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percabeth4life · 4 years

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I Accidentally Vaporize My Pre-Algebra Teacher

First Chapter || Previous Chapter || Next Chapter (coming soon) || AO3

And we’ve reached canon timeline!

Ms. Dodds clearly has something out for me.

I can tell.

She watches me with narrow eyes, a dangerous look on her face.

I can feel the magic that clings to her, it feels like the strange itch of a curse, but not quite.

There’s an almost buzz with her, cloudy and indistinct.

I really don’t like her either.

Thankfully I’m good enough at Math to do alright in her class, or I really fear what she would do to me.

But as it is, I’m very worried.

“There’s been a theft.”

Triton was worried, he hasn’t contacted me since that letter.

“Keep your head down.”

I miss him, is he okay?

“Stay away from the ocean.”

I’m worried and scared, what’s going on?

“Don’t contact me.”

I need to tell someone about Ms. Dodds, I need to do something.

“Stay safe.”

What am I supposed to do?

OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO

Ms. Dodds almost seems to follow me around, I don’t dare use my waterbending outside of my room nowadays.

I haven’t used it much outside of my room anyways, but I played with the water in my cups and spilled some people’s drinks when they were rude.

They deserved it.

Nancy is more than happy to try to get me in trouble with Ms. Dodds though, it’s annoying. I’m not sure how to keep off her radar when Nancy tries to blame everything on me.

I’m just really glad for all of Triton’s lessons now. Triton might not be here, but his lessons still help me.

“There will be enemies you cannot match. They will be stronger than you, you will lose in a fair fight.”

Triton taught me a lot.

“There are two main paths to take. They depend on the situation.”

I don’t know if I’m treating the situation right, but I’m going to do my best.

“If you have no choice but to fight, anger them. Make them angry, mock them, tease them, attack their pride, their honor, their hair. Do whatever it takes to throw them off. An angry enemy is a dumb enemy.”

I smiled in the face of Nancy’s accusations and did my best to always be around at least two other people. I will have an alibi this year. There won’t be a repeat of previous year’s situations.

“If you can though, try to defuse the situation. Manners, sweet smiles, agreeing with them in everything they say. Don’t antagonize them, be the kindest, sweetest, most well-behaved person you can be. Make it so they don’t want to fight you.”

Ms. Dodds is scary, and I want Triton, I want the sea, I want home.

But I have to stay here, so I smile and nod and say yes ma’am and I hide my power.

I acted as ordinary as I possibly could.

I don’t think it’s working.

OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO

I tried to read the ex-cursed book from first semester. It’s all in Latin though? I can’t read it very well, just picking out certain words here and there. How annoying.

The paper felt old, but it doesn’t look it? It doesn’t seem to have any power in it anymore, at least I don’t feel anything other than the constant buzz around me.

Oh well, I’ll have to get better at reading Latin to read this book I guess.

OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO

I talked with Carl the fish a lot, while researching how to make him human again.

At this point I think I just need more power, the person that cursed him is stronger than me, so I have two options for undoing the curse. I could pull the curse apart at its base, but that would require me understanding how the curse was laid, and what the exact nature of the curse is, and so many details.

I learned a lot about curses, I’m so glad I had these books before whatever happened on the solstice.

The curses can be of different natures, woven ones where the curse is weaved almost like making a cloth, layered ones where it’s parts are all laid on top of the other, overwhelming ones where they just force their will on the subject, and twisting ones where they shift the nature of the object, that one is usually done for objects already enchanted though.

If you know the nature of the curse you can pick it apart, pull at woven ones until the fabric of the curse comes undone, peel the layers up one by one for layered ones, slip underneath and yank the overwhelming ones off (though it’s recommended to be sure of your skill to counter those), or just re-twist the twisting ones back to their original nature.

I thinks this one is either twisting or woven, but if I mess up doing the careful way of unwinding it then I could make it worse. Twisting a woven curse tightens it and makes it harder to undo and pulling a twisting one does the same.

So, I was probably going to do the second way, which is just plain overpowering it. But that requires a lot of power, especially if it’s twisting or woven. Those two are the hardest to undo through sheer power.

Ugh.

But Carl was at least nice to talk to, he helped me stay calm even though I have no idea what’s going on.

I should figure out how to make a bubble of water to bring him with me. That would be easier then leaving him with Gabe. I doubt it’s safe for him there. It was only safe last summer because Gabe didn’t find out about him till the very end of the summer.

Yeah, I’ll look into making a way to carry Carl.

OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO

I frowned over the book on healing, and the medical kit spread out in front of me. I want to get better at healing, unfortunately I need to figure out the tools.

I picked up one of the tools, this is just the basic set but it’s so varied.

Okay, so this is treated seaweed, for binding the wounds that you can’t heal all at once. This is purification stone to cleanse the wound to make it easier to heal. The slim shell knife is for working with the wound? And for cutting the seaweed to the right length. There’s an antibacterial mix, made from… something. I don’t know how this is made, I should probably learn.

The shell paste that hardens into a cast is cool though. And the spider crab thread is cool. I didn’t know the spider crabs made thread but looking through the manual it says that’s what the thread is from. Maybe there’s a mythical one I don’t know about? There’s also a jar of enchanted fish, enchanted to sleep until you open the jar, to eat dead skin.

There are also the basics, like in any land first aid kit. Tweezers, scissors, painkillers (though these are made from a fish with paralytic abilities that cuts off pain, it’s cool), and a thermometer (though again, it’s a type of coral that’s very sensitive to changes in temperature and enchanted to live).

Then there’s some stuff I’m not sure about? I don’t know if land kits have them, the one at home doesn’t.

There’s a large soft blanket made of woven sea grasses (so soft) that has one side woven with coral shielding, the kind that keeps in heat, a type of woven mix of sea grass stuffed with anemone puff that cools rapidly when exposed to water.

The manual shows how to use it all and one of my extra books shows how to combine them with healing. It’s interesting, I just wish I had someone to practice it on. I’ll just have to try it with minor injuries that I get?

I sighed, oh well. It’ll come in handy some day I’m sure.

OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO

Mr. Brunner is acting strangely as well.

I saw Mr. Brunner and Ms. Dodds talking, well, actually it sounded more like threatening each other from where I was standing.

I still don’t know if Mr. Brunner is safe, but he doesn’t have the itch of a curse on him. So maybe he’s okay.

He certainly seems safer than Ms. Dodds.

Mr. Brunner has started teaching us how to hold swords during lessons.

I don’t like any of the swords, they don’t feel right.

But some of them have that feel to them, a buzz in my head. They aren’t normal, they definitely have magic of some kind.

The one Mr. Brunner uses has the most powerful feeling, and it reminds me of Elei’s trident, made in the ocean of her power. Made of her.

I’m pretty sure that sword is of the ocean.

I pretend I don’t know that Mr. Brunner has what’s likely the essence of a being of the sea, even though it makes me ache. It’s just like Elei’s, what if there’s a being out there missing their essence?

I smile and nod again, hiding my fear, my worry, my anger.

Triton will be upset if I fall apart just because I can’t see Triton.

OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO

I stood at the edge of the pit again. This time there was someone else there, though I can’t see them.

I could feel something I hadn’t noticed before, sliding sand, soft and soothing, prickling over my hands, pinpricks of warmth and a feeling of numbness. The feelings together are strange, a bit uncomfortable, but they don’t bother me too much.

“-rry Master. I couldn’t get it to you, but I won’t fail again! I will find a way to let it reach you, I swear it.”

“Your failure has put back our plans by quite a bit, I now must expend energy to keep the wayward god under my control, I do not have the power to spare yet.”

“I know, I- I have no excuse. I failed you because of my own arrogance.”

The voice murmured something, I think it’s the Thalozan language, which is really, really, old but Triton knows a few words and taught me them.

I have no idea what the voice is saying though, I just recognize the sounds.

“I will make arrangements, return to your sleep.”

“Yes Master.”

There was a faint whisper, then the other presence was gone.

There were more faint murmurs in the other language, possibly Thalozan? Before it suddenly went silent.

“Ah, I see you’ve returned little Half-blood.”

“It’s Percy,” I reminded.

The low chuckle returned, “Indeed.”

I heard a faint murmur, “Fainter, less than before, not sure,” before he hummed, “How-“

I woke up.

OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO

I hate the stupid detention I’m stuck in.

I didn’t do anything! But Nancy Bobfit decided to blame me for stealing something, and my alibi didn’t work.

I have to clean the classroom for this detention, I’m pretty sure I’m just supposed to sit quietly in a room and listen to a lecture for an hour, but Ms. Dodds doesn’t go by normal rules.

So, I’m stuck in that room, with a rag and a spray bottle, reluctantly cleaning the room.

I’m staying polite though, I’m not going to let Nancy ruin all my hard work at making Ms. Dodds not kick me out at the first opportunity.

I sprayed the desk and wiped it down, this is nowhere near as hard as cleaning the river. I’ll be fine.

“Now honey,” Ms. Dodds started, “You know why you’re here yes?”

Ms. Dodds was apparently an expert at torture.

A faint buzz nudged at my senses.

The next hour was spent with her subtle implications that I’m a horrible thief, shouldn’t be in the school, brings shame to everyone, am a horrible person, and am probably cheating and she just couldn’t prove it yet.

It was getting harder and harder to resist the urge to lash out. But I need to keep my temper.

OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO

I blinked in the room I’m in, looking around.

I’m back in the undersea palace, Oceanus’s palace.

I’m in my probable dad’s palace.

…

I should look around.

For… research… yeah.

I promptly left the room to explore more.

It’s pretty, I like the walls, covered with glittering murals. I passed an opening and stared in awe at the dark waters filled with lantern fish and other glowing beings.

I decided I like it, it’s comfortable in a different way than the places I’ve been with Triton.

“Back again I see.”

I whipped around to see Oceanus there once more.

“Er… Hi.”

Dumb, stupid, idiot, don’t just say hi!

I quickly twisted my hand into the proper motion of respect.

Oceanus’s lips twitched.

“Perhaps introduce yourself first this time little half-blood, you have the unfortunate habit of disappearing before you can.”

“Ah, yeah… sorry.”

He raised an eyebrow, looking at me expectantly.

“Oh uh, I’m Percy Ja-“

“Oceanus! Who is that presence? Where does it keep coming from!?”

I decided I should resign myself to being entirely unable to ever introduce myself to my probable dad.

Maybe he just hasn’t gotten a chance to see me in a while? So, he doesn’t know what I looked like?

I hope so.

“Tethys, my love, that presence would be this young Half-Blood.” Oceanus motioned to me.

I bit my lip but ignored the pang in my chest at Oceanus calling Tethys his love, of course he would! Tethys is his wife, even if my mom is amazing and incredible and deserves the whole world, Oceanus wouldn’t have married his wife if he didn’t love her.

The Titans didn’t do that nonsense like the gods did.

The mermaid that approached was familiar, it’s the one I saw in my first dream to the undersea palace. A feeling of just general clean washed over me, curling currents swaying over my skin, interrupting the cold deep currents that I hadn’t even realized I felt.

Her tail the flowiest of any, glittering brilliantly in silvers and blues.

“Oh? The little half-blood from a few months ago.”

I quickly gave her the proper motion of respect.

Her lips twitched like Oceanus’s, “And who might you be little Half-Blood?”

“I’m Percy Ja-“

I woke up.

Why me.

OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO

We’re going on a fieldtrip!

I hate fieldtrips!

Yay!

OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO

I sat next to Grover, resisting the urge to drown Nancy.

Murder is bad, murder is bad, murder is ba-

Another sandwich piece in Grover’s hair…

Maybe murder wasn’t so bad.

“Don’t, you don’t need to get in trouble with Ms. Dodds here, she has it out for you.”

Grover was holding my arm.

He clearly could tell that I’m ready to fight Nancy.

I scowled but stayed seated.

“She needs to get some taste, peanut butter and ketchup sandwiches in your hair? She might as well just toss her lunch in the trash.”

“Ha just stay calm and hope Ms. Dodds doesn’t see anything.”

I sighed, “Fine.”

It’s probably for the best that Grover stopped me, Triton would be disappointed in me if I let my temper win over in a fight that I can’t win with it.

You’re not supposed to get angry, you’re supposed to make your opponent angry.

I sighed and forced myself to not snap and drown Nancy with the water from my waterskin when she threw another piece of her sandwich at Grover.

This was going to be a long fieldtrip.

OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO

See, I like fieldtrips, in theory.

They could be really fun! But things keep happening on them and well… I’m extremely wary of fieldtrips now.

I tried to not be worried, Mr. Brunner is running this trip after all.

I’m still not sure if he’s trustworthy, but he still doesn’t seem to mean me any harm. Grover nervously wrung his hands now that we were out of the bus.

Ms. Dodds walked right behind the two of us, I worked very hard to keep a happy expression on my face. Don’t need her getting on us about being suspicious or something. That would be bad.

We walked through the museum, Mr. Brunner leading us.

I smiled as I studied the different displays. It wasn’t as cool as what’s under the sea, but it was still pretty impressive.

Oceanus’s palace was cooler though.

My eye twitched as annoying students kept talking and interrupting Mr. Brunner. I was having a hard time hearing his explanation.

I resisted the urge to tell them to shut up, that would get a look from Ms. Dodds, and I did not need that.

Mr. Brunner moved on to talking about some funeral art, explaining the significance and-

“It’s just a naked guy on a wall,” snickered Nancy.

I sighed, “It’s not just a naked guy on a wall, it’s a stele, as Mr. Brunner said it’s a column of stone that has the image of the god that the girl that it once served as the gravestone for worshipped. Honestly if your brain wasn’t the same size as a jellyfish’s then you’d know that Nancy.”

The group laughed as Nancy flushed, glaring at me. Mr. Brunner paused in his story.

“Did you have a comment Mr. Jackson?”

“No sir, sorry for interrupting.” I flushed slightly, whoops.

He nodded then pointed to one of the pictures on the stele, “Perhaps you’ll tell us what this picture represents?”

I brightened, “That would be the Titan King Kronos, the Titan of Time and Agriculture, eating his kids the gods.”

Mr. Brunner nodded, but made a motion with his hand, “And he did this because…”

I bounced on my feet, resisting the urge to smile, “He got a prophecy that said his child would overthrow him, so he ate his children to prevent it. But then his wife, Rhea the Titaness of motherhood, gave him a rock instead of feeding him his youngest, Zeus. Then Zeus grew up, raised in secret by some nymphs, and he tricked Kronos into throwing up-“

“Gross!” A few kids muttered.

“-his other kids by feeding him a mustard and wine mix. Then the gods got together and ended up over throwing him. They cut him into a lot of tiny pieces and threw the pieces into Tartarus.”

Behind me, Nancy Bobofit mumbled to a friend, “Like we’re going to use this in real life. Like it’s going to say on our job applications, ‘Please explain why Kronos ate his kids.’”

“And why, Mr. Jackson,” Mr. Brunner started, “to paraphrase Miss Bobofit’s excellent question, does this matter in real life?”

Grover snickered softly, “Busted.”

“Shut up,” Nancy hissed, her face even brighter red than her hair.

Just more proof to me that Mr. Brunner wasn’t human, I could barely hear her, and I was right next to her.

“Because we can learn from the mistakes of the past to improve ourselves in the present, and it’s also just very interesting.”

Mr. Brunner nodded, though he didn’t seem fully pleased, “That’s very nearly correct Mr. Jackson. Full credit. Zeus did indeed feed Kronos a mixture of mustard and wine, which made him disgorge his other five children, who, of course, being immortal gods, had been living and growing up completely undigested in the Titan’s stomach. The gods defeated their father, sliced him to pieces with his own scythe, and scattered his remains in Tartarus, the darkest part of the Underworld. On that happy note, it’s time for lunch. Ms. Dodds, would you lead us back outside?”

The class drifted off to follow Ms. Dodds. Some of the girls were holding their stomachs, most of the guys were shoving each other and acting like doofuses.

“Mr. Jackson,” Mr. Brunner’s call stopped me from going too.

I paused, turning to him, nudging Grover onward.

“Sir?”

Mr. Brunner looked at me solemnly from an ancient gaze, another point towards him not being human.

“You must learn the answer to my question,” he said seriously.

I chewed my lip, I know what it means, but I also can’t know more until Triton says so. He said it’s dangerous, so I would listen.

“Yes sir.”

“What you learn from me,” he continued, “is vitally important. I expect you to treat it as such. I will accept only the best from you, Percy Jackson.”

I wanted to get angry, it’s unreasonable of him to hold me to higher standards than the rest of the students. It’s frustrating! I tried as hard as I could, and he was a better teacher than many I’d had, but…

I glared at the ground as I nodded, I tried so hard to learn all the names and match them to the proper facts and make sure it was spelled right. It’s so hard to do in English!

I don’t know who he is, if he’s safe or a threat, but I’m so frustrated that he’s holding me to these standards and no one else.

He told me to go outside and eat my lunch as he stared at the stele mournfully.

I wonder if he killed the girl?

OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO

I stepped outside to see Grover waiting for me right by the door.

I idly noticed Nancy and her friends (I know it’s shocking that she has any) standing nearby too. A storm was forming outside.

We started walking past the fountain, right next to the stairs.

“Detention?” Grover asked as we reached the stairs.

I put my hand on the fountain as I took the first step, “Nah, not-“

“Whoops.”

And Grover was falling.

Nancy laughed, her hand out.

Grover was falling.

My vision went red, roaring in my ears as I yanked.

A scream from Nancy, a cry from Grover.

When I could see again Grover was alright, if soaked.

Nancy was gasping for breath in the fountain, looking like a drowned rat.

The other students were gaping.

“The water-“

“It just reached out-“

“Did you see that?”

“Percy pushed me!” Nancy finally gets the air to speak.

I ignored her, moving to check on Grover.

He coughed, rubbing his butt, but otherwise seemed okay.

My chest loosened. Thank goodness.

“Now honey-“ Ms. Dodds had appeared.

I glared up at her, did she not see what just happened.

“Come with me,” She said.

“Wait!” Grover yelped, “He was just trying to help me!”

Ms. Dodds looked down at him, “Violence is never the answer Mr. Underwood.”

“But-“

“You – will – stay – here.”

I shook my head when Grover looked at me worriedly, pulling my waterskin out of my bag and fingering my trident charm.

“Hold my bag? I’ll be back soon.”

Ms. Dodds turned and walked back up the stairs, “Honey, Now.”

I swallowed and followed, shooting my deluxe I’ll-kill-you-later stare that Triton helped me master at Nancy.

I looked back to Ms. Dodds and was unsurprised to see her at the top of the steps.

The buzz around her was weakening, and the itch of the not-curse was getting stronger. She’s going to attack me.

I walked up the steps regardless, better away from everyone.

She kept going deeper into the museum. When I finally caught up we were back in the Greek and Roman section.

She stood with her arms crossed in from of a big marble frieze of the Greek gods. She was also growling low in her throat.

I swallowed.

“You’ve been giving us problems, honey,” She snarled.

The buzzing was fading, the itch making me want to scratch my arms.

I raised my chin, slid my “princely” face on, and responded, “I’m sorry for any problems I’ve caused Ms. Dodds.”

I held the waterskin tightly, one finger pressed on the lid.

“Did you really think you would get away with it? Or that a simple apology would pardon the crime?”

She looked angry, furious. Her face was creased, I could almost see the change that was starting, the buzz was almost non-existent.

“I don’t understand Ms. Dodds, what crime am I being accused of?”

Thunder boomed as the storm that had been brewing outside broke.

“We are not fools Percy Jackson,” Ms. Dodds continued. “It was only a matter of time before we found you out. Confess, and you will suffer less pain.”

I frowned, there was only one thing I know that has happened lately that she could be accusing me of.

A theft.

Of what, I don’t know, but she seems to be blaming me for it.

My heart sank.

“Ma’am, I’m sorry, I- I don’t think I did whatever you’re accusing me of.”

“Is that your final answer?”

I twisted the lid, “Yes ma’am.”

Then the buzz was gone, and the itch grew almost unbearable.

Her eyes began to glow and then her fingers stretched, turning into talons. Her jacket melted into large, leathery wings.

She turned into a fury!

Uh oh.

I flicked the lid off in one quick move, but before I could call the water, Mr. Brunner wheeled through the doorway of the gallery, holding a pen that positively sung with magic.

“What ho, Percy!” he shouted, and tossed the pen through the air.

Ms. Dodds lunged at me.

I dodged, snatching the ballpoint pen out of the air. I know this tone of magic.

The sword of the sea was in my hand.

Ms. Dodds spun towards me with a snarl and murder in her eyes, “Die honey!”

I went by the instincts that Triton had drilled into me, letting one hand flick out to send a water whip snapping around Ms. Dodds and yanking her to the side the other bringing the sword down right into her shoulder.

It passed clean through her body with a hiss.

She exploded into yellow powder, vaporized on the spot.

All that remained was a claw.

OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO

I walked towards the entrance of the museum again, a buzz was itching at my senses, the same buzz that surrounded Mr. Brunner and Ms. Dodds. Only much louder and much more spread out.

The pen that was a sword that was a pen that was of the sea was clutched in my hand.

I was shaking.

That was the first monster I’d actually fought, the empousai from before doesn’t count.

Triton was going to be furious.

I paused before opening the doors, taking a moment to choke back the sob that wanted to break out.

I want to go home, I want Triton, I want my mom.

I hate this, I hate this, I hate this.

I closed my eyes and pulled the “princely” face on.

I can break down later, to Carl. He won’t judge.

I swallowed once more and took a step forward, opening the doors.

Grover was sitting by the fountain, still wet from me using the water to slow his fall.

Nancy Bobofit was standing soaked from her swim in the fountain, grumbling to her ‘friends’. When she saw me, she gave me an ugly grin.

“I hope Mrs. Kerr whipped your butt.”

I frowned, “Who?”

The buzz grew worse.

“Our teacher. Duh!”

I frowned, is this a spell? Because I killed Ms. Dodds they replaced her with a spell?

The buzz had settled across all the students, but it was still itching at me. I really wanted to cover my ears, it wasn’t quite a sound by it was extremely disconcerting.

I turned away from Nancy, I was too angry with her anyways.

If I stay near her I might try to recreate turning Carl from a guinea pig to a fish.

I focused on Grover, who sucks at lying and who didn’t have an irritating buzz about him.

“Where’s Ms. Dodds.”

He faltered, looking away.

“Who?”

I held back the urge to roll my eyes or scream or cry.

“Nevermind.”

I snatched up my bag and slipped the pen into it. It’s of the sea, and Mr. Brunner gave it to me willingly. If he wants it back, he can ask. Then he can answer my questions.

I sat down on the fountain and pulled out my lunch.

This year is a trainwreck.

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gvbejvmes · 4 years

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Drabble-a-thon: One, Three Words

Title: Tender Curiosity Rating: PG-13 Relationships: Gabriel/The Russian, Past Gabriel/Johnny Trigger Warnings: Irresponsible drinking, drug use Brief Summary: I wasn't actually in love, but I felt a sort of tender curiosity.

Upstate New York, Summer 2018 Kaleidoscope Johnson’s estate

4am

Sometimes Gabriel couldn’t help but to feel like he was living in some sort of F. Scott Fitzgerald novel. He felt like some aristocrat in the twenties or thirties. Who the fuck summered at their wealthy friend’s summer estate? Kale had his eccentricities, but inviting the whole art collective to stay at his home for the summer was definitely new. Of course, not everyone came for the entire summer. Most of the collective was just coming on the weekends, but Gabriel didn’t have a reason to stay in the city.

Delilah was visiting and didn’t want to see him, and his husband, no, ex-husband filed the divorce papers. There was no reason for him to be in the city, and so he was taking advantage of his friend’s hospitality, or rather his loneliness.

Gabe thought he rather enjoyed having people filling every inch of the estate. It was a rather large estate to begin with. Who the hell had a formal dining room, a casual dining room, and a semi-formal dining room? There were six rooms that Gabe would classify as a living room. Who needed that many rooms?

Besides, there were still six of them at the estate during the week. Well, okay. Six people who weren’t Kale, Gabe, and the staff. During the weekends there were about twenty people at the estate, but during the week it was just:

Jimmy, Kaleidoscope’s twenty-six year old boytoy

Steven, an artist, and the most annoying twink Gabe had ever met

Velvet, an artist who was tragically depressed by all the gay around her

Willy, a lesbian, part-time witch, full-time poet, who was trying to get Kale to join her coven

Destiny, Willy’s girlfriend, part-time lesbian and full-time witch

The Russian, a tourist who Kale met at a gay bar and brought home

The days were surprisingly not boring, which was what Gabe needed right now. Every night was a dinner party and an excuse to drink until four or five in the morning. Every day consisted of lounging around the manor, or the pool, or walking around the estate, or riding around the estate and, of course, art. There was so much art. Easels were a common accessory to every room. Sure. he wasn’t getting as much painting done as he wanted, but he was starting to feel in a better mental state. Long trips to the estate tended to help.

Still, that didn’t stop his insomnia. He’d gotten so used to sharing a bed that he was still having trouble sleeping through the night. At least when he had Bella, there was a baby in his bed, but here he slept alone. Well, sometimes he and Velvet cuddled, but other than that he slept alone. He was pretty sure Kale had invited the Russian home for Gabe’s personal entertainment. He was definitely his type, but he just wasn’t doing it for him, which was so fucking weird. He was hot, but there just wasn’t a connection there. The other man was definitely interested, but Gabe was just perpetually not in the mood.

Most of the evening activities had settled down and everyone had scattered throughout the manor house. Kale and Jimmy had gone up to bed. Steven was where he usually was at night, on the screened-in porch trying to master a night landscape that didn’t look dark or muddy. The lesbians had passed out in the media room to old episodes of Friends, which had left Gabe alone with Velvet and the Russian. His name was Gregor, but Gabe didn’t like thinking of him by his name. That meant he was attached and Gabe wasn’t going to grow attached to a stranger. The second Velvet started asking questions that ventured into the realm of ‘spooky,’ Gabe had excused himself to go to bed. That had been maybe an hour ago, but Gabe hadn’t made it that far.

He was stretched out on the window seat in the drawing room, a cup of herbal tea in hand and his sketchbook on his lap. It wasn’t the window seat he wanted to be sitting on, but the view was definitely better. There was grass and trees as far as the eye could see. There was an itch under his skin to draw, but he was tired. He’d done a little bit of sketching, but mostly he was allowing himself to get lost in his own thoughts.

“Bad dreams or haven’t been to bed yet?” The Russian asked as he came into the drawing room. He looked a little spooked, and Gabe almost felt bad for abandoning him. As much as he loved his friend, Velvet could be intense at times, but the Russian had been at the estate for a couple of weeks. Gabe would have thought he would have been used to her eccentricities by now.

“Velvet is a very dark girl, no? She want to know many things about Baba Yaga. She not going to…” He pressed his lips together as he tried to find the right word. While his English was normally better than Gabe’s, after a couple of bottles of wine, he had a hard time remembering some words. Not being able to figure out the right word, he dragged his finger across his throat and mimed being dead.

Laughing, Gabe sat up and shook his head, taking a sip of tea, grimacing when he realized it’d gone cold. He set the tea aside and tucked his feet underneath him. “She’s harmless. Just a goth.” At the blank look, he added “She likes learning about death and horror. And wears a lot of black and crosses.” There was more to it than that, but Gabe figured that the other man knew the word, but just couldn’t remember it in his current state.

The Russian nodded as he sat next to Gabe despite there being plenty of chairs for him to sit in. Their thighs were touching, and Gabe didn’t necessarily care for the contact. He didn’t move away though. “Gabriel, am I not appealing to you?” He asked out of the blue.

He choked and looked at the other man. “What? No, you’re…” He forced out a laugh. “You’re gorgeous.” And maybe it hadn’t been Kale that the Russian had followed home from the gay bar. Maybe it had actually been him the entire time, and Kale allowed it because he was, well, Kale. “I’m just… broken. I’m not relationship material right now. Or even fling material for that matter.”

The Russian nodded, looking very serious, as though Gabe’s words prompted serious thought. “I go back to Moscow tonight.” He said, sounding pensive, but there was something else, something that Gabe couldn’t quite place. Suddenly there was a mouth on his, and by the time he was even able to register what had happened, the other man was standing up and pulling him to his feet. “Come to bed with me. Just for now. Let me help fix the broken.”

The look on his face just made him melt. As much as he complained about there being a stranger hanging out in their friend group, he had grown used to the other man’s company. Hell, he’d become accustomed to him joining him on the porch in the mornings when most of the house was still asleep. “Okay,” He said in almost a whisper as he let himself be led upstairs and into the other man’s room. “ I’m going to sound like a teenage girl, but I don’t go all the way. Everything else is fair game.”

The Russian laughed. “Whatever you want to give, I’ll take.”

3pm

A cigarette was pressed between Gabe’s lips as he leaned against the railing of the small balcony attached to the guest room that had been the Russian’s. With the exception of a minor appearance during lunch to grab food and coffee from the kitchens to take back to bed, he hadn’t left the Russian’s rooms, which were much smaller than Gabe’s own. A part of him was missing the tables and chairs that were on the balcony attached to his room. Although, he didn’t regret his choice of beds or bed mates.

Dressed in only the larger man’s sweater and nothing else, he cheekily waved down at Destiny and Willy who were settling down in the garden for their afternoon meditation. With a wink, he put out his cigarette and then walked back into the room, laughing at the surprised shouts and giggles that followed him inside when they realized that he’d been naked from the waist down.

“You’re trouble, you know.” The Russian told him as he finished packing up his bag. “But sweater you should keep. Looks better on you anyway.” He pulled Gabe to him and as a surprise to himself, he let himself go willingly. “Come to Moscow. I have private jet. Many things for you to paint and draw. Might not like some of the people, but I think you’d like Moscow. Much beauty there for an artist.”

Yesterday he wouldn’t have even considered the offer, but today he was actually thinking about it. For all his avoidance, the Russian was actually a very sweet man. Definitely a bear, and he could easily see any many falling for his charms, which was probably the real reason why Gabe had been avoiding him. As much as the divorce had been his idea, the thought of moving on had been too much for Gabe to handle, and the Russian could have been so easy to fall for.

He took Gabe’s lack of response for a response. “It was worth a shot.” He said ruefully as he pressed a kiss to the top of Gabe’s head. “Gabriel, you’re a good man. I hope you find whatever it is you’re looking for. And if you decide Moscow sounds nice, call me, hmm?”

Gabe laughed before leaning up and pressing a kiss to his lips. “You deserve better than me.” He told him. “I hope you find the person who makes you happy.” He whispered out. “I’m sorry it couldn’t be me.”

Gregor rested his forehead against Gabe’s. “Me, too.”

5pm

This time Gabe was standing on the front porch as he smoked his cigarette. The romantic in him (or maybe it was more like the romance novel reader in him) almost wished he had one of those long cigarette holders. It would fit his mood: the left behind man watching as his lover left in a taxi, rain pouring down in sheets. God, he’d spent far too much time with Kale; he was becoming far too dramatic in his old age.

Sighing as the taxi was officially out of his line of sight, he put out his cigarette and padded back into the house. He knew how he probably looked: hair askew, barefoot, torn jeans barely on his hips (he’d lost weight during the divorce) and still wearing that stupid sweater. The thing was he didn’t care if he looked like a damsel from a mass market romance novel. That’s how he felt.

Knowing that the rest of the house would be wandering into the sitting room for pre-dinner drinks soon, he headed there directly. As soon as he saw Willy and Destiny on the couch, he flopped his large body across both of theirs.

“Mr. Russia is gone then?” Willy asked, shifting the book she was reading to rest of Gabe’s shins. “I was half-expecting you to chase after him in the rain. I thought you repressed gays became extra dramatic in your later years.”

Before Gabe could respond, Destiny nudged her girlfriend before running her fingers through Gabe’s hair and massaging his scalp. “Don’t listen to her, sweetie. Your aura is finally calming back to its natural state. It’s been a mess of reds and blacks this summer, but it’s finally settling back to a nice ocean water blue. I think you’re finally moving on.” She didn’t let him say anything and he was half asleep by the time the others came into the room.

“Damn it.” Steven all but whined as he pulled out a twenty dollar bill and handed it over to Kaleidoscope. “How’d you know he wasn’t going to go.”

His mentor smirked. “Because he left his heart in New York City.” He sing-songed as he tucked his money into his pocket. “Besides Gabey promised not to abandon me all summer and he is a queen who keeps his promises.”

There was a scoff that had to have come from Jimmy. Gabe’s eyes were still closed, but it had to have come from him. Usually he started prepping the pre-dinner drinks and then Kale passed them out. “Isn’t that what I’m here for, Scope?”

Now Gabe opened his eyes and made a gagging face in unison with Velvet who pulled him to his feet and then dragged him onto the love seat. Immediately, Gabe’s upper body went into Velvet’’s lap, head propped up against the armrest so he could still drink, feet dangling over the over armrest.

“No, you’re here to satisfy my sexual appetites. Gabe and Velvet are here for everything else.” Kale sassed out without missing a beat, sweeping over to Gabe and Velvet to hand them their martinis. Each day had a different theme. Today they were blue, which meant they were likely going to wind up very very drunk and probably very very stoned.

As Kale continued to bicker with Jimmy and Steven wandered over to talk to the lesbians, Gabe found himself thinking about something the Russian had told him. “Vel,” He asked quietly. “Why did Gregor think you were going to kill us all?”

The silver haired thirty-something rolled her eyes dramatically. “I only wanted to know about the legitimacy of Baba Yaga.” She said sipping her drink. “And I mentioned that this summer felt like a murder mystery novel, and that it would be so easy to just poison the wine.” The way she said it made it sound like she was talking about using water-based paint instead of oil-based.

Gabe choked on his martini and Velvet ran a comforting hand through his hair. “Don’t worry. I wouldn’t poison you. Everyone else on the other hand…” She looked over towards Steven and the lesbians wistfully.

“Remind me not to let you watch Bella again, okay?”

Velvet laughed, and Gabe slowly relaxed, ready for whatever adventures the evening would bring.

#CJ drabbleathon #drabble

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its-mackaroon · 5 years

Text

All the Things I’m Not

Chapter 1

~Trigger Warning: gun violence, abuse~

I lay in my bed, reclining against my pillows and gazing out my window at the flickering streetlights in misty rain outside. Completely zoned out to the music blaring through my headphones, I'm suddenly shaken from my reverie by the sound of heavy footsteps, a raised voice and then a shriek from the living room.

I rip out my headphones and storm toward my door. I fling it open and stand there, frozen. I am met with the horrifying scene of my stepdad, Gabe, in all his greasy glory crouching over my mother. Her brown and grey hair was strewn about, her hands gripping the forearm attached to the hand that was wrapped around her throat. His other hand holds a beer bottle that he keeps swinging dangerously close to her face as he jabs his finger at her while he shouts.

"Annie, I'm not gonna tell you again. You ever try to take a drink out of my hand again I swear to god I will beat you into the floor. You're lucky I let you and your brats live here as long as I have. You want me to throw you out on your asses? Hmm? Answer me!"

He's shaking her by the throat now and I can see that she's having trouble breathing.

"I was…just trying…to refill it for you. I love..you, Gabe. I don't want…to leave," she finally chokes out.

Seeing the panic in my mom's eyes as she begs this asshole to let us stay sends a jolt of anger through me. It was all I needed to snap out of it. I stand to my miserable height of 5'2" and call out to the living room, "Hey, Gabe! Get your grubby hands off my mom!"

My comment worked exactly as I'd planned. He turned his attention to me, loosening his grip on my mom. Then I see a mostly empty beer bottle flying toward my head. I duck like I've ducked a thousand times before and the bottle smashes against the doorframe behind and to the left of me.

The broken glass and remaining drops of beer rained down on me, catching in my long brown hair. But I didn't have time to care about that. I snapped into action, adrenaline coursing through my veins.

Even though my mom was the worst kind of brainwashed and stupidly in love with that pathetic excuse for a man, I still loved her and I wouldn't let Gabe lay a hand on her.

Digging my nails into his sides, I dragged Gabe off of her and stood as a barrier between them. Needless to say, Gabe didn't like that. He lunged, slamming me against the wall. My head cracked against the glass of the mirror directly behind me, shattering it from the force. Gabe had his hand around my throat and pushed my head harder against the broken glass, causing jagged pieces to dig into my scalp. I felt the sticky, hot sensation of blood dripping down my neck and my vision starts to go blurry. Desperate to get out this position, I pull my knee up hard and get him right between the legs. He doubles over, releasing me and I take in gulping breaths of air. Mom screeches and runs toward her shit husband to check on him. And how does he greet his doting wife? By slamming his arm into her rib cage, causing her to cry out as she is propelled across the room.

"Look what you made me do, Emma. If you would have been a good little girl, Daddy wouldn't have had to hurt her. But you need to be taught a lesson, and she was in my way," he sneers at me.

"I didn't make you do anything, Gabe. This is all on you," I answer him from a safe distance. I'm on my toes and watching him warily to see what his next move will be. He starts to approach and I look around for anything I can use to protect myself and my mom. I grab the closest thing to me: a ceramic lamp. Not the best option, but it'll have to do. He sees what I've armed myself with and lets out a sinister chuckle.

"That won't do you any good, you little bitch." He stalks toward me and as he gets closer I tighten my grip on the lamp. He takes a step toward me and I can see the bloodshot whites of his eyes. One more step, and the stench of alcohol and cigarettes accosts me. Another step and I can see the lethal fury in his eyes. I don’t wait for him to act, I just swing. The lamp connects with the side of his skull and there is a loud crack as the cheap ceramic shatters. He stumbles back with a hand to his head. I had been hoping to knock him out, but he recovers his balance far too quickly and lowers his hand, examining the blood on his fingers. His face turns a mottled shade of red and I swear I could see smoke coming out of his ears. After a moment he snaps his head up and meets my eyes. If I thought the look in his eyes before was lethal, this is downright murderous. His neck begins to bulge as he prepares to let loose the torrent of abuse I know he's itching to voice.

"Oh I'm gonna make you regret that, you whore! You think you can come into MY home and disrespect me like this? Well you got another thing coming. I don't tolerate cunts like you. When a bitch bites her master, the bitch gets put down. Guess what? You just bit your master, bitch." With those last words he reaches for his waistband and pushes back his shirt, revealing the hilt of a handgun tucked into his belt. Icy, paralyzing fear now runs through my veins. Fear for me, and fear for my mom.

Glancing around the room, I see my mom huddled in the corner of the living room by the doorway to the kitchen, her eyes darting between me and Gabe. I see a crease in her brow and a frown on her lips, like she is fighting some sort of internal battle. Seeing her in this weakened state chases away the ice in my veins, welcoming the heat of the rage burning inside me. Rage at my mom for bringing this man into our lives, rage at Gabe for hurting me and my mom, rage at all bruises I had to hide and all the lies I had to tell. My vision goes red. I whip my attention back to Gabe to find that he has pulled the gun from his belt and he is now gripping it at his side, glaring at me with a hint of hunger in his eyes. Based on the look in his eyes and the way he's gripping the gun, I know that he won't hesitate to shoot. And I'm not about to go down without a fight.

I dart toward my mom and grab her hand, yanking her to her feet. Bang! Bits of plaster spray the back of my neck. I don’t need to look back to know it was close.

I drag my mom behind me, making a beeline toward the back door in the kitchen. If we can get outside then we can run away and call the police and hide somewhere until help arrives.

I reach the doorway and grip the door frame to help maintain our momentum as we fly out the door into the rain. I have a death grip on my mom's hand and I pull her along with me. Mud squelches as my bare feet fight for traction. We reach as far as the front gate in our chain link fenced yard and then - Bang! There is a loud ping as the bullet ricochets off of the light pole, just inches from my head.

The voice behind me stops me in my tracks. "Emma you stop right there or your mama's a dead woman."

My hesitation cost me dearly and hear one more shot ring out. THE shot. In the background there's a thud but all I can hear is a blood curdling scream and I-

My screaming wakes me from the nightmare, bringing me back to the present. I am covered in a cold sweat from head to toe and I'm shaking uncontrollably. I taste salt and know I had been crying in my sleep. The nightmares are getting more frequent is all I can manage to think before I fall back into a fitful sleep.

#writing #short story #writer #story #blurb #writeblr #writer on tumblr #writers #writers on tumblr

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sicklylittlesnowflake · 7 years

Note

Hi! I'm sorry this might be a little strange but I remember you said you've done some theatre and I really love the setting. I wondered if you'd be up for a LesMis theatre AU sickfic? I love the Ida of E nearly losing his voice and R forcing tea on him to get through the show. Then E crashing when it's over and R taking him home and E feeling like he late every one down and R having done of it. Thank you sweetie ❤️

(Strange?! This is not strange at all anon I lowkey wanted to write this and I’m so glad I have the excuse to lmao..theatre au les mis is my fav and the multi part fic I’m working on is actually an actor!e and struggling musician!r so..YES. I LOVE THIS. HMU WITH ALL UR THEATRE AUS. Ok so for background the Les Amis are doing a production of Next to Normal and E is Gabe and R is the head of the tech department!! Tbh R is on tech bc it reminds me of that tech girl I had a crush on when I did Les Mis :“) )

Theatre was the art of losing yourself and taking on a new soul.

Enjolras loved theatre and acting since he was a child. There was something so enthralling to him about taking on somebody else’s skin and becoming a whole new person with their own individual thoughts and perspectives.

Enjolras finds human beings fascinating, at awe with how complex they were and how each person to exist had their own vastly different thoughts and a whole new perspective to his own. It is such a wonderful experience to see the world from different eyes.

He isn’t comfortable in his own skin. He can never feel like he is good enough, he always feels like something is missing inside of him, he doesn’t feel at one with himself and like he’s detached from his own body, hovering over it and wondering how he’s supposed to get in and understand himself. Enjolras plays other characters so he can learn from them, hoping that he can begin to understand himself by understanding others. It’s a euphoric escape to be someone else and get away from himself for once. Enjolras is pretty tired of himself.

That being said as Enjolras pours his heart and soul into bringing these characters alive, in the process he neglects himself. Sometimes he forgets he’s real.

Enjolras blends away at his stage makeup tiredly, feeling exhaustion basically seeping into his bones. The lights fade in and out of his vision, he feels heavy, and too weak, and fevered. He sniffles, and continues to pat the concealer on top his darkly coloured under-eyes, trying to hide his true state beneath all this makeup.

His throat itches, and he turns away from his mirror and coughs violently into his shirt sleeve, tearing up as his chest aches from his chesty coughs, spluttering. He blindly grabs for a glass of water, and gulps the little that remains down hungrily. He groans, looking back to see his watery, red eyes and reddened nose.

He rolls his eyes at himself as he tries to carefully dab away at the wetness of his face, as not to ruin the makeup that’s already there, and nearly messes up the whole thing as he jumps when someone suddenly bursts through the door.

"Fuck!” Enjolras croaks, his voice raspy and all sorts of husky. He cringes, and clears his throat to fix his horrendous voice.

“Didn’t know Gabe was a heavy chain smoker,” Grantaire teases, a mug of tea and strepsils in his hands.

He’s a pain in the ass, but Grantaire is one of the reasons Enjolras wants to be comfortable with himself, because in this world, Grantaire is in it. It’s the only bad thing about theatre, because despite how amazing being in a different world is, Grantaire isn’t in it. That is a world Enjolras doesn’t want to live in, a world without his sunny, shining smile is already a little bit darker.

Enjolras rolls his eyes, opening his mouth to shoot back a snide remark when his nose is suddenly twitching and he’s turning away from Grantaire and retreating into the crook of his arm to sneeze twice.

Slightly embarrassed and not wanting Grantaire to worry about him, he clears his throat and bounces back, “Sorry, I’m just allergic to your bullshit, ‘Taire.”

Grantaire searches for a comeback, but he comes empty and he sighs in defeat, “Okay, that was a good one.”

Enjolras smirks in victory as Grantaire shuffles towards him and shoves the mug of tea into his hands, and presses a sweet little kiss on to Enjolras’s nose.

“You’re losing your voice, dear,” Grantaire frowns as Enjolras slowly takes sips of the hot tea mixed with lemon and honey. He lets out a small sigh of relief as the warm liquid soothes his throat a little.

“No I’m not,” Enjolras insists, although he’s not really sure if he’s trying to convince Grantaire or himself. He knows deep down it’s for himself, but Enjolras can’t let this bring him down, and all his friends.

The Les Amis have worked to the bone for this little off-broadway show. This show that spoke so beautifully about mental illnesses, and Enjolras was honoured with the opportunity to portray a personification of mental illness and perform to the best of his ability, and beyond that. He needed to be able to convey how it was like, to connect to other people through his performance so that they can begin to understand those with mental illnesses. Then he will be closer to helping create a kinder world.

Every show counted.

Each person in that crowd meant something, and if someone was out there and was touched by it, and felt a little less alone, or came out of it a kinder person, any sickness was worth pushing through. This was much bigger than him.

“Hm,” Grantaire huffs, clearly not believing a word he was saying.

“Don’t worry–"His words come out in a strangled noise that strains and pulls at the muscles in his throat. Enjolras turns away from his boyfriend and raises his elbow up to his face where he coughs harshly, the sounds resonating from his chest.

Grantaire frowns and leans in to rub his back and coax the coughs out of him, and when Enjolras finishes he’s exhausted. He leans back against his chair and wipes away at tears, chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath.

"That doesn’t sound too good,” Grantaire points out worriedly.

Enjolras opens his mouth to speak, but no sound comes out of his throat. There is only a light, raspy wheeze that escapes his mouth. His eyes widen, his blood running cold as he freezes in panic. He shakes slightly, his breathing picking up ever so slightly. He clears his throat aggressively.

Grantaire notices this, and he is just as alarmed and fearful as Enjolras but somehow he manages to keep a level head. He wraps his hands around Enjolras’s and intertwines his fingers with his, to keep Enjolras here with him and grounded. So he doesn’t float away.

“Enj, don’t panic. Have some more sips of this tea,”

Enjolras nods frantically and begins to drink more of the hot tea, and when he’s done he puts down the mug on his dresser. He clears his throat.

“Hi, is my voice back,” Enjolras croaks out, his voice is rough and husky but its there.

He clears his throat again, popping a strepsil into his mouth and lets out a shaky sigh, “That’s better, I guess.”

Grantaire looks a little more at ease at that, Enjolras’s voice is better then, with a rough edge to it.

There is a small silence that begins afterwards. It is calm, but suddenly Enjolras says quietly, sounding so small and afraid.

“I don’t want to mess this up.”

Grantaire softens, cupping Enjolras’s face and then presses a loving kiss against his cheek, “You won’t, baby. You never do.”

Enjolras manages a weak smile at him, “I love you.”

A blush dusts Grantaire’s face and a smitten smile spreads across it. They use the word sparingly, not rarely, but not excessively. It’s more special this way.

“I love you too,” Grantaire says softly, and then his radio is crackling to life, Bahorel’s voice calling Grantaire over.

Grantaire chuckles and confirms that he is coming, and looks back at Enjolras, “Bossuet probably fucked something up again. I’ve gotta go save their asses now–but good luck baby, drink up. You’re going to be okay.”

With that, Grantaire leaves the door and Enjolras is left staring at the door, unable to wipe the smile off his face.

“All cast members please report to Val Jean’s dressing room for a warm up in 10 minutes, you have 10 minutes,” He hears Feuilly say over the intercom.

Enjolras nods, letting out a small sigh before he finishes up his makeup and hair.

When Enjolras walks into Val Jean’s dressing room, everyone’s eyes widen and jaws drop like they’ve seen a ghost.

He smirks, and sings softly, “I’m alive I’m alive I am so alive~”

He clears his throat and smiles at them reassuringly, “’Im fine. My point is I’m not dead, because you’re all staring at me like I am.”

Marius shakes his head, “Your voice is as angelic as ever, it’s just..”

Eponine clears her throat, “You look like shit, E.”

Enjolras rolls his eyes and laughs, “Oh well, the show must go on, as they say.”

Fantine frowns and walks up to him, and before Enjolras can even decipher what she’s doing her hand is placed gently on his forehead. He tries to squirm away, but she’s strong.

“You’ve got quite a fever, sweetheart,” She says gently. She is just as motherly to him on stage as she is off stage. Hopefully, off stage he’s a slightly better person than Gabe.

“It’ll be fine,” Enjolras says coolly, but Marius is trying to secretly text someone. He raises an eyebrow at the younger boy, slightly amused as Marius seems so sure no one is noticing him.

“Pontmercy, what are you doing?” Enjolras sighs.

“..Uh…” He says awkwardly.

Combeferre bursts through the door shortly after, and crosses his arms, clearly not very happy.

Enjolras turns white, “..uh..”

Combeferre basically slaps his hand onto Enjolras’ forehead and his frown is further deepened, and a few various pills are being shoved into his palm, as well as some more tea.

Enjolras groans, “I am drowning in tea, Ferre, I–”

The way Combeferre is glaring at him shuts him up and he’s popping the pills into his mouth and downing them with the tea.

Enjolras coughs, and he thinks it’s just a single, one off thing but the next comes spilling out of him, and the next, and the next. He’s coughing and he can’t stop, and it stabs at his chest and at his lungs. He’s expelling so much he’s not taking anything in, he can’t breathe and his body needs to. He feels faint, his vision darkening as the coughs force their way out of his chest.

He feels weak and faint, trying to reach for a wall or anything so his body doesn’t collapse in on itself, but he one powerful cough sends him toppling over, his body light as it free falls.

But thankfully Valjean is quick and there’s a strong arm around his waist, supporting him, and lifting him back to ground. When Enjolras looks up from his feverish, blearily haze there is a soft, concerned gaze looking down on him.

“Are you sure you’re up to this, kiddo? You don’t have to if you’re not feeling well,” Jean says worriedly, as he balances Enjolras back on his feet.

Enjolras rubs at his nose, stifling two sneezes before he responds, “I’m fine. Tonight is important. I can’t miss it.”

Everyone in the room looks extremely concerned, but when Combeferre sighs, not pleased but approving, they all straighten up to start working on warmups. As he turns around to leave, he suddenly leans forward and gives Enjolras a hug, rubbing his back lovingly and ruffling his golden hair.

When Combeferre pulls away his gaze is kind and caring, “You’re going to be amazing, E. You always are, please take care of yourself out there. Gabe is cool, but so are you, okay? I feel like you forget that sometimes.”

Enjolras’s eyes prick with touched tears, and he bites his lip to stop himself from crying any more. He smiles weakly at him, letting out a shaky exhale, “Fuck off, Ferre, you’re ruining my makeup.”

Combeferre can only laugh at that and ruffle his hair, before turning to leave through the door. He can’t help but spare a glance at Enjolras worriedly, wishing and praying that he would be okay, and he leaves through the door.

“Are we all ready?” Javert asks.

Everyone nods in agreement, and Marius starts to play the piano as they all harmonise and warm up their voices.

Grantaire finishes his double checks on all of the sound tech, and he sighs in relief. He’s done all he could possibly do. All he can do now, is relax and hope to whatever higher being out there that everything goes well.

He keeps his headphones in his ears and picks up a small cup of tea and makes his way to the left wing, where Enjolras is waiting at his five minute call to start the show. Fantine is already on stage in the dark, curtains still close. Grantaire is not an actor, but he is still always so fascinated with how when an actor steps onto stage, they are immediately a different person.

Grantaire carefully makes his way past and finds himself in the wings, and he finds Enjolras standing in the wings. He looks tired, sick, worried.

He approaches him slowly, gently tapping him on the shoulder, “Hey baby.”

Enjolras whips around and smiled at him, but a chesty little cough escapes him. He clears his throat, and he’s shaking ever so slightly and Grantaire doesn’t know if he’s nervous or just feverish.

“Hi,” Enjolras croaks out quietly, he looks down at Grantaire’s hands and takes the small cup of tea from Grantaire and sips at it slowly. He looks a little more relieved.

“Better?” Grantaire says softly.

Enjolras nods lightly, and tiptoes to kiss Grantaire’s cheek. Grantaire thinks this is the cutest thing.

“I’m scared,” Enjolras admits, his voice low and shaky. He’s trembling slightly, his voice cracking with vulnerability. He looks a lot younger like this. It breaks Grantaire’s heart. Enjolras is rarely ever this vulnerable.

“I can’t mess this up, you know that there are–”

“Yeah, there are important people here tonight but you are going to kill it. I know you will, baby.”

Enjolras can only manage a weak smile.

“Mics are turning on,” He hears Bossuet through his headphones.

Grantaire nods, and whispers softly, “Mic is on, E.”

Silence.

“Curtains are opening. You are going to be amazing, E. Remember that. Good luck, baby. And you are on stage in 1..2..”

Enjolras closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. When he opens his eyes the light in them is different, shifting. He steps onto stage and when the light hits his face he’s a new person.

Any trace of Enjolras is gone, he has somebody else’s skin on and everything is fine.

Grantaire never doubted that for one second.

Every hair on Grantaire’s body stands with excitement and adrenaline, a exhilarating buzz boiling in his blood as Enjolras’s powerful voice booms across the theatre. His belt is as strong as ever, his voice so wonderful and satisfying, like the cold side of your pillow that feels amazing in the dead of night.

Enjolras is Gabe. He is perfectly portraying this complex character, the perfect embodiment. He has become this character, the way he looks at things is completely different. There is so much detail and depth behind every step he takes. He plays this character with this fresh nuance, played so lovingly and obviously painstakingly crafted. There is so much depth he embodies, a chilling performance that leaves Grantaire moved. Grantaire is unbelievably proud, it swells in his heart.

The act is coming to a close, and Enjolras sings. He’s so angelic and lovely, the light shining and framing him perfectly. But it is so chilling and eerie, his gaze is intense and bone chilling. His voice is this beautiful lyrical tenor and his vibrato is clear and satisfying, his voice steady and melodic in this incredibly angelic way.

Then the act closes, the curtains falling and the audience roars with claps and screams, whistling. Grantaire can’t help but try and peek through to see, and he can see people standing up as they cheer.

Grantaire awaits his star by the wings, and the moment the curtain falls he’s transported back into this world. He’s Enjolras, and he’s so weak. So sick.

He staggers weakly offstage, looking so weary and unwell that the moment Grantaire is in reach he collapses into his arms with exhaustion.

“Enjolras!” He exclaims as his boyfriend falls into his arms. Grantaire steadies him with some strength and pulls him into his arms. The younger boy weakly buries his face into Grantaire’s chest. He coughs harshly and sharply, his face scrunched in pain as he coughs.

Frantically, he feels his forehead and gasps at the intense heat radiating off of it.

“Fuck, E!” Grantaire hisses worriedly.

“Courf! Over here!” Grantaire calls over, and once Courfeyrac can see them his eyes widen and he’s running towards them. With his help, they manage to get Enjolras back to his dressing room.

“I’m so stupid, I’m so stupid,” Enjolras hisses to himself in self loathing, tears pricking at his eyes.

“No you’re not, E,” Courfeyrac reassures softly, trying to mask the worry in his voice.

Combeferre arrived shortly after with a damp towel and drapes it over his forehead. He is clearly shaken, very nervous and frantic.

“I failed you all,” Enjolras whimpers.

“What?! No you didn’t!” Courfeyrac insists.

“I can still perform, I promise. Just one more hour. I can do this. I promise, please,” Enjolras begs tearfully, stopping as Grantaire helps him drink more tea. He pushes Grantaire away shortly, to hack and cough powerfully, tearing up. He clearly looks like he is in a lot pain, and the sound of his coughing is awfully chesty and congested. It sounds horrible.

No one wants Enjolras to do this, but they all know Enjolras would never forgive himself if he couldn’t. They don’t want to see him in such a state. Courfeyrac and Grantaire look over at Combeferre for answers.

Combeferre looks conflicted, staring at Enjolras for a long time and sighs exhaustedly, “He can do it. But Grantaire, once you two get home you have to extensively take care of him.”

Grantaire nods determinedly, “Of course.”

The bright smile Enjolras gives them is undeniably precious.

Combeferre and Courfeyrac leave them alone, to which Grantaire sighs fondly and helps Enjolras drink more tea.

“You are a mess.”

Enjolras grins feverishly, “Your mess, though.”

Grantaire chuckles, and kisses his forehead, “Unfortunately. You are going to give me an ulcer, one day, you know?”

Grantaire doesn’t understand it–he believes it’s some type of magic or sorcery or witchcraft, the like–but when Enjolras is back on stage his symptoms disappear completely. He is energised and alive again.

Enjolras is so good that Grantaire forgets that just a short while ago Enjolras was breaking down backstage, sick as a dog. On stage Enjolras is at the best state he’s ever been. The audience could never have guessed he was running a borderline dangerous fever and what surely could become a chest infection.

The show comes to a close, and one of the last songs is this extremely powerful and moving exchange between Val Jean and Enjolras. They are both talents, revelations, incredibly passionate. They are delivering a performance of a lifetime, pouring their hearts out to many. Grantaire can faintly hear soft sobbing from the audience. When they finish, the audience explodes into a series of claps, so touched and moved.

When the show closes, the entire theatre stands up and claps loudly. The theatre is exploding with cheering and whistling and clapping. Grantaire can’t hear anything but cheers. They can’t even start bowing because the cheering is lasting so long.

The small cast begins to bow, and Grantaire can’t help but start cheering too when Enjolras steps to the centre for his bows. He starts to tear up as the crowd goes wild for him.

When the curtains fall and the cast come out, they are bombarded by hugs by everyone backstage.

“You were amazing, 'Jolras! You’ve brought our show to life,” Courfeyrac cries, tears steaming down his face as he hugs Enjolras.

“You killed it!” Combeferre says proudly as he joins in the hugs.

But when Enjolras starts coughing again, bent over by the waist. His powerful coughs take what is left of his energy and he starts to tip slightly, and he’s leaning forwards too much and Courfeyrac is swooping in to catch him. That is when when everyone remembers that Enjolras is sick and needs to go home.

“We should go home,” Grantaire steps in, approaching his boyfriend and taking him from Courfeyrac.

“You’re right. You’ll inform us on how he’s doing, right?” Combeferre asks anxiously.

“Of course.”

“But Stage Door,” Enjolras says weakly.

“Oh my god, Enjolras. You are not in the state, everyone will understand. You need to go home,” Grantaire insists.

Enjolras becomes quiet and looks so miserable. Grantaire sighs and feels a bit guilty, helping him back to the car.

Enjolras sleeps the whole way back to their apartment. Grantaire’s glad, because Enjolras needs to recharge. Once he parks, he picks Enjolras up and starts to carry him up to the elevator. He finally makes it to their apartment, and immediately puts Enjolras down on their bed.

He is about to leave to get some supplies when Enjolras stirs and grabs for Grantaire’s arm.

“Grantaire,” Enjolras whimpers, his voice teary and obviously upset.

“Hey, baby, what’s up?” Grantaire coos as he sits at the edge of the bed to speak to him.

“I failed everyone, I did so badly, we’re going to get bad reviews and close early,” Enjolras chokes, a few tears beginning to spill from his eyes.

“What?! No! You were absolutely brilliant, baby. People were crying. Did you not see the standing fucking ovation at the end of the show? Fuck, there was one during your act closer! People loved it, Enjolras. Our message is getting out there thanks to you. So don’t you dare fucking tell me that you failed us. You’ve made us.”

Enjolras sniffled, inhaling sharply to sneeze harshly, then rubbing at his eye weakly, "I don’t believe you.”

Grantaire opens his mouth to bless him and to reassure him but his phone is beeping. Then again. And his phone is going crazy.

He pulls his phone out and quickly scans through the gibberish that is Courfeyrac’s recent texts, and when he scrolls to the original text his heart drops. Then it swells.

“Enjolras, do you want proof that you did not disappoint tonight?”

Enjolras only huffs.

“Enj, we’re going on Broadway.”

Enjolras eyes widen, and he starts crying again. He’s crying even more–but this time he’s happy. Enjolras forces himself up and throws himself over Grantaire and holds him close, hugging him tightly and continuing to cry. Grantaire presses a kiss onto the top of his head.

“We’re going on Broadway thanks to you, Enjolras. And I mean you. Not just the character you play. You. You made this all happen, and I know you aren’t always very happy with yourself and I hope this can help you start to see what I see in. I am so proud of you, and I love you so much.”

“It takes two, I thought one was enough, It’s not true, It takes two of us, You came through, when the journey was rough it took you..” Enjolras sings softly.

“It took two of us. It takes care. It takes patience and fear and despair. To change.” Grantaire sings back. He’s a bit awkward, a little offkey, but to Enjolras it couldn’t have been more perfect.

#enjolras #grantaire #les mis #enjoltaire #exr #les miserables #theater au #Combeferre #courfeyrac #marius pontmercy #eponine thernadier #jean val jean #fantine #sickfic #fever #prompts #y'all i loved this prompt so much the fuck

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fairyroses · 7 years

Text

SECOND CHANCES [Part Three]

AHHH IT’S BEEN LIKE TWO WEEKS SINCE I UPDATED THIS, I’M SORRY. This wasn’t what I had planned to write for this part, but ultimately I decided that I needed it to set some plot things up. Hopefully it’s okay anyway!

[PART ONE] [PART TWO]

Obligatory tags/thank yous (seriously thank you all SO much for the support!!): @flux--and--flow, @jessiekitty123, @vampirebillionaire, @corymichaelsmithofficial, @roguepythia, @carry-on-my-wayward-shadowhunter, @balestrazzi, @alwayysblue, @zsaszmatazz, @conflicted-boy

(If I didn’t tag you here but you’d like to be tagged when I update this fic in the future, please let me know!)

Oswald bites back a groan as he hauls himself into Gabe’s car, sinking down low into the worn leather cushions of the passenger’s seat. His bad leg is aching, pain throbbing to the beat of his pulse.

“Next time,” he pants, “You are going to slash the tires, and I will wait in the car.”

“Sounds like a plan, Boss,” Gabe mutters, attention only partially on Oswald. Like any dutiful sentry, he still has a pair of binoculars trained on Isabella’s building, keeping careful watch for any signs of movement.

Oswald takes some time to compose himself and catch his breath, choosing not to think about just how much slashing a mere twenty tires has taken out of him—an unforeseen disadvantage of his current lavish lifestyle, he supposes. It’s been far too long since he’s gotten his own hands dirty, since he’s held a knife in his hand and simply relished in the feeling of stabbing something.

Admittedly he’s missed it, that feeling, the rush of power that comes with wielding a deadly weapon—even if the only objects injured during this escapade had been rubber tires.

Once he had finished with Isabella’s car and his volatile emotions had simmered down, logic had been restored, and Oswald had realized that one lone car would not be enough to dissuade suspicions. To seem like a truly random incident, multiple, unrelated cars needed to be affected. So Oswald had marched up and down Isabella’s block, slicing any tires he came across.

It’s a logical enough diversion tactic—committing a larger crime in order to cover up the true target of an original, smaller crime. Like magic, Isabella’s car suddenly transforms from an obvious, solitary victim to one of many, easily lost in the shuffle.

Oswald wonders if Ed would have approved of such a simple strategy. Probably not, he thinks, given Ed’s flair for the dramatic and convoluted. Oswald is suddenly reminded of a certain chain, frozen inside a block of melting ice, connected to a vat of corrosive acid, and he sighs, feeling unbelievably tired. It has been a long day.

“Hey, Boss?”

Shaken out of his thoughts, Oswald turns to look at his bodyguard. After a prolonged moment of silence, he prompts, “Yes?”

“...Isn’t Nygma’s girl a blonde?”

Oswald’s hackles rise at the phrase Nygma’s girl, and he fights to keep his voice even. “Yes, she was—I mean is.” He cringes at the misstep, his rapidly building fury sputtering out. “She is blonde, that is.” He clears his throat awkwardly, straightening his back and dropping his shoulders, attempting to regain some amount of poise. In a professionally clipped tone, he adds, “Why do you ask?”

"Well, I’ve got my eyes on a girl comin’ out of the building, and she sure looks like Nygma’s girl, but she ain’t no blonde. She’s a bonafide ginger.”

“A what?” Oswald hisses, poise forgotten, hands shooting across the car to snatch the binoculars out of Gabe’s grasp. “Let me see that!”

Shoving the binoculars against his own eyes, Oswald has to stifle a gasp. There is indeed a familiar, yet distinctly auburn-haired woman exiting Isabella’s building. He cannot hear her practical heels tip-tapping on the concrete, but he can imagine the sound. He watches as she walks towards the little red car, keys in hand, only to stop, her mouth dropping open as she notices the slashed tires. She stumbles two steps backwards in surprise and looks around wildly, scanning the street, but of course there is no one to be seen.

Now, Oswald will never admit aloud to having looked up a certain Kristen Kringle, as doing so would be tantamount to admitting that he had, at some point, felt romantically threatened by a dead woman, but...well. He’s seen enough to know that the reddish hair, the old-fashioned dress, even the glasses, for God’s sake—they’re a perfect match. The woman he is staring at does not simply resemble Ed’s precious Miss Kringle, as Isabella does—she looks like she was ripped straight from an old photograph.

Or brought back from the dead.

“So?”

Once again, Oswald is brought back to reality by Gabe’s voice. “So what?” he echoes, voice coarse and irritated, eyes still pinned to the sidewalk across the road.

“So...is it her? Nygma’s girl?”

“Yes.” The answer is automatic, and as Oswald continues studying the woman, he knows that he is absolutely correct. Despite her appearance, that is Isabella. Oswald can always spot an impostor, no matter how good their disguise. Body language will give them away every time—the smallest tells, micro-expressions indicating discomfort and unease, can all be clues. He watches as Isabella tugs at the collar of her dress as if it’s too tight, and compulsively adjusts her glasses. Her feet shuffle nervously, ankle nearly rolling as she wobbles in her brand-new shoes.

No, despite the physical similarities, Isabella is not a reanimated Kristen Kringle. This is an unfamiliar skin for her, a false persona meant to—meant to do what, exactly?

Oswald takes a breath—the inhale is shakier than he would like it to be. Had Isabella looked like this the last time he’d seen her, lying cold and still on a slab in the GCPD morgue? She must have, but Oswald had not cared enough at the time to notice or remember, too pleased by the fact that she was dead and gone.

What he does remember, though, are Ed’s words to him from earlier that night. They echo between his ears with perfect clarity—the voice in his head even sounds like Ed.

Isabella showed me that I was worried over nothing.

Is this how she’d shown Ed? By dressing up, appearing to him as his dead ex-girlfriend? Seducing him with some kind of twisted roleplay? Oswald’s skin crawls, and his stomach ties itself into knots over a feeling quite different from his usual jealousy.

“But why the new hair?” Gabe’s voice floats back into his ears. He sounds far away—a disembodied voice caught on a breeze. “You don’t suppose she just wanted a change, do ya?”

“No. I do not.” Oswald pauses, thinking, teeth worrying against his chapped bottom lip. “I suspect the reason behind this change is far more sinister, Gabriel.”

“What does that mean, Boss?”

“It means we must be far more careful from now on. This woman is not one to be underestimated."

For the first time, Oswald sees Isabella as more than an innocent, albeit irritating competitor for Ed’s love. For the first time, he considers the fact that she might be dangerous. With this stunt, she’s shown herself to be cunning. Dedicated. Underhanded. Willing to manipulate Ed’s emotions to get what she wants.

Much like Oswald himself, actually. Or, at least, the man he used to be.

I’ve changed, he thinks desperately. I’m not like that anymore. I would never do that to Ed. I’m not like her.

He watches as Isabella begins to dig through her purse, searching for something, only to abruptly freeze in place, still as stone. What happened? he wonders. Did she hear something? Is she frightened? Is she—

Suddenly Isabella’s head whips around, ponytail swinging, and a pair of narrowed eyes land directly on Gabe’s car. This time Oswald does gasp, dropping the binoculars and ducking down on instinct, his heart pounding. His mind begins scrambling for excuses, explanations, anything that he can use to talk himself out of this.

He’s unable to come up with anything suitable.

After a minute of tense silence, he cranes his neck to look over at Gabe, who also had the good sense to duck out of sight.

“Is she still looking?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper.

There’s a shuffling noise as Gabe shifts position, just enough to glance over the top of the car’s dashboard. “Nope,” he says. “She’s turned away. Got her phone out, looks like she’s dialing—oh, now she’s goin’ back inside. We’re all clear, Boss.”

Who is she calling? Ed, probably, to tell him that her tires were slashed.

Or perhaps that she had seen Oswald nearby, spying on her with a conspicuous pair of binoculars.

Oswald jolts back into a sitting position, rigid in his seat. The crawling beneath his skin intensifies, like hundreds of insects deciding simultaneously to make his body their own. He twitches uncomfortably, itching with the inexplicable feeling of being watched. He feels exposed.

“Gabe,” he says, voice drawn tight as a stretched rubber band. “Get us the hell home. Now.”

#my summary of this part is basically 'Isabella is Hella Shady and Even Oswald is Creeped Out'#I'm going to expand on her more in this story in the hopes of making her an actual compelling character/villain #I know she's not exactly anyone's favorite but hopefully that's okay #gotham #nygmobblepot #my writing #I'm not as happy with the actual writing in this section but Oh Well #at least it's posted #otp: I would do anything for you

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