirk, sliding the book back.
“Stop,” Bruce says, attempting sternness but failing miserably to his own ears. “Selina would never carry a dagger that impractical.”
In response, Jason snorts and then takes the book all the way off the shelf and holds it against his side along with the Tom Swift volume.
“I think I need this one,” he says, turning the corner around the aisle.
“Sorry about that,” the voice from the back of the store says, drawing close to them. “Was in the middle of glueing a spine.”
An elderly man with a stooped back emerges from a back room, just at the corner they’re approaching. There’s a flicker of recognition and then he smiles warmly.
“Mr. Wayne!” he exclaims. “I was starting to get worried I’d lost my bread and butter.”
“We’ve been busy, Mr. Murphy,” Bruce says easily and Jason gives a slight wave and resumes looking over a high row of much older books, with maroon or mustard or navy cloth bindings and embossed titles and curved spines. “We were overdue for a visit.”
“I’d say,” Murphy agrees. “And this boy of yours. I haven’t seen him in over a year.”
“I’ve been out of town,” Jason says, tearing his eyes away from the shelf. Bruce can’t tell if the older man’s attention is making Jason feel welcome or uneasy, the boy’s face is so impassive.
“Ah, well,” Murphy gestures a ‘what-can-you-do’ with his hands. “I have some things I’ve been waiting to show you, Mr. Wayne.”
“Lead the way,” Bruce agrees amiably, letting himself be drawn away from the $1 and $2 volumes lining the shelves of the aisle they’re in. They approach the front again, drawing close to the glass case near the register. Jason trails after them and then joins Bruce in leaning over the glass.
Murphy pulls a small keyring out of his pocket and unlocks the case from behind.
“This, this one I got from a German fellow,” he says, reverently lifting a gray and tan book. “Goethe’s Faust, a Harrap printing for London. One of a thousand in the first run.” He opens the book and holds the pages spread for them and Bruce scans the German verse without touching the book.
“Faust creeps me out,” Jason says, with clear admiration in his eyes.
“You prefer Marlowe?” Murphy asks, raising an eyebrow.
“If you sell your soul to the devil, doesn’t matter if it’s in English or German,” Jason says.
“Eh,” Murphy says. “Probably true.”
“I’ll take it,” Bruce says, eyeing Jason sidelong. The younger man, for all his protests, still hasn’t taken his gaze off the dark lines of text. “What else do you have?”
“You don’t have a Faust?” Jason asks, finally looking away as Murphy closes the book and sets it aside. “No. I know you have a Faust. At least four, actually. I remember moving them.”
“And now you do,” Bruce says casually, turning his attention back to the contents of the case.
Beside him, Jason freezes and makes a small noise of protest.
“You’re not going to buy me a ton of shit,” Jason says. Bruce thinks he sounds more pleased than annoyed.
“No,” Bruce agrees. “Which is why I had to get that one in before you were on your guard. Help me find something for Damian.”
“Is that a Narnia set?” Jason asks, peering down, distracted.
“It is,” Murphy agrees. “First American printing. Got it just yesterday, actually. Condition isn’t great but it’s not bad, either. Wanna see it?”
“Yes,” Jason says quickly.
“For Damian?” Bruce asks, guessing this to not be the case for a reason he can’t quite put his finger on. For knowing himself to be an intelligent man, it irritates him how often he feels dense.
“Damian doesn’t like Narnia,” Jason says, taking the offered box set in his hands and looking it over. Apparently, Murphy is unbothered by either of them holding these without a commitment. Or maybe he’s already assumed the sale from Jason’s initial reaction.
“He doesn’t?” Bruce asks. It doesn’t especially surprise him that his youngest isn’t as enraptured by fantasy, but he’s curious about Jason knowing this.
“The Calormen,” Jason says, looking up at Bruce with a crease of his brow.
“Oh,” Bruce says, understanding slamming into him like a careening steam engine. If he’d had a vague sense of feeling dense before, it fully floods him now. “Hm.”
If Murphy is intrigued by this exchange, he doesn’t show it or ask questions. He never has. Bruce isn’t even entirely sure the man is aware that Jason died or if his easy acceptance of Jason’s return is wrapped up in a mute, elderly wisdom of the contradictions of Gotham, even out here in the limping suburbs.
“I’ll take ‘em,” Jason says, surrendering them reluctantly.
Bruce considers, very briefly, telling Murphy to add them to his own tab, but suspects if he does so, Jason won’t show obvious interest in anything else. He decides to just keep track of how much Jason spends and then let Alfred sort it out somehow.
“I’m guessing this is a duplicate for you, too,” Murphy says, with an understanding smile.
“Yeah, you know,” Jason shrugs. “Might have kids someday. Gotta stock up.”
Bruce pretends to be engrossed in a bookbinding, partly so Jason doesn’t see his reaction to this casual statement and partly because he can’t actually figure out quite how he feels about it to hide it very well.
With a casual observer, he might actually be successful, but Jason nudges him in the side with an elbow when Murphy turns to wrap the set in brown paper.
“Oh, shoot,” Murphy says. “I've left the tape in the other room. I'll be right back.”
He leaves the counter, seemingly unworried about leaving them with the open case.
“Don't panic, old timer,” Jason says. “Dickie and I have a pact not to have any until we're sure you're done taking in strays. The family can only handle so much drama.”
“I'm done,” Bruce says resolutely. “And I don't take in strays. You aren't cats.”
“You keep telling yourself that,” Jason says smugly. “I'm waiting til Damian hits sixteen, just in case. It seems to be the cut-off. I'm not in a hurry.”
Despite his outward irritation, the slight glare he turns on his second son, something in Bruce is deeply relieved to hear Jason talk so openly and calmly about his younger siblings. It soothes concerns that Jason, even now, regards their presence as a kind of insult or intrusion.
“Alfred would throw me out of the house,” Bruce says mildly, instead of arguing.
“You could come stay with me,” Jason grins. “It'll be fun. Me, you, a salty teenager, a tiny apartment. Maybe we can get that reality show your PR guy keeps trying to talk you into.”
Bruce chuckles and asks, “Tim?”
“He thought you were considering it, you know,” Jason says. “He called me in a hot panic.”
“What'd you say?” Bruce asks, thinking suddenly of Tim and the fact that he should take the kid out for coffee or something soon.
“I told him it's be good acting practice,” Jason says. “That you sounded excited and we shouldn't take it from you. And that I was going back to stay with the Kents.”
“Jay,” Bruce says, trying to muster the ire to sound reproving.
“B?” Jason asks. Their eyes meet, Jason’s glinting with amusement that Bruce finds himself unable to not match. After a second, something in Jason’s expression shifts, his features more solemn though not troubled. “Shit,” he says plainly. “I've missed you.”
When Jason ducks his head, Bruce puts a hand on his shoulder and squeezes.
“It's been too quiet without you,” Bruce says. “You sure about staying in Gotham this year, though? Clark said Martha already thinks the house feels too empty.”
Jason nods and leans closer to a book.
“Yeah,” he says. “I already got stuff set up at Gotham U. It's time to just fricking get over it and be home. Damian would like that.”
It takes Bruce a moment to realize the last sentence was directed toward the book, and not connected to sentiments about Jason’s physical location.
“What is it?” he asks, twisting his neck trying to make out the faint title.
“Want to see another one? Ah, yes. The Histories.” Murphy asks, returning with an old tape dispenser. When he sets it on the counter, Bruce can hear the sand inside the false wood veneer shifting and settling. “I wasn't joking, you know. Not to pressure you, but I live for a month on your visits.”
“You're just appealing to my sense of pity,” Bruce accuses with a slight smile.
“I own a stinking used book store in a dying plaza,” Murphy says. “Rent is cheap but ebooks are cheaper. I'm not above honest begging to support my paper habit. Can't say no to a pretty book.”
“We are cut from the same cloth,” Jason says a little forlornly. “You want my advice?”
Murphy’s lips twitch, as if he's prepared to be amused, and he lifts the book out without them needing to specify.
“What's your advice, young Xenophon?”
“Find a rich guy to adopt you,” Jason says glibly, carefully holding the book and then handing it to Bruce.
Bruce intentionally and with some effort keeps his face carefully neutral.
“Huh,” Murphy says. “You in the market, Mr. Wayne? Don't know anybody else anymore.”
“No,” Bruce says, “but I'll take the Herodotus.”
“Give him three years,” Jason advises.
“I think we're done,” Bruce says and Jason sets the Tom Swift and paranormal romance on the counter. “Unless you wanted to browse some more.”
“Nah,” Jason says. “I gotta go get my rat from Dev before he gets too attached.”
Murphy begins ringing up the purchases and he pauses when he reaches for the Tom Swift.
“Separate bills?” he asks.
“Hell, no,” Jason says. “I'm broke.”
Bruce’s heart warms a little at this allowance, knowing that Jason both has money and is letting this one fall to Bruce on purpose.
“How long has Dev had the rat?” he asks, pulling out his wallet.
“Since last Thanksgiving,” Jason says.
“Jay,” Bruce says with a crooked smile, “I don't think it's your rat anymore.”
“Come help me liberate him,” Jason invites, a little pleading. “I can't face Dev crying all by myself.”
Murphy’s demeanor betrays no emotion besides mild good humor as he swipes Bruce’s card for the few-thousand dollar charge. Most of it is the Faust.
“I don't even like the rat,” Bruce says. “I told Cass it was a bad idea the first day.”
“Cass didn't listen to you about something?” Jason exclaims, taking the offered brown bag from Murphy. He staggers back in exaggerated and false shock. “The perfect child ignored your fricking wishes? Yours?”
“It is the only mark ever against her,” Bruce says dryly. “Thank you, Mr. Murphy.”
“Come back again,” Murphy says. “Soon.”
Jason nods and they step out of the shop together.
“How are you getting the rat home on a motorcycle?” Bruce asks, unlocking his car. Jason had paused to take the book for Damian out of the bag and he freezes, suddenly, and gives the motorcycle an angry look.
“I don't know,” he says stiffly.
“I'll give you a ride,” Bruce says. “We can swing back for the bike later.”
He waits a moment to see if Jason will argue or resist, either for actual reasons or just to be contrary.
“You sure?” Jason says instead, one hand on the passenger door. “I mean, jiminy cricket, aren't you busy or something?”
“My whole afternoon is yours,” Bruce says. He decides to push a little. “And dinner, if you want it.”
He wasn't lying when he said he had missed Jason. Even if there had been interludes where the family was together, or that week that Jason had surgery and it was just the two of them, it has been a long ten months. It is the sort of thing he felt himself more and more capable of noticing or acknowledging recently, as he is less totally consumed by work. He often finds himself forced to pay attention, by activity in the house and the transition of sullen teens into noisy, bolder young adults.
“Food’s my love language,” Jason says when Bruce joins him in the car. “Did Martha Kent tell you?”
“Alfred could have told me,” Bruce says, guiding the car out of the parking lot.
Jason falls silent and when Bruce looks over, he's perusing the Tom Swift book. Bruce is content to let the silence, which feels more comfortable than tense, settle over them for a while. He drives without forcing effort into maintaining conversation even though a question is nagging the back of his mind, something he's danced around and not directly asked Jason in the few weeks he's been back in Gotham.
It feels more pressing the longer they're on the road until the silence tips from casual to anticipatory. Jason closes the book and looks out the window at the bay as they drive over a bridge.
Bruce clears his throat and for all his usual decisive action, finds the words stuck there.
“So,” Jason says, almost as a prompt. “I think my course load is gonna be pretty heavy this year.”
There are methods of finesse and diplomacy that Bruce finds it easy to wield in the boardroom, when the subject is one he is easily detached from and can be analytical about. But the closer things move up from the work of his fingers to the beating of his heart, the more that tact falls away and he mentally resigns himself to bluntness.
“Are you going to patrol again?”
Jason doesn't look startled by the question but he does, briefly, look very torn. He opens his mouth, swallows, licks his lips and presses them together.
“I don't know,” he says after a long pause. “It feels like a waste not to. What do you think?”
A year ago, six months ago even, this might have felt or even actually been a challenge.
But right now, Bruce just hears an earnest and troubled question.
“I think you should do what's best for you,” he says, knowing this isn't much of an answer but feeling compelled anyway. Jason scoffs and turns back to the window.
“Sure,” he says, bitterly. “Fuck.”
“Jay,” Bruce says, slowing to a stop at a red light. He watches Jason watch the girls in the car stopped next to them.
“What,” Jason says flatly.
“This is hard for me to answer,” Bruce says frankly, thinking of conversations he's had recently with Selina. He wishes he'd talked this through with her, too. She's always been better at nuance. “If I tell you not to go out, I think you'll read it as doubt in your abilities. If I tell you to patrol with us, I'm worried you’ll feel obligated or avoid me.”
“That,” Jason says, looking down at the book on his lap, running a thumb across the cover, “is probably true.”
“So, what do you want? You've had a while off. Do you miss it?”
“I miss feeling like I was making a difference,” Jason says. His thumb traces the curve of a massive, wired contraption in the cover illustration. “But no. I don't miss it. I feel like I should and I don't. And I don't want to decide.”
“Then don't,” Bruce says. “Don't make anything final. Just be Jason for a while. There isn't a deadline.”
“I'm glad I was Robin,” Jason says suddenly, a little fiercely. “I don't regret it.”
“I know,” Bruce agrees quietly. “But you don't have to prove that by never moving on to something else. You can be a Wayne and not have the usual nightlife.”
Jason pulled his hand back from the book and cupped it around his ear, relaxing into a cheeky grin.
“Sorry, I'm a little hard of hearing. All those guns and not enough ear protection. Can you say that again?”
Bruce isn't quite ready to make it into a joke yet.
“I'm serious, Jay. It's my fault I've made it seem mandatory but it was never supposed to be.”
“Okay,” Jason says, lowering his hand. “I'll think about it.”
“And besides, Alfred would throw a party if he thought one of us had enough sense to get out,” Bruce adds, pulling into the parking lot.
“I might pretend to be sure, then, just to get a cake out of it,” Jason says, and the stress in the car seems to have melted away.
“He'd make one for you if you'd just ask,” Bruce says, turning the car off.
“That's not any fun,” Jason says.
They climb the interior stairs together and stop outside the door. Bruce has made the trek to this rarely visited apartment alone before; he realizes he has no idea how often Jason’s done the same. He knocks and there's the sound of movement inside.
“You can't sodding have him!” Dev yells through the door, without even answering. “You fucking abandoned him!”
“Algernon’s mine,” Jason yells back, pounding on the door again. “We had a deal!”
There's a long pause.
“He died!” Dev says vehemently. “Dames’ bloody cat ate him.”
“Alfred’s never hunted anything in his life,” Jason retorts. “He's too lazy.”
“The rat gave himself up,” Dev answers, sounding closer to the door now. “Get a new one if you bloody care so much.”
“I'm not paying for that,” Bruce says firmly.
“You're a fucking liar!” Jason yells.
“Sod off!” Dev yells back.
A door down the hall opens and a sleepy-looking woman leans out and glares at them, then slams her door shut.
The door to Dev’s apartment swings open and Dev is standing there, scowling. The rat cage is visible behind him on a low table, the supplies already gathered into a bag next to it.
“Hullo, Wayne,” Dev says. “Your son’s an absentee parent.”
“He came to see his grandrat,” Jason says fiercely, pushing his way past Dev into the apartment.
“I did not and never say that again,” Bruce says, going in after him when Dev steps back and gestures a welcome with a flourish.
“You've been back for weeks,” Dev says, a final and feeble protest.
“I was settling some stuff,” Jason argues. “Get your own rat. This was respite care and you fricking knew it. And only ‘cause Martha’s got a stiffer backbone than Bruce.”
Bruce’s eyes narrow at this but he doesn't put energy into challenging it.
“Yeah,” Dev says with a sigh. “Take care of him.”
“You're not really pissed are you?” Jason asks, turning a little in his crouch, where he's been petting the rat through the cage grating with a finger.
“Nah, mate,” Dev says. “I’m not home enough anyway. He's better off with you.”
“Of course he fucking is,” Jason says. “He's mine.”
“How've you been?” Dev asks, turning to Bruce when Jason leans forward to talk to the rat.
“Good,” Bruce says. “I'm wondering how much of this attachment to rodents is my fault.”
“Probably all of it,” Dev says cheerfully. “How’ve your ribs been, then?”
“Better,” Bruce says.
“They've been better or they are better?” Dev asks, pointedly. Jason looks up from the rat to shoot an accusing look at Bruce, his white bang flopped in front of his eyes. He brushes it aside irritatedly.
“You told me you weren’t hurt,” he says.
“They are better,” Bruce clarifies. “It was just two cracked ribs, Jay.”
“‘It was just two cracked ribs, Jay,’” Jason tells the rat in a mocking tone. “My body’s just broken but I’m fine.”
Dev doesn’t even look slightly remorseful for bringing it up.
“I hate to rush you,” he says, “but I’ve a night shift at the hospital.”
“Weren’t you at the manor for tea this morning? When do you sleep?” Bruce asks.
“I can’t even take that seriously, coming from you,” Dev says, without answering. “Out. I need to mourn the loss of my rat before work.”
“You coming to the thing?” Jason asks vaguely, standing.
“As always,” Dev nods, and Jason picks up the rat cage. Bruce takes the bag next to it without being asked. “Don’t have any sodding emergencies while I’m working,” Dev warns when they leave. “I’ll leave you to bleed out, just out of spite.”
“Noted,” Bruce says wryly. “Have a good night.”
The door closes behind them and it is only then that it occurs, fully, to Bruce that this means transporting a rat in the back of his car. He sighs.
“What thing?” he asks, while they go down the stairs.
“Oh, hell if I know,” Jason says. “We always pretend to have plans. I don’t remember how it started. Sometimes, we talk about shit we never did, just to drive Tim crazy.”
“I don’t have an older brother,” Bruce says pointlessly, knowing this is stating the obvious, “but I don’t think I would have handled one well.”
“That is literally the fricking understatement of the century,” Jason acknowledges. “But Tim’s usually pretty chill about it. We should actually grab him for dinner or he’ll probably just eat crappy ramen. I’ll text him.”
Bruce waits in the gathering autumn dusk, the slight chill of the air blowing over him, while Jason finagles the rat’s cage into the backseat. And though he usually dislikes being left out of making plans, he honestly appreciates that Jason didn’t need to check with him or study his response before committing to the text he is already typing to Tim, while he half-kneels in the backseat.
When he stands, his eyes still on his phone, Bruce puts the bag in the backseat and closes the door.
“Hey,” Jason says, without looking up from typing. “It’s been like, two years.”
Bruce looks at the low moon, rising slow and waxing full on the east horizon, just barely visible in the narrow window that opens between the buildings and the bay beyond.
“Yeah. It has been.”
“Huh. Thanks for not dying,” Jason says, attention still seemingly on his phone. “And thanks for calling today.”
“You’re welcome,” Bruce says. “One of those things was more my doing than the other.”
“Alfred made you call?” Jason asks, finally looking up and quirking an eyebrow. He grins. “Figures.”
“Get in the car,” Bruce says gruffly, a smile tugging on his lips. “Let’s go get Tim.”
#cor et cerebrum series#fic blogging#batman#batfic#jason todd#bruce wayne#minor appearances by#kiran devabhaktuni#and#algernon the rat
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“Not to ruin this Hallmark moment, but there are videos on Abram’s phone that I need to see.” Ellie sneaks her hand between the driver and passenger seat and grabs Abram’s phone, “Unlike Elise, I’m not mad at you for leaving last night—during what could have been me hitting rock bottom—,”
Ellie rolls her eyes and continues, “—what I am mad at you for is not taking me with you,” she says swiping through all the videos he didn’t post on Instagram, “Look at this!” She holds the phone out toward me then turns it back to face her, “Can you believe Abram went here without us? And with a guy he hates.”
“I don’t hate Brantley.”
“His blood on the ice sure says differently.” I snap, unable to shake the clutching fingers of him leaving from my throat. They’re sharp and smooth as they dig into my skin. I roll my shoulders and slide the key out of the ignition, “I’m going upstairs. I need to shower and get ready for class. I’ve already missed two and if I make it a third Simon will start making me pay that on my own, too.”
I get out of the car and slam the door, forcing Abram to get out on Ellie’s side. He rounds the car while she heads toward the front door, eyes still glued to his phone. “I’m sorry,” he says, wrapping his arms around me. He pulls me back toward the car, turns around and pins me against the metal. “Can I show you how sorry I am?” Leaning down he presses his lips under my jaw, teeth dragging down skin and landing on my collarbone. His hands find the hem of my skirt and start inching further up.
“We’re in public.” I say, pushing him and his limbs away.
“And?”
He moves closer once more but for the first time I’m quicker and I slide across the car, away from him. “And you’re covered in glitter and smell like cheap perfume. I’d rather kiss Natasha.”
Abram stops walking, hand falling to the stop of his stomach, “I’ve thrown up three times already, Elise and if you don’t want to make it a fourth all over your Jimmy Choo’s I wouldn’t put such disgusting images in my head.”
Reaching out I grab his hand, pulling him close and pressing a kiss to his cheek, “These are Valentino. But nice try.”
♡ ♡ ♡
“Now, I’m not saying that Jane Austen is the most boring and trite of female author’s—but I am saying if I have to sit through another retelling of Pride and Prejudice I might actually tear out all my hair.” Professor Keating laughs.
I snort loudly, only realizing how disruptive it was when Ellie tears her eyes away from her phone to stare at me.
“Is something funny, Miss Allaire?” Keating quirks his brown, leaning on his lectern and staring straight at me.
“I just think its funny how—,” beside me Abram inhales sharply, “coming from a professor who praises Fitzgerald and Salinger non-stop a writer like Jane intimidates you. The stories are good, that’s why they keep getting retold. Pride and Prejudice is a quintessential love story—,”
“They hated each other. Was Mr. Darcy not—by today’s standards—a misogynistic pig? And wouldn’t Elizabeth be considered—,”
“A feminist bitch?”
The slightest bit of smile turns the corner of Professor Keating’s lips upwards.
“All I’m saying is—it was already done. Why do we need to tell the same story over and over again?”
I lean back in my chair, face turning red hot under his strong gaze, “What about Shakespeare, Professor? I suppose you don’t think those stories need to stop being done?”
“Actually,” he says, “Shakespeare is the foundation of all modern storytelling. His—,”
“His?”
“Did I misuse his pronouns, Miss Allaire?”
Shrugging, I tap the tip of my pen against the keys of my laptop, “You’re assuming Shakespeare was a man.”
He laughs now moving away from the podium to stand at the board, “Why should I believe anything different?”
“Do you really think a man could write all those iconic stories, Professor? Romeo and Juliet was clearly written by a woman who was done with all of men’s shit.”
He’s in full blown laughter now. Pulling his glasses from his face he wipes at his eyes as he concedes and dismisses the class. “Miss Allaire—a moment, please?”
“I hope I didn’t come off too strongly, Mr. Keating—I just—,”
“It’s Oscar, remember? And, I like that you came off strongly. You’re passionate. Sometimes I say things to see who’s really listening—don’t get me wrong, I do think they’ve made one too many Pride and Prejudice variations, but Austen is one of the founding mothers of literature—I don’t want you to think I’m undermining all her hard work,” he shrugs, “I just like to push boundaries.” Sensing my confusion he moves toward his briefcase and pulls out a pamphlet, “I sponsor one student a year. I haven’t in a few years because most people see this class as an easy grade—but I think you match all the qualities I’m looking for.”
“Profes—Oscar, I—,”
“It isn’t much. I’ll write a few good letters, help you get into graduate school—whatever school that may be, but consider it. There are a few conventions we go to—England, Boston and New York and it’s filled with like-minded individuals all of whom are willing and able to connect you with any path you choose.”
“So it’s like a fraternity.”
He shrugs, “Even more exclusive.”
♡ ♡ ♡
Abram sits on the couch, face weighted down in a pout and cradling a bottle of beer to his chest which he’s refused to drink from since I told him about Professor Keating’s offer. Ellie is on the floor, expletives slipping smooth past her lips into the microphone of the headset she wears around her neck as she kills her fourth nine year old on Call of Duty.
“Will you say something?”
He doesn’t. Not until after her sixth or seventh kill and then he lifts the bottle to his mouth and drinks until beer starts to dribble out of the corners. “Are you banging him too?”
“Abram!” Ellie shouts, unwilling to tear her eyes away from the game, instead choose to release the control for the second it takes to chuck one of the pillows holding up her back toward him. “Oh great, your dramatic ass just got me killed. I hope you’re happy.” She gets up and returns the controller to the entertainment center and turns around, “Why are you acting like a child about this? It’s Elise. She couldn’t bang anyone other than you if she tried.”
“Excuse me,” I say, “I am right here.”
“You’re beautiful and I love you—but that vagina only works for Abram.”
“If I wanted to have sex with someone else, I very well could!” I stand as I shout, mouth falling open.
Abram rolls his eyes, cuts through his and tosses his empty bottle in the bin. He opens the fridge to retrieve another and turns back, “Then have sex with him, Elise!” Abram shouts—eyes darkening as they stare at me from across the room. His cheeks are past red as he gulps down more beer. “Why don’t all of you have a threesome? See if I care.”
“You’re absolutely infuriating, Abram.” I say, “I don’t want to have sex with anyone else—much less with Oscar.”
Oscar Abram childishly mouths when he gives the bottle a moment’s break.
“He’s helping me with a possible future. Networking with him could lend a hand with my career.”
“And what career is that, Elise? Trophy wife? Or maybe you’ll right think pieces for a mommy blog.”
“Abram.” Ellie warns, but I raise a hand and cut her off.
“It’s better than your future of AA meetings and living in your grandmother’s basement.” I snap.
“Elise!”
I’m slipping on my shoes by the time she says my name, careless that the nightgown I’m wearing won’t keep out the early November chill that Los Angeles nights offer. I grab my bag and keys from the counter, trying to keep my attention straight as I slam the front door behind me.
♡ ♡ ♡
I.
Abram spends three hours apologizing to me the next day. While Ellie slips out to spend time with “Oscar”, Abram and I make use of the empty house. The shower. The kitchen counter. The table. The couch. Our bed. Ellie’s bed.
He tells me he loves me with his fingers trailing up my spine, presses his lips to my back and promises that it’s forever.
He tells me he loves me again with his hands separating my legs, his tongue spelling each letter against my thigh.
II.
Nothing is off limits.
We go to church with Ellie who wakes us up at eight thirty at night. I tell her it’s too late, we can go in the morning—but she begs us not to let her go alone. It’s too heavy, she says, she might break.
I’m half asleep and fully aware that the burning of my skin is due to sin. Excitement bites at my eyelids and I try to keep them open—focus on the pew beneath me while Ellie confesses her sins in the booth a few feet away.
Abram leans over and asks if I want to confess mine. I want to tell him no, but the heaviness of the word weighs down my tongue and his blue eyes tell me he’s worth burning over.
We watch Ellie exit the confessional, followed by the priest. Abram pulls me in to the small booth and on top of him. He promises that if we’re going to hell, we’ll be there together.
Like Eve, I bit the apple and it was sweet—but he was sweeter.
Abram leaves my panties on the bench of the confessional, our penance to God, he says.
III.
My legs are shaking, the fogged up windows of my car tell the story to everybody that walks by. The walk of shame is almost more shameful when I see my dad and Anais waiting by the front door.
IV.
“Why are you in the library? It’s a Saturday?” Ellie asks.
“Why are you?”
“Don’t deflect.”
I sigh, shuffling around the books—I’m somewhere in the back with all the encyclopedia’s. “I need a break Ellie. I think he might kill me.” My admission doesn’t faze her, when she rolls her eyes I continue, “I’m dehydrated. I keep drinking water—but it isn’t helping. Me and my vagina aren’t going to make it out of this alive.”
Ellie snorts, “Are you complaining about all the sex you’re having? I’m sorry but cry me a river!” Her voice gets increasingly louder, “I haven’t had sex in two weeks! I’m about as dry as the Sahara Desert. So I’m so sorry if I don’t want hear you complain about getting banged ten days to Tuesday!”
A quiet shhh comes through the bookshelves.
“I think I’m about to lose my mind.” Ellie says, “I might just go and hop on any dick that’s willing if B—,”
“I found you.” Abram drops his bags by his feet. “You left so early this morning we didn’t get to—,”
Ellie nods, “this is my cue to leave. Have fun. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
Abram looks at me, licks his lips and it’s all over.
♡ ♡ ♡
Returning home to the apartment a gold envelope deters Abram’s attempts to start anything before Ellie gets home. “No!” I say, before he can put it down I snatch it from him and start to open it, “it looks important.”
I’m grateful when I read the eloquently scripted letters to Gigi’s Thanksgiving. The thick cardstock with gold and browns is just the excuse I need to suppress Abram’s appetite. The excitement of being within feet of our family blooms in my chest.
“I can’t wait until we get to Gigi’s.” He says against my ear, “We can see how long you can be quiet for. Which—we both know isn’t very long.”
Ellie opens the door just then and I rush by her side, “Look!” I say, “We’re going to Gigi’s for Thankgiving.”
“Oh, no—I think I’m going back to Boston.”
“No.” I grab her arm, fingers tightening into her vice, “You’re going to Gigi’s. Maybe you can see if your dad and brother want to come. I don’t think Gigi will mind, right Abram?”
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Enjoy An Exclusive Sneek Peek Of: I See London, I See France!
Nineteen-year-old Sydney has the perfect summer mapped out. She's spending the next four and a half weeks travelling through Europe with her childhood best friend Leela. Their plans include Eiffel Tower selfies, eating cocco gelato, and making out with très hot strangers.
Her plans do not include Leela's cheating ex-boyfriend showing up on the flight to London, falling for the cheating ex-boyfriend's très hot friend, monitoring her mother's spiraling mental health via texts, or feeling like the rope in a friendship tug of war.
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LONDON, ENGLAND
The Basics: London, the capital of England, is the perfect gateway city for your European adventure. You can fly there directly from pretty much anywhere in America, it’s a five-hour time difference from the East Coast, plus the Brits speak English.
Um, most of the time. They snog instead of kiss, wear knickers instead of underwear, and spend pounds instead of dollars, so you might not always understand what they’re bloody (bloody=curse word!) talking about.
I am going to Europe. EUROPE. I am leaving the country.
I have never left the country, and now I’m going to at least five countries.
If we make it to the gate.
“Run, Leela, run! Come on! Hurry!” I yell as the two of us charge through the airport. “They just called final boarding!”
“Wait!” she calls back. “I lost a sandal!”
I turn to see her hopping on one foot. Her bright blue purse is overflowing with a black leather wallet, Vogue, People, EW, Newsweek, hand sanitizer, a small notepad, pencils, her iPhone, and an open metallic makeup bag the size of a microwave. She’s also holding a white plastic bag stuffed with chips, a vitaminwater, and a sandwich.
“I dropped the napkins!” she says. “I have to go back for the napkins!”
“Forget the napkins,” I order. “We don’t have time for napkins. Put your foot back in your shoe and keep moving! I’ll take your food, let’s go!”
I grab her bag along with mine and keep running. Instead of a purse, I’m wearing a small black backpack that’s keeping everything in place. My passport. My wallet. My guidebook. Four paperbacks—One Day, The Paris Wife, Daughter of Smoke and Bone, and My Brilliant Friend—that all take place in cities I’m planning to visit. Now that it’s summer vacation, I can finally read whatever I want.
When we get to the gate there is only one person in front of us.
The board says:
London Flight: 401
Departs: 5:00 p.m.
Final Boarding
“We made it!” I say, panting. “I can’t believe it.”
Our first almost-delay was when my mother nearly had a panic attack when Leela’s parents picked me up to take us to the airport. She’d come to the driveway to say good-bye, but as I was getting into the car, I saw her eyes glaze over and she seemed very far away. “Mom?” I said, freezing in my spot. “Are you okay?”
“Just a bit light-headed,” she answered, retreating toward the house. “Don’t worry about me. Go. Have a safe flight.”
I felt slightly sick as I watched her close the front door behind her. I wondered: Can I really do this? Can I really leave?
“Everything okay?” Leela’s dad asked.
“Yes,” I said. “Let’s go.”
So we went.
Traffic was miserable, costing us an extra ten minutes. Then security pulled Leela over to examine her massive makeup bag to make sure she wasn’t breaking any kind of liquids rule.
“Why do you need so many lipsticks?” I asked her.
“That’s a ridiculous question.”
“Then why didn’t you pack them in your suitcase?”
“Most of them are in my suitcase. But I couldn’t pack all of them in there. I was worried they would melt.”
The final straw was my fault. I insisted on stopping at our terminal’s Fresh Market to get sandwiches. That way we’d be able to eat as soon as we got on the plane, be done before takeoff, and could go straight to sleep. But the line inched forward and we almost missed boarding.
Yet we made it. We lost the napkins, kept the lipsticks, and we made it. Now, we’re here at the gate. Electricity and excitement rush up my spine—I’m seriously, no joke, actually doing this. I am traveling around Europe with my best friend for four and a half weeks. Holy crap.
“Boarding pass and passport, please,” the flight attendant says when it’s our turn.
“Here you go,” I say, and hand over my paperwork.
“Have a good flight, Sydney,” the flight attendant tells me, and hands back my stuff. She turns to Leela.
“Damn,” Leela says. “My boarding pass was with the napkins.”
Tip: Are you taking a late-night flight? Sleep on the plane! That way you’ll be well rested when you land and ready to hit the ground running.
Otherwise you’re totally going to be a hot mess by noon.
Somehow we make it. We spot the pile of napkins and the boarding pass and thirty minutes later, we’re in the air. I take a final bite of my Fresh Market sandwich. “Bathroom, then sleep,” I say.
“Perfect,” Leela says, still chewing. “I’ll watch our stuff.”
Her stuff is already overflowing from her seatback pocket, and covering both her floor area and mine.
As I make my way toward the back, I can’t believe I actually left. I haven’t been on a plane since I was ten, over nine years ago. I feel free, like a balloon floating through the sky.
The plane rocks to the left.
Free. And slightly untethered.
I push away any feelings of uneasiness. The next four and a half weeks are going to be amazing. Incredible. Amazingly incredible.
I smile at the passengers as I pass them. Hello, little boy. Hello, little girl. Hello, too-skinny mom. Hello, extremely sweaty dad. Hello, cute guy.
At first, I don’t recognize him.
Then I think: His shaggy brown hair, pink cheeks, and lazy smile look familiar.
Then I realize. MATT. IT’S MATT. Leela’s ex-boyfriend MATT.
I have never met Matt in person, since Leela met him in Montreal at McGill University, but I recognize him from her Facebook, Snapchat, and Instagram. Selfies of the two of them on the top of a mountain (#climbedit #MontRoyal), pulling all-nighters at the library (#needcoffee), and sharing a plate of french fries, gravy, and cheese curds (#myfirstpoutine).
Leela introduced us via FaceTime, too.
He’s definitely as cute in real life as he was on the phone.
He’s watching something on his iPad. I make a U-turn, go back to our row, and sink into my aisle seat.
“I forgot my parents’ converter,” Leela says. “To plug stuff in.”
“Don’t worry about that. I bought one and definitely packed it. We can share.” I place my hand on her arm. “But brace yourself, my friend. Matt’s on the plane.”
Leela gasps. “My Matt?”
“Yes.”
“No,” she finally says when she catches her breath. She drops the rest of her sandwich in her lap. Cheddar. Everywhere.
“Yes,” I repeat.
“Are you sure it’s him?”
“Ninety-nine percent sure.”
“What row?”
“Thirtyish. He’s wearing a McGill sweatshirt.”
She buries her face in her hands. “The jackass is on my airplane. What the hell is he doing on my airplane?”
“Technically the airplane is owned by Delta. Yet operated by Virgin Atlantic.”
She doesn’t laugh, even though it was super funny. Okay, maybe not super funny, but definitely a little funny. I would have laughed if she’d said it.
“He must be in our original seats,” she says. “Thank God I switched mine to be next to you. Thank God. Could you imagine if I had to sit next to him for the entire plane ride? I would die. DIE.”
“Can we not talk about dying when we’re on a plane over the ocean? Thank you.”
“He was supposed to cancel his ticket,” she continues. “I told him you were coming with me, and he said he’d go home and get a job in Toronto instead. So why is he here? On my plane? Why would he fly out of Baltimore? He doesn’t even live in Baltimore! I do!”
“Didn’t you buy the tickets to London together? He probably just kept his. Or maybe he likes the Orioles? I don’t know,” I say. I look out the small window by her head. All I see is blue. “Are you going to go back and yell at him?”
“Yes! No. I don’t want to see him. I don’t want to talk to him. He knows I’m on the plane. If he wants to see me, he can look for me. He’s an ass.” She jerks up. “Crap. Was he sitting with someone?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “I was so surprised to see him I ran right back here. I never made it to the bathroom.”
“Did he notice you?” she asks, worried. “I’m sure he’d recognize you too.”
“No, no. He was watching something. I don’t think he saw me.”
“Please, please, please go back and see if he’s sitting with anyone.”
“Right now?”
“Yes. Please. I need to know.” She shakes her head. “No way he’s going to Europe by himself.”
“He might be,” I say. “Lots of people do.”
“No,” she says. “He’s not the solo traveler type. Oh God, I bet he’s with that chick Ava. She’s probably sitting right next to him. They’re probably feeding each other peanuts. Peanuts! I hate peanuts! Who actually eats the peanuts they give you on airplanes?”
“They don’t pass out peanuts anymore. Too many allergies. It’s a lawsuit waiting to happen.”
“Can you just pretend you’re going to the bathroom and check?”
“I actually do have to go to the bathroom. Still.”
“Perfect. Problem solved.” Leela’s face is desperate, pleading. Her brown eyes look crazed. Even her usual sleek brown hair is mussed, adding to an overall manic look.
I unbuckle my seat belt and stand up. We’re in row fourteen. The plane rumbles beneath my feet as I carefully maneuver my way to the back. Twenty-eight. Twenty-nine. Thirty.
I look up. And there he is. Still in the aisle seat. Still watching a movie. There’s an older man reading a James Patterson novel to the left of him.
Not Ava. Small miracle.
Matt looks up. Notices me staring. We lock eyes. I look away but it’s too late. Oops.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hello, Matthew,” I say. Crap. If he didn’t know who I was at first, I blew it as soon as I said his name. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do, so I keep moving, using the backs of people’s chairs to wipe off my now-sweaty palms. Luckily there’s no one in the bathroom, so I quickly step in and lock the door behind me.
On my way back, I pretend he doesn’t exist.
Leela is gripping her armrests like the plane is going down.
“He’s alone. And he saw me,” I say.
“What do I do?”
“I don’t know. Go talk to him?”
“He should come talk to me! He should apologize again! He cheated on me! He’s on my plane!” Her voice is a hysterical whisper.
“You’re right,” I say. “He should come talk to you.”
“He’d better,” she says.
I take a deep breath of stale airplane air and wiggle around, trying to get comfortable. It’s tough, since the seat seems to be designed for a preschooler.
Leela combs her fingers through her long dark hair. “Do I look okay? In case he comes back?”
“You look great,” I tell her.
“How’s my lipstick?”
“Still good,” I say.
“Thank you, Bite.”
I slip off my shoes and try to stretch out my socked toes. “What’s Bite?”
“This Canadian brand of lipstick I’m obsessed with. I’m applying for an internship there next summer. I love their branding.” Leela is studying marketing at McGill.
I’m studying English lit at the University of Maryland.
I turn to her, realizing the implication of what she just said. “You might stay in Canada next summer?”
“Maybe,” she says. “If I get the internship.”
I sink back into my seat, feeling something close to relief that I came on this trip. Leela and I need this month together. A friendship can’t survive on childhood memories alone. We have to create new experiences, or the friendship will shrivel up. Like the orchids my dad sent me for my birthday that I completely forgot to water.
She points to the screen above us. “Want to watch the movie?”
“I thought we were going to sleep?”
“I can’t sleep at a time like this! Also I have to pee. And there’s no way in hell I’m going to the bathroom.”
Tip: You might want to get CFAR (Cancel for Any Reason) insurance to prepare for the unexpected.
If you don’t, you’re SOL if your boyfriend hooks up with some random girl and you want a refund on your ticket. Sorry.
Leela and I had always planned on traveling together.
We’d been best friends since the third grade. We picked matching outfits in advance and told people we were twins. Although we were both around the same middle-row-on-picture-day height, I doubt anyone was fooled; she’s Indian and has dark skin and wavy long dark brown hair, and I’m pale with curly medium-brown Jewish-girl hair.
While other kids played soccer and went to ballet, Leela and I read books. The Princess Diaries. Anne of Green Gables. But our favorite books took place in England. Mary Poppins. Matilda. Harry Potter. Peter Pan. Angus, Thongs and Full-Frontal Snogging. Thongs! Snogging! Ha!
We vowed that one day, when we were older, we would go to England and have our own adventures. London would be so much more fun than Maryland. We would have tea with our pinkies up. We’d go to Buckingham Palace. We’d fly across the city with umbrellas and broomsticks. We’d get engaged in London. Okay, not really, but Leela’s parents had gotten engaged in London and wasn’t that the most romantic thing you’d ever heard?
In middle school, we became obsessed with the Eiffel Tower. We decided we’d go to Paris and London. In high school, Leela studied French and discovered stinky cheese. I read Anna and the French Kiss, Just One Day, and a whole lot about Marie Antoinette.
My cousin Melanie actually backpacked through Europe when she was nineteen. She went for six months. She explained that backpacking through Europe didn’t mean hiking from city to city over mountains like I kind of thought it did. She took trains, and she just carried all her things in a backpack instead of a suitcase. We couldn’t imagine. How would everything fit? I wanted to travel with all my stuff in a backpack! We wanted to backpack through Europe!
Even after Leela got into McGill University in Montreal, Canada, and I got a scholarship to go to University of Maryland—which was great because I could live at home, and I felt like I needed to live at home—our plans didn’t change.
“We’re still going to Europe next summer,” she said.
“Of course,” I told her, although unlike Leela, I didn’t have a passport.
The night before she left for Canada she said, “We’re still going to Europe this summer,” as she hugged me good-bye.
I promised we would.
Leela met Matt on the first day of Frosh. That’s the week of drunken debauchery at McGill, the week before school starts. Like in Europe, the drinking age in Montreal is eighteen.
At the start of the year, Leela and I spoke or texted every day. But as the months went by and I got caught up in classes and studying and parties and driving to and from campus in addition to running around for my mother and my sister, Addison, my response time got slower and slower.
Leela: Call me when you can. I miss you!
Leela: Remember me?
Leela: Cough, cough, this is still your number, right?
Me: I’m sorry! I suck! I’m so busy! I love you!
I missed the days when our daily lives were intertwined with school and gossip and hanging out and reading and just watching TV together.
My phone buzzed in late February.
Leela: We’re still going to Europe together, right?
I didn’t answer right away. I wanted to go to Europe. Badly.
A week later she wrote again.
Leela: Hello, stranger. What’s the story for this summer? ARE we going to Europe or not? If yes, we have to get plane tickets.
I hesitated, my hands on my phone. Our friendship needed this trip. But I couldn’t say yes. I wrote back:
I don’t know.
Leela: Your mom will be fine.
Me: I’m not sure that’s true.
I waited for Leela to respond. She finally texted:
Leela: But we’ve been planning this trip FOREVER!!
Me: I know.
I thought about it. I missed Leela like crazy, but I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t leave my mother for the summer. She wouldn’t be fine.
My mother has a severe anxiety disorder called agoraphobia. People think agoraphobia is a fear of going to public places, but that’s not totally it. Agoraphobics are afraid of being out in public and losing control, so they prefer to stay in places they think of as safe.
That’s how my father explained it anyway.
When my little sister and I were still in elementary school, my mom always asked my dad to drive, and we were always the first to leave events, but she still came to our school plays and book fairs and teacher conferences. She worked from home since she’s a children’s book illustrator, but she still left the house. She didn’t love it, but she did it. She and my dad argued all the time. He wanted to go for more dinners, more parties, to meet more people, see more things. She wanted him to slow down and pay attention to his family. He liked to be out. She liked to play Monopoly and watch TV. He wanted to see a marriage counselor. She refused. Her aunt was a therapist, and she thought her aunt was a total kook.
So he went without her. And then when I was in seventh grade, he moved out without her. Without us.
After she and my father got divorced, everything went downhill. She was driving us to my middle school’s winter carnival when she had a panic attack. I was in the front, and my sister was in the back seat. We were at a red light when the light turned green and my mom didn’t move.
“Mom?” I said, and then noticed that her face was white and her hands were shaking. “Mom, are you okay?” She didn’t look okay. She looked like she was about to pass out.
The navy Taurus behind us started to honk. Once. Twice. Again. HONNNNNK.
What was happening?
“You have to drive, Mom,” Addison piped up from the back seat. “You can’t b-b-block the road!” Addison had developed a bit of a stammer. Stress, her teacher said. She was only in the fourth grade.
“I . . .” My mom’s voice cracked. “I don’t feel well. I think I’m . . . my chest hurts.”
Was she having a heart attack? My own heart started to race.
HONNNNNNK.
“Mom? Mom?” Addison cried out.
“Pull into the Dunkin’ Donuts over there,” I said suddenly. I put my hand on top of her arm. It was cold and clammy.
She pressed her foot lightly on the gas, crossed the lane, and drove into the parking lot, her hands still gripping the wheel. She put the car into park.
“What are you doing?” Addison asked, her voice rising. “You guys are freaking me out!”
“Does your chest still hurt?” I asked.
My mother nodded. She continued to shake. An Adele song played on the radio.
It was a heart attack. My mother was having a heart attack. I had to do something. What could I do? I needed help. We had to go to the hospital. “Should I . . . should I call an ambulance?” I looked for her purse. Where was her purse? I needed her phone!
She shook her head no, but didn’t speak.
“Mom? Where’s your purse?” I asked. “I need to call an ambulance.”
“No,” she said finally. “Don’t. I’m just . . . nervous.”
What did that mean?
“Nervous?” Addison asked, and then squeaked out a laugh. “About the winter carnival?”
My mom closed her eyes. “Syd. Run inside and get me water?”
“Okay.” I jumped out of the car and into the cold, relieved to have something constructive to do. I watched them through the store window as I waited in line. My mother’s hands were no longer gripping the steering wheel, and her door was open slightly. She seemed to be taking deep breaths.
A minute later I got back in the car, opened the bottle of water, and handed it to her. “Do you feel better?”
She took a long sip. “A little.”
“It’s for sure not a heart attack?” I asked.
“A heart attack?” Addison screeched. “You think Mom is having a heart attack?”
“I’m not having a heart attack,” my mother said quickly. “I’m fine. It’s just a panic attack. I had them when I was younger. Just give me a minute.”
We sat still, the radio continuing to play.
“Okay,” my mom said after a few songs.
“We don’t need to go to the carnival,” I said. “Do you want to go home?”
“No!” Addison squawked. “The carnival has c-c-otton candy.”
I wanted to yell at my sister but didn’t want to stress my mom out even more.
My mom’s lower lip trembled. “I wouldn’t mind lying down.”
I put my hand back on her arm. “It’s okay. It’s not that important.”
For the next few years, my mom wouldn’t drive anywhere unless I was in the passenger seat. She said she liked having me beside her. I calmed her down. Addison and I started taking the school bus to and from school, and I went along with my mom to her appointments, to the mall, to the grocery store, to the pharmacy, to wherever she or my sister needed to go. She was worried that without me there she would have another panic attack, and somehow lose control of the car. I liked knowing that I could help. That I could make my mother feel better.
When I was sixteen-and-a-half and I got my license, I started doing most of the driving. That way my mom could relax in the passenger seat and not have to worry about having a panic attack at all. I didn’t mind: I felt needed. I hated that she worried so much, and that her world was getting smaller and smaller, but I was glad I could help and I liked driving and that I basically had my own car. I got to take it to school and wherever I wanted. I also had to pick up Addison after swimming and take my mom to the grocery store.
Until we stopped going to the grocery store. One minute my mom was studying a frozen lasagna in the freezer section of Safeway and the next minute her hands were shaking and the lasagna was on the floor. She was sweating and hyperventilating, and she needed me to take her out of there, take her outside right away before she fainted. I grabbed her hands, we left the groceries in the cart and the frozen lasagna on the floor, and I found a bench outside. I told her to take big breaths, that she was going to be okay, that I loved her, and she was going to be fine.
She hasn’t been back to the Safeway since. You can order online from Safeway, and they deliver in an hour.
My mom was pretty sure she’d have a panic attack at our high school parent-teacher nights, so couldn’t my father go to those, he didn’t live that far away, and then he could tell her what they said? He liked doing stuff like that. Surely he could do at least that after moving out on all of us. He could. And he did.
He also asked her to see a therapist.
She said she’d be fine. She’d had a few panic attacks as a teenager, but they had gone away. She ordered some books with relaxation techniques.
When they still didn’t go away, I begged her to at least ask her regular doctor for help. She finally agreed.
I drove her to the appointment and read Ned Vizzini’s It’s Kind of a Funny Story in the waiting room. Her doctor told her that she had to learn to relax, and prescribed an antidepressant. My mom took it every day for a month but said it made her brain cloudy, and then she still had a panic attack when she tried to take us to see a movie. So she stopped taking the pills.
That was two years ago.
These days she doesn’t drive. Or go to the grocery store. Or to the movies. Or to shopping malls, or go on trains, or planes, or take cabs. She won’t see another doctor, or try another medication. She doesn’t want to feel drugged out. I’m not sure what else I can do to help her, but it’s hard to watch her in pain. So I do what I can to keep the panic away.
My mom will sit in the backyard, and even go for walks, but she needs me to be with her when she leaves the house to keep her calm. She doesn’t want to risk panicking and fainting and god forbid hitting her head on the concrete and bleeding all over the sidewalk without anyone to help her.
It took me a week to answer Leela’s text about whether or not we were still on. I finally wrote back:
I’m sorry. I can’t.
She wrote back immediately:
BOOOOOO. Are you sure? I really want to go with you.
Me: I want to go with you too. I’M SORRY.
Two weeks later she wrote:
How would you feel about me going to Europe with Matt? I would OF COURSE rather go with you. Would you be upset? Be HONEST.
I felt terrible about it, but I couldn’t say that since I wasn’t a selfish asshole. I wrote back:
Go for it. You have my blessing.
Leela: Love you. Thanks. Now I just have to convince my parents. . . They like Matt but I’m not sure how they’re going to feel about me traveling with my boyfriend.
Leela’s parents had always been in favor of our plan to go to Europe since they thought a month of traveling would be good for her. They thought it would teach her to be more independent. Even though she went to school in another country, she still never had to act like a grown-up. She lived in a dorm and had a meal plan. She went to class and came back. Plus, her older sister, Vanya, was a senior at McGill, checking up on her and paving the way. Leela was lucky.
I wasn’t sure if I was rooting for her parents to say yes or no.
Three days later Leela wrote:
They said yes! My mom says she likes the idea! She says she feels even safer knowing he’s with me. Sexist but at least they said yes.
I didn’t respond right away. She was going to Europe without me. She was going to Europe with Matt.
Leela finished her freshman year at McGill in the middle of May and came home.
At the beginning of June, she stormed into Books in Wonderland, where I work every summer, tears streaking her cheeks. “Matt kissed some girl named Ava at a bar,” she said.
I took a break and led her outside. We sat on the edge of the sidewalk, our knees hiked up into our chests. “How do you know?” I asked.
“He admitted it. I asked if something was going on, and he said yes. Claimed it was a mistake. He didn’t mean for it to happen. He was at a party, and it was an accident. He was freaked out about how serious we were getting. He said he’s still freaked about how serious we’re getting. But come on, how do you accidentally kiss someone?”
I considered. “I’m not sure. I think it’s physically impossible. You’d both have to have your mouths open, and you’d have to bump into each other at a very bizarre angle.”
She hiccup-laughed. “Exactly. So what am I supposed to do about Europe?”
“Damn.”
“No kidding.”
Matt and Leela had decided to travel through Europe together for a month. Four and a half weeks, to be exact. They were flying to London on July first and flying out of Rome on August second. They were leaving in three weeks.
“Do you still want to go?” I asked.
“With him?”
“No. Not with him. You can’t go to Europe with a guy who just cheated on you. Do you want to go to Europe by yourself?”
“No, I don’t want to go by myself! I can’t go by myself!”
“Of course you can. People travel by themselves all the time. You can go wherever you want. A bookstore in London. A beach in Italy. The Louvre! You’ll eat gelato! Macarons! Stinky cheese!”
“He doesn’t even like stinky cheese,” she said, sniffing.
“Then he has no taste.”
She turned to me. Her expression was hopeful. “Come with me.”
I laughed. “I can’t.”
“You can, Sydney. Please come.” She brightened. “Isn’t Addison working at Sunny’s this summer?”
“Yeah.” She’d gotten a job at the grill by the local pool.
“So she’s here. And she has her license now, right? She can help your mom.”
“She just got it last month. I’m not sure she feels comfortable driving yet. I think she’d be really mad.”
I’ve always tried to shield my sister from the stress of taking care of our mom. I was the one who made sure my mother left the house every day. I was the one who drove her around. In the years right after the divorce, my sister had been too young to help, and I didn’t want to worry her. Besides her stammer, she also started to fall behind in math. Luckily we found tutors and speech specialists who could come to the house.
“Your mom would be mad?”
“No, Addison would be mad. And my mom. They both would. I can’t go. I’m sorry. I wish I could but I can’t.”
“Can’t? Or won’t?” Leela asked. “Think about it. It’s the trip of a lifetime. And you deserve it, Syd, you really do. You do so much for your family. You need time off. And we never get to see each other anymore. I miss you.”
“I miss you too,” I said. And I hadn’t exactly been the world’s greatest friend this year. And Leela needed me. She really did. And she’d always, always been there for me.
Maybe my mom would be okay if my sister helped her? It was only four and a half weeks. I looked back at the bookstore. Eleanor, the owner of Books in Wonderland, wouldn’t mind. She had enough extra staff.
I blew out a breath. “How much would the trip cost exactly?”
Leela squeezed my arm. “Not THAT much. We can do it on sixty dollars a day. That’s like two thousand for the whole thing.”
“Plus the flight. How much was yours?”
“Eight hundred. Flying into London and flying out of Rome. Are you going to come? Please say you’re going to come!”
“And how do we get around?”
“Eurail. Seven hundred.”
“So three thousand five hundred. That’s a lot. But I have some Bat Mitzvah money left. And I’ve been working here for the last month . . . I think I have about three thousand dollars I could scrape together.”
“Maybe your dad has airline points?”
My dad did have airline points. He had a shitload of airline points. He never invited us to stay at his one-bedroom apartment, but he always offered us airline points.
“Take a vacation,” he’d say. “Have some fun.”
“I don’t even have a passport,” I said.
“You can get one fast. I swear. We’ll expedite it.”
Could I do this? Could I go? The possibility felt like a window being cracked open. I could practically taste the fresh air. The fresh air, gelato, macarons, and stinky cheese.
“I bet we could stay with Kat for part of the time,” I said. I’d met Kat at college. She was working at a gallery in Paris for the summer, and her parents had rented her an apartment. “That would save us a few euros.”
“Yes!” she said. “We can do this! You’re coming to Europe! Woot!”
My cheeks flushed. “Don’t get too excited. I have to talk to my family.”
That night I waited for Addison to get dropped off at home. When she walked into the foyer, her hair was wet and piled on top of her head. We both have our mother’s curly brown hair and round face and our dad’s light brown eyes. Addison’s shorter than I am and more muscular since she swims almost every day and plays third base for the JV girls’ softball team.
She wasn’t the same helpless kid she used to be. She could drive. She had a job. She had even lost her stammer.
“Hey,” I said, lowering my voice since our mom was in the kitchen. “I have a crazy question.”
She dropped her knapsack on the floor. “What?”
“Matt cheated on Leela—”
She made a sour face. “Jerk!”
“I know. But the thing is, now she wants me to go to Europe with her.”
She blinked. Fast. “Oh. Okay. You always wanted to go, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you have the cash?”
“Maybe. But I would only do it if you think you can handle Mom. Could you? You can drive so I wouldn’t be leaving you stranded. All you have to do is make sure she walks around the block once a day to get some exercise and drive her around if she has to go somewhere. It’s only a month. Four and a half weeks. Would you be okay with that? In theory?”
She shrugged. “I guess.”
“Yeah? Think about it. I don’t have to go.”
“No, you should go. Sounds fun.”
“Yeah? And you’d get the car to yourself all summer. . . .”
She smiled. “I definitely like the sound of that.”
“If something horrible happens I’ll come back early. I’ll get on the next plane. Swear.”
She rolled her eyes. “What do you think is going to happen exactly?”
“Who knows with Mom? She could refuse to leave her bedroom entirely. Or stop showering. I don’t know. Something. If there’s an emergency I’ll come back. Deal?”
“Deal,” she said. She unzipped her knapsack, took out her wet bathing suit, and uncrumpled it. She didn’t seem worried at all.
Hope swelled inside of me.
“What’s Mom making for dinner?” she asked.
“Chicken stir fry.”
“Do you think it’s ready? I’m starving.” She headed into the kitchen, wet bathing suit in hand, not a care in the world.
Okay then.
My heart hammered over dinner. Could I really do this? No. Yes. Should I bring it up? No. Yes. What would my mom say?
My sister helped herself to more chicken and broccoli. “So I hear it’s just us this summer, huh, Mom?”
Shit.
“What do you mean?” my mother asked, eyebrows scrunching together.
Addison made an oops face at me. She clearly hadn’t realized I had not discussed this with Mom yet.
Now or never.
I stared at my plate and the words tumbled out of my mouth like vomit. “Matt cheated on Leela, she’s miserable and needs someone to travel with, I want to go, Dad has airline points, it won’t cost you anything, Addison will help you, is that okay?”
My mom put her fork down. “Can you repeat that? Slowly?”
I repeated it. Slowly. Her face got paler and paler with each sentence. Oh, no. Was she going to have a panic attack right at the table?
Instead of speaking, her shaking hands reached for her glass of water.
“Do you hate the idea?” I asked, my shoulders falling. “I don’t have to go. Forget it.”
She cleared her throat. “No,” she said. “You should go.” She took another sip of water. She seemed to notice her hands were shaking and hid them under the table.
“We’ll be fine,” my sister said, rolling her eyes. “It’s not that big of a deal.”
It was a big deal. But I wanted to go. And Leela needed me.
That night, I lay in my twin bed, the same bed I’d slept in my entire life, staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars I’d stuck to the ceiling when I was eight. Could I really do this? My mom said she’d be fine. My sister said she could handle it. I wanted—desperately—to see Europe.
I took out my phone.
Me: OK. I’m in.
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