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babeyvenus · 3 years

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The Wolf Among Us

Bigby x OC

Summary: Sonya Blaze, A.K.A. Hell Rider, is a half fable, half mundy girl who comes to Fabletown to learn more about her side of the folktales. She works alongside Sheriff Bigby Wolf's as his newest partner and together they strive to find out who's behind the unexpected murders in Fabletown.

TW: Mentions of death, gore/blood, alcohol, drugs, sex implications, suicide, guns and ofc language.

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Chapter 3: Rough Night

After the ruckus with the Woodsman, we went back to the Woodlands. “You have a key to your place?”, he asks. I nod, “Yeah”. He looked at me in disbelief. “How’d you manage to get that door open? I couldn’t get in without almost breaking the handle.” I chuckle. “Well, it took a few tries until I lifted the door a little and gave it a little kick. A little.”, I emphasized.

He rubbed behind his neck. “I guess you’re a little gentler than I am.” I smile. “You’ll get there.” We walked up to the entrance of the Woodlands, him holding the door open for me as I walked in. We both paused to hear rustling leaves behind a tree. Bigby crossed his arms. “Don’t make me come over there.”

A woman comes from behind a tree timidly. Bigby lowered his arms. “Beauty.” This is Beauty? From Beauty and The Beast? She’s a lot different than Disney’s version….

“Hello Bigby. And…?”, she greeted, before seeing me. I wave, giving her smile. “Sonya.” She smiles at me. “Its a little late to be out here.”, Bigby says. She stepped off of the grass. “I know it looks a little odd, but I’ve got an explanation for this.” Bigby sighs. “Okay.” She steps away timidly. “Just don’t tell Beast you saw me. Its not what you think it is, I’m just working.”

This late…? “Sure…”, Bigby says. Beauty nodded and slipped out of the entrance. Bigby sighs heavily and walks to the building. I followed behind, taking note of the sleeping doorman. “Very hardworking, Grimble.”, I mutter. Of course he wouldn’t have heard me. We walked to the elevators, ready to get upstairs until another person stopped us.

“Bigby, have you seen my wife? Have you seen Beauty?”, the man asks. That’s Beast!? What’s going on between them….? Bigby shook his head. “We haven’t seen her.” Beast huffs. “Dammit! There’s something going on…”

Bigby quickly pushes the close doors button, making the doors shut and lift the elevator. “I gotta Swineheart to do a check up on you.”, he says. I look at him in confusion. “Why? I’m fine.”

He pokes my side, making me wince and hold my side. “Sure…”, he mutters, crossing his arms again. The elevator opens and he walks out. “Let’s go.” He leads me to my apartment and waits for me. I unlock the door and show him how to open it. I pause. Why am I showing him? I glance at him and he looks at me. “What?”

I shake my head, letting out a soft sigh. “Nothing. Just don’t make fun of my place. I don’t have much. Yet.” I open the door and turn on the lights, the brightness making my eyes squint. He looked around and closed the door. “Huh. Looks no different than my place. Aside from the fact it looks cleaner and smells cleaner.”

I looked at him. “You really do have the smallest apartment, don’t you?” He looked at me with an eyebrow raised. “What, you thought it was a joke?”, he asks, walking over to my couch and sits down.

“I mean...I just think its kinda unfair to give you the smallest apartment since,” I gestured to him. “Y’know…” He leaned up a bit, placing his arms on his knees with an amused expression. “No, I don’t know. Since I’m now intrigued by your concern, what do you mean?”

I narrowed my eyes at him for a bit. “Now, I don’t wanna tell. Aren’t you supposed to be calling this Swineheart guy?” He perked up at that. “I forgot.” He looked around. “You don’t have a phone here?” I walked over to my lamp table and pulled my phone from my bag. “I kinda figured I wouldn’t need it while we were out since you guys don’t use cellphones nor know how they work. Just give me his number.”

Bigby told me his Swineheart’s number and I handed him my phone. He took it and held it to his ear, giving Swineheart my address. Moments later, we heard a knock on my door. Bigby went to answer it and greeted a grey haired man. “This is Dr. Swineheart. He’s Fabletown’s physician.”

I got up to greet him and he gave me a tired smile. “Its nice to meet you. Now, what’s the problem?”I rubbed my side. “We kinda fought the Woodsman and I’m sore.” Bigby rolled his eyes, sitting on my couch. “He broke her ribs. I heard it.”

I frowned at his snitching. Swineheart hummed. “Can I take a look?” I hesitantly lifted my shirt to show him the damage. It was a dark bruise showing, not too big but big enough to catch anyone’s eye. He sighed. “They’re definitely broken.”, Swineheart says, making Bigby huff in satisfaction. I turned to glare at him, but he was facing a window with his chin propped in his palm.

I faced Swineheart, shaking my head as he let out an amused snort. “I can give you a medicinal patch to get rid of the bruise and heal your ribs from the inside since you’re half mundy.” I look at him with curious eyes. “You know?” He nods. “I suspected as much considering there shouldn’t be any mundies here but you survived an attack that would’ve killed you and you have no idea who I am, so it wasn’t all that hard to piece together.”

He reaches into his bag and hands me a patch. I took off the plastic wrap and gently stuck it to my side. “Alright. Now, in a few minutes, you should feel a little tingling and it should be working to heal you.”, Swineheart says. I nodded. “Thanks Doc.” He smiles, gives us both a nod before leaving.

I sigh and turn to Bigby. “What about you? Didn’t you need a check up?” He looks at me. “I called him for you, not me.”, he says and gets up. He places a hand on my shoulder. “Just make sure to get some rest. I’ll check on you later.” With that, he leaves. I take his advice and sway over to my couch. Laying down, I snuggle into the cushions and close my eyes.

Bigby’s POV

After leaving Sonya’s place, I went to mine, ready to just sleep in my chair. Hopefully Colin isn’t in it. I walked in the door and went to the kitchen to clean my face before taking my phone off of the ringer. I need some peace…

I opened a window to get fresh air in the place before walking over to my chair. To my disappointment, I saw the pig in my chair, knocked out. I nudged him awake. He yawns, “Oh, hey, Bigby.” I stared at him with a frown. “I’m in your chair, aren’t I?”, he asks. “Its the only one here.”, I tell him. He waddles out of the chair and sits across from me. I sit in with a huff and pull out my cigarettes, tapping the bottom and popping one in my mouth.

“Got a smoke?”, I hear Colin ask before looking at him. I sighed through my nose and lit the cigarette. Before I got up, I took a drag before blowing it out and handing it to him. I sat back in my seat, sighing out my drag. “Thanks, Bigby. A couple more thousand of these and you’’l be out of debt.”

I rubbed my eyes. “This has to stop. You cannot be sneaking off the Farm like this.”, I say. He didn’t like that. “The fresh air and sunshine pitch they sell you is complete bullshit. I didn’t escape the Homelands just to end up in some prison, okay? Don’t send me back there, Bigby. You don’t know what its like over there.”, Colin says, as I get up to get some bourbon. “That’s a little dramatic, don’t you think?”, I ask, pouring the drink in the cup.

“That for me?”, he asked once I brought the cup to my lips. “Nope.”, I say, walking out of the kitchen. “I’m just saying, the house didn’t blow itself down. Do with that what you will.Now I’m not saying it’s reason enough for me to have definitely been offered a drink, but…uh….it would have helped ease some of the pain you once caused me, yes. It also would have shown everyone how different you are now.”, he says and I take a sip. “I take it all back. This is why everyone hates you.”, he says. I pause and turn to him. “So, everyone hates me?” He smirked. “No, I’m just shittting you.”

I roll my eyes and go back to my chair. “No, hate’s the wrong word. Its more of fear. They fear you more than anything. You did eat a lot of people back in your day.” I shake my head. “I thought we were all supposed to have a fresh start here. I can’t change the past.”

“Well, you can’t change people’s memories either.”, Colin says, as we sit down. I frown at him. “Look, I’m not saying its fair, but its real. People are scared of you. Look at your knuckles.” I looked down to see my knuckles reddened and bruised. “Who’d you get into a fight with? A fable, right? There’s no way you’re punching Mundies.”

“I was actually doing my job, believe it or not.”, I say. Colin frowns in disbelief. “Your job is to beat the shit out of fables?” When they get out of line, yes.

I stayed quiet. “Fuck you.”, Colin muttered. I sighed harshly. “You think my job is easy? You try keeping a bunch of fables from killing each other. How do you think this all works?” Colin rolled his eyes. “I dunno. How?”

I relaxed in my seat. “By being big and being bad.” Colin cringed. “By being biggg and being baddd. Don’t say that shit. Its embarrassing.” I blink at him and take a sip again, trying to tune him out.

“That’s the attitude that gets you in trouble. I’m sure you were shitty to everyone you came across tonight.” said Colin.

“Not everyone.” I mutter with my lips on the cup. This intrigued Colin. “Name one.” I hum. “I’ve got a new partner, she doesn’t seem to hate me. And this other girl we met tonight… I don’t actually know her name.”

“Awesome. Great example.” said Colin, sarcastically. I prop my chin in my hand, now irritated. “Life is easier with friends, Bigby, and we live a long fuckin’ time. This whole lone wolf thing isn’t working, I mean, I’ve seen the way you look at Snow, okay? You’re not fooling me.”

I looked down at my lap. Its true that I do care about Snow but...I think she cares more about her job than anything. I sigh softly. “Colin, seriously, can I just get some time to rest?”

“Well, maybe if my throat wasn’t so parched I wouldn’t have to keep talking.”, Colin replies. I gave him an incredulous look. “That doesn’t make sense-”

“Just give me the drink, please?”, Colin exasperatedly begged. I rubbed my face, “Colin, enough already. I haven’t slept in two days. I went out a second story window and I just wanna get two seconds of shut eye before-”

He gave me the saddest look he could muster up. I looked at my drink then back at him. “Look, if I give you this, will you please let me sleep?” He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, alright. Probably.”

I sighed, getting up and handed him the cup. He smiles. “Thanks Bigby.” I say nothing and get back in my seat, laying my head back and closed my eyes.

Sonya’s POV

I woke up abruptly to the sound of loud knocking. I wiped my face and walked up to my door to cuss whoever is here this late. I opened the door, glaring at-

“Snow? What the hell?”, I groaned, rubbing my eyes. “I’m sorry, but you have to come with me.”, she says, looking fidgety. “Alright.”, she takes off and I put my shoes on. I leave my place, closing my door and seeing her and Bigby walk towards me.

He looks at me in confusion. “You slept okay?” I grumble. “I slept dandy.” He shakes his head. “I can tell. Your hair tells it all.”, he says, leaving me to pull out my phone and look at my hair. My cheeks burn as I fix it and catch up to them.

We exited the Woodlands, our eyes catching onto a security guard jacket splayed out on the ground. I frowned at Snow. “Please don’t tell me you brought us out here to show us a small dead animal that you could’ve gotten Grimble to bury. I don’t wanna see that.”

She looked at me with a frown. “Of course not. Its worse.” I crossed my arms. “How bad is it?” Bigby went over to the jacket and pulled up. His eyes widened and glanced at me. “What?”, I asked, walking over to him as he pulled the jacket back to reveal a decapitated head.

My heart dropped to my stomach as I saw the girl from earlier. We just saved her. We just talked to her…. “W-What the hell…?”, I whispered in shock. I gagged a bit, looking at her dead expression. I dropped down next to Bigby as he looked away. “I assume you two know her.”, Snow says.

“Barely caught her name.”, Bigby says. “She’s a working girl.” Snow looked at him in confusion. “I’m a working girl. I don’t,” I look at her with a frown. She looked back at me, realization coming to her face. “Oh…”

I couldn’t help but stare into the girl’s dead eyes. I couldn’t get anything. Last moments...nothing. I let out a shaky breath and covered my face. “We saved her today. The Woodsman was beating on her.”

“Who found her…?”, I asked. Snow responded, “I did.” I brought my hands down and looked at the girl again. “She was just like this. I didn’t touch her. I grabbed Grimble’s jacket to cover her with, then… I came to get you two right away.” Snow explained.

“No one else came?” I asked. She shook her head. “Bigby, Sonya, did one of us…do this?”

“There hasn’t been a murder in Fabletown in a long time…” Bigby says, looking at her. I sighed. “Then we shouldn’t cause a panic yet. We can’t let anyone know. Not yet…”, I say.

I heard Bigby grunt softly as he got up. I look up to see him holding a ribbon. “This was hers.”, he says, frowning and analyzing it. I looked back at her and gently closed her eyes. “We should look for clues.”, I say, walking away. I walked over to the left side of the gate, not seeing anything. Maybe whoever came here came over and dropped her head off.

They’d look crazy to come to the front and drop it off. I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to get her face out of my head. I looked over to see Bigby crouching by Snow. I raised an eyebrow, walking over to them. “What’re you doing?”

He looks up at me and shows me a piece of blue fabric. I looked at Snow since she was the only one with blue fabric. She shrugged and I shook my head.

“We should move her. No one else needs to see this.”, I say, walking over to the head and covered her up before picking her up and holding her with care. “You don’t have to do that.”, Bigby says, looking at me with concern.

“Its okay. We need to figure out what happened. I just-”, I shake my head. “I should’ve known something was wrong. Wherever she worked seemed to be treating her horribly. I should’ve asked more questions.”

He walked over to me. “You cannot blame yourself for this. You saw how she barely answered our questions from the beginning.”

He’s right but...how could it even get this bad…? “I’ve gotta tell Crane about this.”, Snow says. “How do you think he’s gonna take this…?”, I asked her. “He may be upset. Since he is Deputy Mayor, this has to be announced to him.”, she says. Bigby grumbled. “I guess it’d be a pain if we kept it from him.”

“Hopefully he won't be too upset.”, I say. Bigby shakes his head. “Don’t hold your breath.”

He turns to me, “Let me take this to Swineheart. You go on in with Snow.” I reluctantly gave him the head and he takes it, giving me a soft smile and nods his head toward Snow. I left him alone with the head, and followed Snow.

As Snow and I walked inside the Woodlands, she smiles at me. “You seem to be getting along with him just fine.” I look at her in confusion. “Was he supposed to be a hard person to get along with?”

She pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “He can be a little difficult. And not everyone here gets along with him well because of his past.” I frowned. “I thought the whole point of being here was for everyone to have a fresh start and live among society. Why are they still bugging him?”

She shrugs. “I don’t exactly have an answer for that just yet.” I shake my head and walk to the elevator. “I’ll be back down after I freshen up. I feel gross.”, I say before the elevator doors close and take me to my apartment.

After washing up, I put on my red sleeveless turtleneck and black pants before putting my shoes on and leaving. As I get down to the lobby, I see Bigby talking to someone and I walk up. He notices me and holds the door open. “You’ve gotta be shitting me. I stand here for almost a whole hour and she gets to go in!?”, a black haired man with one blind eye growls.

Bigby looks at him annoyed. “We work here.”, he says, putting his hand on my shoulder and starts to lead me inside. I walk inside, letting him deal with the guy and hear Crane fussing at Snow. “Lord…”, I mutter, rolling my eyes. I knew he wasn’t a good boss.

“And now you’re telling me there’s a killer on the loose while you all titter behind my back!?”, Crane yells. “We didn’t know it was gonna happen! Why’re you fussing!?”, I exclaim.

“Because you two are the ones bringing this to me! The ones who so simply “stumbled” upon this catastrophe on our very doorstep! The last thing I need with Mayor Cole away is a hysteria, do you two understand me!?”, he yells in our face. “Of course, but-”, Snow starts.

“Do not interrupt me, Ms. Snow!”

“The f- you asked us a question!”, I yell in disbelief with his behavior. “Don’t change the subject! You two are to blame for this unpleasantness, Miss Sonya!”, he shouted. I pinched the bridge of my nose.

“We brought you this news as soon as we could!” Snow replies tiredly. “You are trusted to keep things running smoothly here! This is a disaster!” Crane rambles. “Who else is to blame, if not either of you?”

“It isn’t anyone’s fault.” Bigby declares. “Instead of trying to assign blame, maybe we figure out how to catch the fucker who did this.”

“Oh, is that how you see things? Sheriff, you, Ms. Snow and Miss Sonya are the ones in charge of protecting Fabletown. Your failure to do so has cost someone their life and the safety of our community.”, Crane says, walking over to his desk and sits in his chair. How’d someone like him even get a position as Deputy?

I rub my temples. “Tell me you’ve been doing something! Are there any leads? Suspects? Anything? Anything at all? Any shred of evidence you three know what the hell you’re doing?” Crane asked.

Bigby walked up to us and crossed his arms. “Her pimp is a suggestion.” I shrugged. “So is the Woodsman.”

“Her…was she a…?"

"She needed money and we didn’t have enough to give her…”, I say. “Well isn’t that just wonderful. Not only was a Fable killed, but it was a Fable hooker to boot!” Crane said, sarcastically.

“You three need to get a handle on this quickly, and quietly. The last thing we need is all of Fabletown knowing there’s a killer amongst us.” Crane shut his eyes for a bit, then opened them to look at Snow.

“Snow!”

“Yes…sir?” Snow asked. “Call Vivian right this moment and let her know I’m coming in early for my...massage.” Crane demands. I looked at Bigby with slight disgust and confusion. He shakes his head.

“I will.” She complies.

Crane looks around his desk. “Where is the bottle of wine you were to purchase?” Snow looks at him in confusion. “Oh, bother! Forget it! Can’t do anything right.” Crane mutters, walking past me.

I glared at Crane as he walked to the door of the office. “Do your job, Sheriff and Deputy….Or we’ll find someone who can.” He said. Bigby growls lowly, turns around and says. “You know what…”

I give him a pinch. “Stop.”

Crane turns to face us. Snow walks up and gives him a smile. “We’ll get right on it, sir.” Crane turns back and walks out of the office. Bigby sighs with a grumble.

#my art #poc oc #my oc #Sonya Blaze #TWAU #twau oc #telltale twau #twau imagine #twau bigby #twau bigby wolf #bigby imagine #bigby wolf #bigby x oc #bigby x reader

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revengeoftheantichrist · 3 years

Text

What Kind of Man

Warnings: Possessive behaviour, forced feeding

AO3 <<<Previous

Chapter 11: Performance

You avoided dinner that night, choosing instead to go straight to bed. Your sickness and the letters giving you a headache. Before you slept, you placed some of the flowers in a vase on your nightstand, hoping to ward off whatever was in this house.

As you began to drift off, the covers were yanked off you, exposing you to the cool air.

“You are in no state to be refusing dinner!” scolded Michael. He stood in his robe, Mrs Mead behind him with a tray of food.

“I’m not hungry,” you said, attempting to reach for the covers. He turned to Mrs Mead, who handed him the tray and left you both alone. The smell of the food made your stomach grumble, but you still turned away when Michael brought the spoon to your mouth.

“Turn around and don’t be petulant.”

You rolled your eyes and refused to turn to him. You heard him huff before he forcefully turned your face to him. You refused to open your mouth, glaring at him. He had enough, pinching your nose so you’d be forced open your mouth to breath. Tears began to fall as you had to open your mouth. Michael shoved the hot spoon in your mouth, not letting the soup cool and burning your tongue.

“Now swallow like a good girl,” he ordered.

You closed your eyes and swallowed the burning liquid. Wincing as it reached your stomach.

“Now Y/N, you better have finished this bowl before I get back from my study, or else ill pour it down your throat. Do you understand?” he threatened.

You nodded and that was enough for him. He left you alone with the meal. You reluctantly began to eat, fearing what more could happen.

You pulled the covers over you after finishing your meal, not wanting to talk to Michael at all. He returned a few moments later, passing off the tray to Mrs Mead. You turned away from him as he crawled in beside you. He sighed and pulled you back against his chest, trapping you in his tight hold. Nothing was said as you drifted off.

////

You were sat at breakfast, picking at your food.

“I have some news,” Michael interrupted your train of thought. You looked up at him inquisitively.

“we will be going to see a play tomorrow evening,” he stated.

“Why?”

“Xavier Plympton’s play is having its final performance in the city nearby he is a good friend of mine. Your brother knows him. Some of the girls you met at Robichaux are part of the cast. There will be an afterparty here at the castle”

“Will Mallory be there?”

Michael looked at you like you were stupid, “Of course she will, she’s my primary beneficiary and their best performer.”

You just smiled and nodded.

////

The library must have held more answers. You had a few hours to look for more clues. At first you went to check the cavity you found last night, to make sure you weren’t hallucinating. It was still there along with the letters. The library must have been built with more. Instinct told you to go to the opposite end; hopefully someone appreciated symmetry when building it.

You were right, a little bit of pushing and the second alcove gave way. A similar box inside.

The handwriting was different on these envelopes. The wax seal had no crest. They were addressed to the USA.

You took a deep breath and unsealed the letter.

‘Dear Father,

It worries me that you haven’t replied to my letters. Is mother okay? Trevor? Our trip around Europe is coming to a close, yet Duncan seems more distant with me that ever before. I thought we’d become closer but there stills seems to be a gap. I always thought that it was rumour that the Shepherd dynasty was unwelcoming to their brides, but I know it’s true now. He’d rather spend the night in the streets than with me. I hope this doesn’t continue after the wedding. Our final destination is a ball some Count is holding. Apparently, his new wife is being introduced to society. I wonder if he loves her. Duncan speaks highly of his friend.

I hope this letter arrives and that you send me an answer for once

Love, Coco’

Why were Coco’s letters in your home? Why had they been left unsent? The was a simple folded piece of paper in the box, the same address as the letters before on one of the sides. You unfolded it to read its contents.

‘Please send a priest. Send some help. I have been trapped here. These men are beasts. They just sat and watched as the other’ The ink was smudged.

‘I have sent this with that sweet maid, reward her well. Please save me.’’

You reread the paper twice, before folding it and putting it back in the box. Coco never reached the States. You know that she didn’t get on that ferry back. The scream you heard that night must have been hers.

Whatever had happened to Madison, had happened to Coco. And it would happen to you too. The fact that the letter was given to a maid, but was in this box, meant that none of the staff could be trusted, not even the twins.

You put the box away and clicked the façade shut. Thinking about a way to get out of this castle before it became your coffin.

Your head began to spin as you left the library. You moved towards the garden to get some fresh air, but the sunlight made you recoil. Your eyes felt sensitive to the sun, making your head feel worse. You held onto the wall, trying to make your way to your room. Your mouth felt so dry, and your forehead was damp with sweat. You fell to the ground with a loud ‘thud’, the sound of running and a pair of fine leather shoes coming towards you the last thing you saw before your eyes snapped shut.

////

You woke to the sound of muffled voices. Your tried to make out the whispering, but the harder you concentrated, the more your ears rang. You groaned in pain and frustrating, alerting the room that you were awake.

You vision was blurry, but you were surrounded by Michael, Mrs Mead and Dr Montgomery. Michael was speaking to you, but his voice was still muffled, as if you had your head underwater. You tried to speak, but no words came out of your mouth.

Mrs Mead handed Michael a cup. He held you up and put it to your lip, making you drink the warm, sweet liquid down. You greedily drank, feeling better with each gulp, the fuzziness beginning to clear.

“Good evening Lady Langdon how are you feeling now?” asked Dr Montgomery.

You thought about your answer, squinting to focus on him, “a little… hazy still. My head has been hurting a lot recently,” you explained.

“Ah yes, Mrs Mead and the Count also explained your vomiting and fluctuating appetite.”

You nodded in response.

“It’s just a little bug, you must have caught it in Paris and the symptoms are developing now, but they should pass soon.”

He had lied to you again, you knew it.

He moved to check your temperature and the focus of your eyes. Giving you the clear and leaving a prescription with Mrs Mead.

“Make sure you follow the guidelines and keep your eating regular, even if you don’t want to,” with that he and Mrs Mead left, leaving you alone with Michael.

You just wanted to sleep again, resting your head back on the pillow. You heard Michael shuffling around before he got in beside you.

“You always worry me little dove, I thought you might have cracked your skull open with how loudly you fell,” his voice was soft.

“Where are you? You feel so far from me recently. Sometimes I feel like your somewhere else, like you’ve put your walls back up,” he ran his fingers through your hair.

“I’m just sick,” you sleepily murmured, not wanting him to see what you really were thinking.

He pulled your head to his chest with a sigh, “It will pass, I promise you it will pass.”

His actions and the softness of his voice lulled you to sleep.

////

Today was an exciting day for you, you had never seen a play before. Michael had let you see the ballroom get decorated for the party you would be hosting in the evening. You were in awe of the speed at which the staff worked. The hustle and bustle of the day took your mind off the mystery of your Husband. It could wait another day.

The opera house itself was stunning, having been partially funded by the Langdon family when it was first built. It seemed like Michael’s ancestors knew nothing other than living in excess. A tradition your husband seemed to have continued religiously.

The performance itself had you mesmerised. The dancers were oh so elegant. You saw now why Mallory earned her title. The writing of the play was phenomenal, making it clear that Mr Plympton was a Hawthorne alumnus; it had you sucked in from the first note. Michael however, had spent the evening staring at you and at Mallory, you had slapped his hand away from you one too many times.

You were allowed backstage at the end of the performance, presenting flowers to Mallory and Xavier long with drinks for the rest of the cast.

“So, this is the Countess? You are far too beautiful to be on the arm of my friend over here. I’m Xavier my Lady, it is an absolute pleasure to meet you,” Xavier said, kissing your hand.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you too Mr Plympton, my husband has sung many praises about your work, now I can see why.”

“Oh, I sang many praises for him back in the day too, don’t you worry,” Xavier winked at Michael, the innuendo flying over your head.

Michael cleared his throat to interrupt the conversation, “I do believe we have a party to host tonight and we mustn’t be late.”

Everyone nodded and smiled in agreement, making their way to the waiting transport.

////

The party itself seemed wilder than the ball you held a month ago. That was high society. This was libertines and bohemians. Although an entertaining crowd to watch, not one you wanted to participate in. You had decided not to drink that night, not wanting to bring on another headache. You might have enjoyed yourself more if you had you thought.

“No wine tonight Lady Langdon?” asked Mallory.

You laughed and shook your head. You were standing on the balcony, overlooking the garden, the party in full swing behind you.

“I think I drank to much at the dinner hosted by Robichaux,” you replied.

It was her turn to giggle, “Oh yes I remember, I think you had a full bottle by the end of the night. I saw you roll your eyes and lose interest in that conversation. It was quite funny actually.”

You both looked at each other and laughed, thinking back to that night.

“Yes well, sometimes the count begins to speak, and I don’t really care for it, so I just stop listening.”

“I don’t think he’d be happy about that,” Mallory pointed out, taking a swig and finishing her glass.

“mmm happy about what,” Xavier slurred out, he wrapped his arms around Mallory’s waist and rested his chin on her head, his face was flush with a stupid grin plastered across it.

The sight of the pair drunkenly swaying brought a smile to your face. How nice its must have been, to not be subject to the rigid structures of the society you lived in. To be able to do whatever you wanted, without a care in the world. You wondered what type of woman you’d be if your upbringing wasn’t so strict or sheltered. Would you have confronted Michael? Would you have married him in the first place? You thought about it now. You never had the chance to say ‘no’. your father and brother had made all your life decisions up to this point. And now it seemed that Michael was doing the same. You wondered what freedom tasted like. Was it sweet? Did it have an aftertaste?

Your thoughts were interupped by Michael’s hands on your hips.

“What ahs you so deep in thought my love?”

You looked up to the stars, taking in the vastness of the night sky.

“Nothing really, maybe about our place in the universe. All the events that have led us to where we our now. Maybe fate or higher power,” you rambled.

“I think you might have enjoyed the philosophy lessons we had back at Hawthorne.”

“I care not for man of ages past, only the here and now,” you sighed again, leaning back onto Michael’s shoulder. “It’ll be a shame when winter comes. Such a beautiful garden will be barren for months. Almost as if it will never live again. But then, the spring comes, and it is reborn.”

“Life is a strange thing, there’s some things that are almost immortal, but we do not remember them. Then humans, mortal beings that leave their mark. Fascinating isn’t it? Michael mused.

You were interrupted by Xavier.

“We must get going. Mallory and the girls leave for Paris in the morning, so they must get to their lodgings and rest.”

You nodded and Michael and Xavier walked ahead, yourself and Mallory walking behind them, engaged in small talk.

You said your goodbyes and stayed behind to watch them leave and wave them off. The night had taken a toll on you, so you left for your room and retired for the night. You assumed Michael would spend the evening reminiscing with old friends and colleagues. So, you were surprised to see him already in bed.

You moved to go the dressing room to change, but you were stopped by Michael.

“You can undress here, in front of me.”

You looked at him as if he had grown two heads.

He just rolled his eyes, “I have seen it all before, don’t be shy now my love.”

Your cheeks heated up and you avoided eye contact with him as you shed your layers, finally leaving you in your under garments.

He curled his finger ins a ‘come hither’ motion, you slowly followed his command. He reached towards you and removed the final barriers, the chill causing goose bumps and your nipples to harden.

“Don’t just stand there, come on now,” he patted his lap. You climbed onto the bed, then onto his lap, where he wanted you.

You moaned lightly as you felt his stiff cock underneath you. His hand travelled up your sides, ticking the flesh. They finally reached you breasts, and you cried out at he began to tease your nipples. They had been sore and sensitive recently. He took a nipple into his mouth, noisily sucking on it. You threw your head back at the sensation. What a sight you were to him, moaning and mewling at the smallest of his touches. He gave the other nipple the same attention, before moving back with a wet ‘pop’.

“You’re so beautiful from up there.”

His hands moved to your hips again, lifting you and then slowly impaling you onto his cock, he couldn’t wait any longer.

You held onto his shoulders, your hips meeting every thrust. He pulled you into a searing kiss, capturing each other moans. You both came quickly. No matter what you thought about this man, or what he had done, you lust for him seemed to be paramount. His voice and his hands could make empires crumble, just like they did to you.

You collapsed onto his chest, exhausted from everything. No words were spoken as you drifted off.

////

Five days later, late in the afternoon, you had a visitor.

Madame Cordelia had come to visit.

Mallory had never made it home.

Next>>>

#my writing #michael langdon #michael langdon x reader #WKM11

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anangelicday-mrwolf · 3 years

Text

Wolfsbane : Noblesse Fanfic (post-ending)

(previous chapter)

Chapter 32 – Wings of Trouble

“Oof... I am so sorry... Sorry I’m such a pain in the... Ooof...!”

“Save your apologies. This is nothing for us. We are simply doing what we should – tending to the legitimate visitor of Lukedonia. After all, we are the proud Central Knights.”

A Central Knight with a slick pair of sunglasses replied, his stance tall and solemn.

He was carrying Yuhyung on his back, to deliver the grievously exhausted human to his bedroom.

Several Central Knights they ran into on their way would flicker their eyes at their behind, surely a strange sight in their homeland.

The moment an unknown error occurred upon activation of QuadraNet, Yuhyung had to fling his arms here and there, like a visual designer who received a request for editing with only 10 minutes left from deadline.

At the end of a marathon of toil came a knockout for the human researcher.

He was not really knocked out; he was both conscious and awake.

Nonetheless, he did not respond to name-calling and shakes the surrounding spectators offered, as if he were under a sleep paralysis.

And nobody posed a question or reprimand at the man.

Everyone knew that the virtual beast was not completely at peace; they have merely put it under a stun.

Which means Yuhyung would have to cross off from his calendar the day he is allowed to fly back home.

Not to mention nobody knew how much more work would be waiting for him for the duration of his prolonged stay.

To add to his burden, Lukedonia boasted not a single soul they could assign for Yuhyung to help him, so he was to be entrusted with the entire labor.

Perhaps that was why Yuhyung could not orient himself back to his usual self, which is why Lascrea had to call upon one of her Central Knights to take him back to his bed.

“You have done well.”

Said Rael, who had been tagging along from the communication chamber.

He volunteered for an escort that was not needed at all.

It was his duty to attend to Lukedonia’s official guest, as the ambassador of nobles.

At least that was the reason he gave.

When Yuhyung finally hit the comfy bed with his back, the Central Knight walked outside, as suggested by Rael when he said he can take care of the rest.

That was when the blonde noble pulled out what he really wanted with his guest.

“I have something to tell you.”

Instantly Yuhyung stopped whining upon the elegant blanket.

Rael had to add on to what he said, for the human’s eyes bloated and began rolling like crazy upon hearing that there was something Rael wanted from him.

“No, you’ve done nothing wrong. You said you did not see this trouble coming at all.”

However, that did nothing to pacify Yuhyung.

“Uh... Uhm... So... W-w-what can I d-do for you...?”

Now the researcher was shivering as if he were met by a pack of ravenous wolves.

Which is why Rael felt guilty as hell.

He knew what he was dumping on Yuhyung, since no one else was supposed to know what he was about to unleash.

However, he knew he could not undo this; his honor, dignity, and life as the head of the Kertias were at stake.

“This would sound outrageously sudden, but... Do you remember what happened the day we left KSA?”

“Uh... Oh, yes! Of course I do. I was trying to safekeep the gas KSA was once developing, but it crashed and... But why would you ask me about that?”

“Have you ever tried that gas on non-humans?”

“Non-humans? Uh... No, I haven’t. I mean, it was supposed to be a top secret, and it was targeted towards modified humans in the first place. So nobody ever thought of using it for non-human creatures.”

Yuhyung was rubbing Rael’s face with his eyes as he spoke, making it very conspicuous that he had no idea why the Kertia would pull out this topic at this moment.

Checking very carefully – perhaps too carefully – that there was not a soul around, Rael started to explain as calmly as possible.

He told Yuhyung that he cannot summon his soul weapon, and he has not the faintest idea why.

Since he has never brought up Grandia after he was exposed to Yuhyung’s creation, for now he decided to presume the gas is the cause of such phenomenon.

And Rael made extra-sure that his words were cautiously chosen, so that he would not offend the human.

Nevertheless, he wished his speech were a little better, because Yuhyung’s body shriveled as he continued, to ultimately grovel at his feet.

“I-I-I am terribly sorry, sir! I... I did not expect you to go through such trouble because of me...!”

“Uh, we don’t know for sure if your gas is to really blame. No need to apologize already.”

“Already...? So you’re saying you expect to see me apologizing someday! So allow me to do that right now! Please, just go ahead and kill me, sir!”

Rael kneaded his forehead, holding quite a fabulous showcase of a bow and confession.

“Please don’t do this, I pray you. Right now I need your knowledge. Is there any possibility that gas could affect a noble like me...?”

“Uh... I don’t know. Right now the answers I can give you are limited. It’d be best for me to analyze the components of the gas to deduce the result, but...”

Rael knew that Yuhyung must stay at Lukedonia until the unidentified issue with QuadraNet is thoroughly mapped.

‘Does that mean I have to just sit and wait?’

Rael could feel terror and discomposure rushing through his veins.

He could not tell when his name will be taken off from the waiting list. And what if in the meantime, somebody sees through what has bound him?

At the same time, Rael could picture the patriarchs of Kertias, taking him apart with vicious speech as if they have waited for all their lives.

However, coercing Yuhyung to do something about this will not take him anywhere.

Knowing that made Rael’s chest clench harder, but there was nothing else he could do.

“Very well. Thank you for your time.”

“Uh... I’ll try to see if I can come up with any possible reason why. No, I’d rather start my research at this...”

“No, please. No need to do that. QuadraNet is all that matters right now, so please concentrate on bringing it back to life. We can handle my soul weapon later.”

Stating the exact opposite of what lay in his heart, Rael told Yuhyung to get some rest before he left.

Yuhyung could not remove his eyes from the door for a while even after the noble ambassador’s departure. He managed to move only when his waist dispensed a sound.

Which made him scowl so hard he looked like a completely different person.

Yuhyung’s face turned darker at the dreary voice from his walkie-talkie.

But he knew he should not waste his time in answering.

“N-no, sir. I’m here.”

Yuhyung nipped at his lips, as if he could not believe what he was about to do.

He was, however, powerless against his party’s demand.

At the end of Yuhyung’s tale came a hoard of maniac laughter.

<Yes, this is it! At last, the Illiness clan will see the light!>

Yuhyung ground his lips together as Deneb cackled, seemingly oblivious of the human.

Yuhyung apparently was hating himself that he has actually done it.

*****

As invisible skirmish was whirring to life in Lukedonia, Frankenstein was in no better situation.

‘Just what is the problem...?’

He had been pondering ever since Tao relayed to him what had happened with the QuadraNet.

At first he landed on the same page as the three modified humans of RK: Union may be behind all this.

As for Frankenstein, he had a good reason to suspect the Union.

He could still see how the man in the iron mask stood in the werewolf realm.

And now that Tao sent a troubleshooting report that there might have been an attempt of hacking, his suspicion started to spread like wildfire on a field of reed.

He thus coordinated his train of thoughts the same way Tao did.

If there really was an attempt of hacking from within, and if the Union is to actually curse for it, the ones responsible would be the ones with history of contacting the Union.

‘Which would be the werewolves.’

He did not feel like he was being too dramatic, because of the new facts Tao shared during their briefing.

Frankenstein frowned and shook his head as he was thinking of the brown-haired werewolf doctor.

‘Fine. Dr. Adne walked under Maduke’s wings on his own feet to serve as lead researcher in several of his projects. However, that does not serve as a proof that he is in alliance with the Union.’

And even if Adne is still dreaming of being a scientist, that did not put him in alignment with the Union, Frankenstein thought.

‘It’d make more sense for him to side with us. I mean, from a scientist’s point of view, I doubt he can find any other project more mouthwatering than the QuadraNet project.’

Frankenstein was trying his best to soothe himself, and his effort was made to naught due to an ominous idea that decided to poke him out of blue.

‘Things would change if his interest lies in biotechnology instead of IT. That is one thing now no one among us can provide.’

And if Adne really is an affiliate of Union, that would mean they have exposed their most confidential project to their worst nemesis.

Frankenstein grit his teeth tight in order to stop his head from losing control.

He even had to mumble to himself to accomplish the feat.

“You’re rushing, Frankenstein. Yes, you are. Even if he was once pledged to serve Maduke, it’s too soon to make him the culprit for all this.”

Frankenstein repeated similar statements a few more times before he reached for a plate of sandwich to fill his stomach.

He did not cease his skimming of documents as he was eating, which was why he failed to realize how the monitor – which he definitely turned off after talking to Tao – was blinking with light.

How it was turned off by itself promptly afterwards, as he continued to make his eyes and mouth busy, exhibiting nothing more in particular that could be spied from him.

(next chapter)

Do you remember how in Chapter 17, Rael thinks to himself that Yuhyung’s bag felt lighter than he last held it? Now you know the reason why. This fic is still in the stage where small troubles slowly build up into a crisis. It’d be a headache for me coordinate all the microscopic plots once I reach the crisis part, but I’ll do my best. :)

#korean webcomic #korean webtoon #fanfic #noblesse #frankenstein #lunark #frankensteinxlunark #wolfsbane

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hvlfwygod · 4 years

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reoccurrence | patrick

It was the same, every single time. At least, that was what his mom said when she explained it to his brother, his dad, his doctor. She was wrong, though. They didn’t always start the same, they actually could be very different. Sometimes Patrick was at the store, sometimes in the family minivan, sometimes walking through some endless foggy forest. What was always the same was the ending. Always.

“What are you making?”

Patrick glanced up from his drawing as Dr. Wilson sat down beside him. He’d been coming to her office for weeks now, answering all kinds of pointless questions and drawing all kinds of pictures. She listened to him explain what each crayon-rendered monster meant, how often they showed up in his dreams, and his ranking on who were the scariest. Today was a new beast, some cross between a scorpion and an endless black hole; Patrick leaned back to show it off.

Dr. Wilson— she insisted he call her Samara— was patient, she listened, she suggested drawings he could revisit. He listened, too, though only halfway, usually too invested in his drawings. If she wanted him to give her all of his attention, he reasoned, she shouldn’t have put so many papers and supplies in front of him.

"This guy is cool,” Samara said, squinting at the monster. “Can I keep him?”

“It’s not done,” Patrick said, pulling the paper back to him and continuing to color in the shadows. “But later, sure.”

“Cool! Thank you. So where does he show up?”

“In... the desert,” Patrick replied.

“Mhm, and what does he do?”

Patrick hadn’t decided, yet, but he screwed up his face as if he was trying to remember. Samara shifted beside him and he heard a faint scribble of her pen. Then, she sighed and pulled out another drawing, one from two weeks ago.

“He kind of looks like this guy. Are you sure he’s a new monster?”

Slowly, Patrick lowered his crayon. “That looks different.”

“Or, Patrick, are you making up stories instead of telling me about your bad dreams?”

It was quiet for a long time, but for once, Patrick didn’t immediately resume his coloring. He sat there, stony and silent, waiting for the rest of the accusation to come.

“Patrick, you’re seven, you know better than to lie like this,” Samara said, her voice stern yet gentle. “I don’t mind you telling me... Whatever you need to, if it helps. I’d love to hear about all these creatures. But I’m starting to think you’re avoiding talking about the dreams that are giving you trouble.”

Patrick shrugged, not looking at her. “It’s dumb,” he pouted. “Nothing helps. You can’t change a dream.”

Samara sighed. “Not if you don’t try, kiddo. But I promise you don’t have to keep having this nightmare. I know you’re super tired, but we can figure this out. I love your creativity, I really do. But I need you to tell me what you’re actually dreaming, so we can get to the bottom of it. Okay?”

After another long silence, Patrick sighed and flipped his paper over to the blank side. He started drawing anew: pairs of eyes staring out through the darkness, and himself, staring back. “Okay.”

———

He was still pissed off. Patrick, just not high enough to not be frustrated, mentally cursed himself as sat before his latest painting. The oily darkness was finally starting to take on a certain depth, turning slowly back into the base he’d painted weeks earlier. If he closed his eyes, he could visualize the old image: a dilapidated house, the twinkling black lake, the almost perfect way he’d captured the radiating moonlight. But when he stared at what was in front of him, all he could think about was that this was technically his second time reaching this stage. All he could see was a hand-sized smear wreaking a diagonal ruin across the canvas.

It’d been a while since his confrontation with Koda, but the time had done nothing to dull the pangs of regret. Not for fighting with her, but for the collateral damage. Patrick couldn’t even bring himself to recreate his painting until now, and still he could barely get through it without feeling inordinately annoyed. Swallowing pills before this had done practically nothing. Reno’s words from Halloween rang in his head: your shit mood is sobering you up.

A sudden urge to chuck the frame across the room came over him. Idiot, he thought. Fucking moron. Before he fucked up his work yet again, though, Patrick stepped back from his paints and walked away. He stormed past strangers in the studio, eliciting a few complaints and sideways glances as his hand slammed against the door and stepped outside.

The afternoon sunlight was too harsh, still. Perhaps the only indication that he was actually high at all, he mused bitterly as he lit a cigarette. He inhaled, held it, and let it go, forcing himself to calm down. For a few minutes, it worked. His brain was quiet, just a low hum of empty thoughts and the rhythmic exhale of smoke.

But even out here, even high (though, he reminded himself, not quite enough), regret seeped back in.

It had been such a nice painting. Fuck. Why did Koda have to piss him off? He couldn’t believe he’d left it with her, too, or let himself think that she’d take his side. The fight started to replay in his mind, like a bad movie to which he already knew the ending, but couldn’t stop watching. The worst part was that no matter how angry he was at his sister, the world, even Tai (because this wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t jumped Patrick in the first place) he was much more pissed at himself.

Newly aggravated, Patrick killed his cigarette and then dropped it to the ground as he walked back inside. He was ready to give up, write today off, come back to this cursed project another day. But as soon as he saw his unfinished painting again, as if to spite himself, he felt compelled to keep going.

Slowly, he sat down in front of the easel and started to paint. Slowly, the house rematerialized, the shores of the lake took shape once again. Slowly, the image he’d lost crept back into existence.

Patrick worked straight through the sunset, only stopping when fatigue started to weigh his hand and caused his brush to droop between his fingers. He sat back and studied the picture, feeling strangely tilted and dizzy, then checked his phone. Patrick blinked at the hour on the screen, much later than he expected. “Damn,” he mumbled; it was the first word he’d said in hours.

Patrick looked once again at the painting. He had to admit that he was pleased, if only a little. It wasn’t the original, but he’d managed to get close. Except, peeking out from the edge of a small cluster of sinister looking trees, Patrick noticed something new. A pocket of negative space was there, glaring and distracting. Acting on another whim, he picked up his brush again started filling in the details.

When he sat up after a few long minutes, two eyes stared back at him from the emptiness. A snout was just beginning to take shape, as if the dog was walking out from an engulfing darkness.

———

He woke up with a start, but this time, it wasn’t out of fear. No, Patrick was excited, triumphant. He threw his covers off and scrambled out of bed, disregarding that the sun had just barely started to break over the horizon.

“Mom!” he shouted, pushing her door aside as he walked into her room. She stirred in her sleep but didn’t immediately wake up, so Patrick grabbed her arm and shook. “Mooooom!”

“Patrick, shh, it’s...” she lifted her head and blinked as she checked the time, “not even six, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing! I did it. I changed the—”

“What’s going on?” his dad asked, pushing himself up in the bed beside his mom.

“I changed the dream,” Patrick said, looking to him. “I made it stop, I changed it. They looked completely different.”

“Oh.” His mother’s eyes widened. “That’s great, sweetie."

Patrick preened. “All the wolves got scared of me and started running. All the things started to...” He struggled to remember all the details. “They went away.”

“That’s awesome, kid,” his dad added in. “I’ll make breakfast to celebrate.”

Patrick nodded vigorously, never one to turn down his dad’s pancakes. Before he could follow him out of the room, though, his mom took his hand.

“Sweetheart, can you tell me more about this dream?” she asked.

“It was the same as always,” he told her with a shrug. “But I changed it. It was like I was awake and in charge of everything.”

“Okay.” She nodded. “And what did it change to? Did you notice anything? Anyone?”

Patrick frowned as he thought about it. “... Maybe?” If he thought too hard about it more of the dream started to turn into fog. “I think maybe someone was standing next to me.” His mother pressed her lips together, and he wasn’t sure what for. Patrick tilted his head. “Why?”

After a pause, she squeezed his hand. “I’m sure Dr. Wilson will want to know whatever you can remember. But I’m really proud of you, Patrick. Do you think you can do it again?”

“Yes,” he said automatically. He couldn’t explain it, but this felt huge. Like he jumped over some insurmountable hurdle and didn’t have to look back. “It was so cool, Mom. I’ll never have a nightmare again.”

———

As soon as he fell asleep, Patrick started to wander. He left his own dream behind and went looking for his target for the night. It had been long enough since his strange, bitter standoff with Graves, and he figured by now the element of surprise would be on his side. All that was left for him to do was find the son of Hermes.

He was struggling, though. Which was odd. It wasn’t because of who he was going after, though. The more familiar he became with New Athens the faster he could locate anyone, even someone he’d never interacted with in dreams before. The problem he was having was not with seeking Graves out, but the strange, stilted quality to his dreaming. It was like he was tripping in his sleep.

Maybe he’d taken too much after all. Reno hadn’t warned him to slow down, but Patrick had noticed the slightly prolonged looks before they went to bed.

After leaving the studio, he went straight to his friend’s apartment, which always was followed by some sort of mind altering substance. Combined with his earlier indulgences it was, perhaps, a bit overboard. He was honestly surprised he’d managed to sleep at all. But the fact that he had drifted off was proof enough that he wasn’t too fucked up to do this. He wasn’t going to put this off another night. Patrick felt almost sluggish, but he pushed through, and eventually, found Graves.

He stepped into the man’s dream, sliding through a brief fog and appearing outside a small shop. Peeking through the window revealed a room filled with weird oddities and trinkets. Candles covered nearly every surface, the spaces in between filled with crystals, figures, all assortment of magical items. Graves was sitting at a table, sitting over a spread of cards. It reminded him of the kind of place Cleo would like to visit. Patrick was hit with a sudden, angry flare of jealousy. He wanted to tear this stupid building apart.

Patrick reached for the door handle, but his arm was slow to react. It was like he was moving through molasses, or something was weighing down his limbs.

Sneering, he decided to stay where he was, stay hidden. From a distance, he willed the cards to flip over on the table, the candles to go out, the twinkling items to all clatter to the floor.

But nothing happened.

And then, a sharp pain exploded in Patrick’s skull.

The entire dream seemed to go dark for a moment, and it felt like he was falling. Then, he was back, landing as if he’d just entered the dream for the first time.

“What the fuck?” He felt as though he were about to pass out, in a strange, dream-logic sort of manner. Darkness crept in a little closer around the edges. But if anything happened, Graves hadn’t seemed to notice. This needled Patrick more than anything else. With effort, he pressed his hands against the side of the building and imagined the floorboards underneath Graves trembling.

Again, nothing happened and again, his head seemed to split open. “Come on,” he mumbled through his teeth. Nothing, nothing, more nothing, then clouds he didn’t conjure rolled in, and rain soaked him to the bone in a matter of seconds, and Patrick could do nothing to change it. He stared angrily at the ground, buzzing with confusion. Did Graves know he was here? Were one of his siblings fighting him back? Patrick banged on the window and his target didn’t even look up.

He blinked, and then Graves was gone, and then the building was gone, and Patrick’s stomach flipped as he fell painfully out of the dream and back into his own. It was still raining, as if the storm had followed him.

Patrick was standing all alone. It was how it always ended, with everything going sideways and a countless array of eyes glaring through the darkness, right at him.

“No,” Patrick almost laughed, shaking his head. “No fucking way.” He waved his hand, pushed the nightmare aside. But again, again, nothing happened.

Fear rolled down his spine like a cold sweat. He willed the dream to change again, and again, and again, but it was useless. All he had was the low hum of growls, a unspoken promise of everything going wrong, wrong, wrong. And the stares, glowing and malicious. Impossibly twisted canine features inching closer and closer. Patrick whirled around, refusing to accept that he couldn’t escape, but they were behind him, too, and up above, and the ground wouldn’t let him move, and they were all about to jump—

He woke up with such a jolt that his head banged against the wall behind him. Patrick cursed and curled in on himself. Pain pounded through his skull, in time with his racing heart. He’d been loud enough to wake Reno, who leapt out of sleep beside him and was halfway to standing in a matter of seconds.

“What happened?”

It was like he was a kid all over again. When was the last time he hadn’t been able to just brush that shit aside? Patrick looked over to his friend and flinched. Reno’s eyes glowed in the dark. Ice cold panic gripped Patrick’s stomach before he remembered that it was normal, Reno’s eyes were just like that and he was awake.

Patrick pressed his palms to his head. “Nothing,” he mumbled. “Bad dream.”

“Hm.” The tone of this response was almost enough to tip Patrick into a rage, but he was too shaken to commit to the emotion. Instead, embarrassment rolled over him. It was such a stupid, simple, not-at-all scary dream. But he was sucking in each breath as if he’d genuinely been in danger. When he closed his eyes, Patrick saw the wolf in his painting. A little invader in his waking world.

“Water?” Reno asked. Patrick didn’t respond, but he nodded once. He waited until he heard his steps retreating before lowering himself onto his back and staring up at the ceiling. His vision swam, a combination of fear and the drugs still wandering through his system. What had happened? It was like his abilities had completely turned off. A part of Patrick wanted to stubbornly throw himself back into sleep, but a much bigger part was worried that his powers wouldn’t work again. That he’d stare down those endless eyes again.

In the end, he couldn’t do it. Reno returned with water, said he was going to stay up, then wandered off. Patrick followed suit, though he didn’t Reno to some other part of the apartment. Instead, he moved to sit by the nearest window and, like the endless pre-dawn mornings of his childhood, waited for the sun to rise, to banish all his fear.

#sp: patrick #patrick #reoccurrence

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notapaladin · 3 years

Text

burn your kingdom down

me: i wrote something with teomitl losing his shit when acatl was killed, let’s have it the other way around this time!

me, 10k words later: oops

tl;dr: Dealing with Tezcatlipoca a second time (see Obsidian Shards) is bad enough, but then...oh, then the Smoking Mirror decides to pay back His personal grudge, and Acatl gets to show him why you don’t ever mess with a High Priest for the Dead. And why you especially don’t do that by threatening Teomitl’s life in front of him. There’s some gore in this!

Also on AO3!

Acatl probably should have remained on his guard, but the Empire had finally seemed to be stabilizing itself. Of course he could still feel the boundaries straining around Tizoc’s existence, and of course there was still the terrible fallout of the plague to deal with—nobody in his order had been getting enough sleep, and Ichtaca had outright threatened to hand him over to Mihmatini if he didn’t take better care of himself—but aside from that, there had been no outstanding supernatural cases for him to concern himself with in months. He’d even had time for semi-regular meals at Neutemoc’s house.

And then, naturally, the first bodies started turning up outside the palace, and it all started going downhill from there.

One dead man was bad enough. Two was a pattern. By the time Acatl was summoned to examine the corpse of the third one, still without anything he was comfortable calling a lead, he was starting to get annoyed. In all three the circumstances had been the same—there would be a disused alley or an empty courtyard, clear one moment and hosting a fresh corpse the next. Each one had been left closer and closer to the palace walls, an obvious warning. No—an obvious threat.

At least nobody had disturbed this one yet. The setting sun bathed the courtyard in long shadows, forcing him to work by torchlight, but the magical traces were clear.

“Same as the rest?”

Teomitl stood in the entrance, arms folded across his chest. He’d found the first body and hadn’t stopped scowling since. It only softened slightly when their eyes met, which was something Acatl was not going to think about. Not with murders to solve, at any rate.

He’d long since dropped to both knees for a better look at the latest victim; now he stretched, rolling his shoulders back and wincing at the crack of cartilage. Maybe Teomitl’s on to something with the training regime. Or maybe I’m getting old. “Mm. Strangled, and the heart carved out. And the magic surrounding the corpse isn’t from the underworld.” Still, it felt horribly familiar, and he frowned down at the exposed chest cavity. The knife that had been used to open it had left a shard behind smaller than his littlest fingernail; as he plucked it out, a greasy shimmer caught the light. Not Mictlan’s green, but close.

Teomitl nodded, grimacing. “Tizoc is getting impatient.”

The mental image of Tizoc’s impatience pulled an instinctive growl from his throat as he rolled to his feet, gingerly holding the obsidian shard. While he and Acamapichtli still weren’t what he’d call friends—lately the man had taken to asking after Teomitl’s health in a distinctly insinuating way that made him want to hit something—he remembered Tlaloc’s slain clergy whenever they met, and every time it sent a hot spike of treasonous anger through him. “Hrmph.”

Judging by the look on his face, Teomitl was thinking along the same lines. “And we still don’t know enough to satisfy him. I’ll try to delay him as much as I can, but he’ll want answers.” Then he sighed, eyeing the dead man. “I think I would have preferred a beast of shadows. At least you could track those.”

“I’m not eager to fight another one of those things.” The memories of the last time were entirely too clear for comfort. “Bring that torch closer?”

Teomitl obligingly held the torch closer, frowning over Acatl’s shoulder as he prodded at the knife shard with his priest-senses. Definitely not underworld magic, but I’ve felt this before. I know I have. But where—

He fumbled it, and Teomitl slid a hand under his to catch it before it hit the ground. The reaction as it struck the web of Huitzilopochtli’s protection layered over his skin was immediate; Teomitl hissed through gritted teeth at the flareup of light, and Acatl snatched it back hastily. It had left a red mark behind.

All at once, Acatl remembered where he’d felt this particular magic before. No. Duality preserve us, not again. But Teomitl’s fingers were shaking, and that demanded his attention first. “Are you alright?”

Teomitl glared viciously at his own hand as though it had betrayed him. “I’m fine. What is that thing?”

“A knife shard.” Memories painted themselves across his mind—a bloodstained courtyard in Colhuacan, Ceyaxochitl nearly dying in front of him, striking down a god with the Wind of Knives at his back. “Covered in Tezcatlipoca’s magic.”

For a moment, Teomitl was silent. Acatl wondered what he was thinking; he’d told him and Mihmatini about that particular case once over dinner, but where Mihmatini had been upset at how close he’d come to death, Teomitl had just gone quiet. It was the same sort of quiet he saw in his face now. Then he took a slow breath and squared his shoulders, and Acatl watched as the youth he’d once mentored—the youth he’d once feared would be reckless and uncontrollable and a perfect mirror of Tizoc—became the Master of the House of Darts. “Right. You have our permission,”—he used the royal we, that marker of his status as the keeper of Tenochtitlan’s armory—”to do whatever you have to in order to catch the dog’s son who’s been doing this. I’ll see that you have every resource at our disposal. But you’re not to go off after him alone, understand?”

Acatl blinked, taken aback by the vehemence in his tone. “I wasn’t planning to.”

Teomitl studied the mark on his hand as though it was the most fascinating thing in the world. “Good. I just...I don’t want you to forget you’re not just a simple priest anymore, Acatl. You shouldn’t be charging into things on your own.”

He’d heard Teomitl speak with that tone of angry concern before, but never with so much softness mixed in. And never while saying his name like that. His face burned, and he had to look away. “I won’t. I’ll—I’ll call for you before I make a move, alright?”

“See that you do.”

Acatl was spared from answering by the arrival of his clergy ready to take in the body for further examination, and by the time he looked up again Teomitl was gone.

Things moved very quickly after that.

Yes, the knife shard was definitely impregnated with Tezcatlipoca’s power. No, His priests had no idea where it could have come from and were downright insulted by the notion that it could have been one of them, suggesting it was a rogue sorcerer—which didn’t narrow it down in the slightest. No, nobody knew the dead man; like the others, he’d been a recent arrival to Tenochtitlan, a porter with no connections in the city or anyone who could have wished him harm. The merchant who’d most recently hired him barely even remembered his name.

Acatl did, though. He made sure of it. Quiahuitl, age around thirty-five, born in Tlacopan. No living relatives aside from an elderly aunt, also in Tlacopan, who would probably never know of her nephew’s murder. When he heard that, he thought of his own nieces and nephews and had to take a moment to breathe. I’ll give you justice. I swear. Calling up his soul for answers only gave them a vague direction within the city—south—and no further leads.

But Teomitl was as good as his word, and that helped immensely. In the days following his discovery of the shard, Acatl grew used to at least one seasoned warrior hovering around the gates of his temple; evidently Teomitl had ordered them to put themselves at his disposal, and though he was leery of pushing their loyalty too far he had to admit it was wonderful having extra sets of legs with which to cover ground. Teomitl himself showed up two days into their investigation to see how they were progressing.

...And also, apparently, to ensure Acatl remembered to eat food and catch more than three hours of sleep, which he snapped out in a huff and followed up with “Mihmatini worries about you.” It didn’t in any way detract from the way he was blushing. Acatl ate the meal he’d brought over and tried very, very hard not to think about that.

Mostly he succeeded. There was work to do, after all. Still, he had to sleep, and while his body was exhausted his mind began to race as soon as he laid down. Teomitl was fitting into his role as though it was made for him, arrogance polishing itself into steady authority and his usual impatience visibly kept in check. The more Acatl watched him with his warriors, the more he could hardly believe he’d had a hand in shaping him into the man he’d become. There’d been a moment, backlit by the sun, where he’d looked at him and nearly been bowled over by the depth of his pride.

But it wasn’t pride that kept him awake. He stared up at the dark ceiling without seeing it, because his mind’s eye was full of the long line of Teomitl’s spine, the rippling muscles of his arms and shoulders, the radiance of his smile. His fingers twitched with the remembrance of how badly he’d wanted to take Teomitl’s hand in his. Ah. I still love him.

Looking back, he couldn’t tell when it had begun; it seemed he’d simply woken up one day with the knowledge sitting in his heart like a hot cinder. The sky was blue. Water was wet. He, High Priest for the Dead, was in love with Teomitl. As much as he intended to go on ignoring it—Teomitl was not his to want for so many different reasons, not to mention that there was surely no way under the heavens the man would want him in return—it had a terrible tendency to resurface at the worst moments.

He closed his eyes. It didn’t help. We have a sorcerer to catch. I have murders to stop. This...I cannot be distracted by my feelings. It’s not as though I can ever tell him—gods, he’d probably never speak to me again. I have to forget about this.

Eventually, mind still full, he drifted off to sleep.

Of all people, it was Ezamahual who followed the traces of magic to a merchant’s warehouse in Zoquipan. The trail was old—whatever spells had been wrought there had begun to fade—but there was enough for a connection, and after a long night of questioning the people living around it, preparations begun. Its neighbors were all ordinary people with no magical training, but they were entirely forthcoming with what little they’d noticed. There had been tendrils of dark smoke in the air, a chill breeze coming from odd angles, men in plain cloaks slipping into the building in the dead of night when they all knew that the merchant who owned it had been away on business for nearly a year.

Acatl had made a promise to Teomitl, and he didn’t intend to break it. He sent word to the palace.

“We’re ready.”

Since you’re so determined to worry over me, he didn’t say. More and more, he was starting to wonder if the stories he’d shared of his cases before becoming High Priest had actually upset the man. It didn’t seem possible. Teomitl was a seasoned warrior who took enough risks with his own life; surely the idea of Acatl wading into danger wouldn’t affect him so.

He didn’t have much time to ponder it, though, because Teomitl arrived at the head of a small group of warriors barely an hour later. He looked just as resplendent in an ordinary warrior’s padded cotton tunic as he did in the full regalia of the Frightful Specter, and Acatl had a hard time tearing his eyes away. It was worse when he looked over Acatl’s assembled priests and flashed a thin blade of a smile. “Let’s go.”

They went.

Boats might have been faster, but the risk of alerting their quarry wasn’t one Acatl was willing to take. They strode through the city at a measured pace, and he found his gaze lingering on Teomitl’s back. The last time he’d been in Zoquipan…

“He’s mine. Aren’t you, Acatl-tzin?”

He squeezed his eyes shut, shuddering at that memory. He’d forgiven Teomitl, but it was impossible for him to ever forget the sick anger and the fear that had nearly choked him that day. He sent a brief prayer of thanks to the Duality that Chalchiuhnenetl had been effectively banished; Teomitl had informed him in a carefully neutral tone that she was living in Coyoacan now, about as far as you could get from anything and still be technically within city limits. She wouldn’t be breathing any more poison into Teomitl’s ear, and Teomitl had grown past any urges to listen to it. That, at least, would no longer be a problem.

But it was still a distraction, one he didn’t need. He grit his teeth and banished it from his mind. No. I have to focus. The warehouse should be around here.

The buildings grew smaller and more densely packed as they walked, their frescoes less and less elaborate until they finally started to fade out entirely. There was something unsettling about all that blank white adobe, bare of even the shadow of paint. He tried not to let his gaze linger on it for too long. The people, too, seemed faded—not precisely shabby, for this wasn’t a poor part of town, but worn-out and too careful. Old, beaten dogs, he thought. He wondered what else their quarry might have done.

“Hm.” Teomitl had fallen back to walk next to him, and was eyeing the area critically. He’d accepted a sword crafted of proper magical obsidian for this mission; now he rested a hand on its hilt as though contemplating when to lift it. “Does this place feel odd to you?”

Since he’d been trying to get his shoulders to unhunch themselves from up around his ears for the past quarter-hour—despite knowing that he’d dealt with Tezcatlipoca’s creatures before, his body was having other ideas and seemed determined to ring the alarum bells—he grimaced at the question. “It does. What are you thinking?”

“...That this area shouldn’t be this…” He waved a frustrated hand. “Dark. It feels dark. I don’t like it.”

He nodded. “How does your magic feel?”

Teomitl closed his eyes on a slow exhale. When he opened them again, jade reflections swam in his pupils for an instant before vanishing. “It doesn’t feel as though there’s been a curse or anything cast recently, but…”

Just to be sure, Acatl cut his own earlobes and whispered the words of a spell. Nothing. They were still walking down the same quiet street with warriors and priests surrounding them in a tight formation, Teomitl all jade-green brilliance by his side. “I don’t see anything. Stay on your guard.”

Teomitl snorted. “As though I’ve been off it since we got here?”

“You’re not the only one who worries,” he snapped without thinking. He regretted it almost immediately; an argument at this stage would be the farthest thing from helpful, and there was little Teomitl hated more than being an object of concern.

But Teomitl—for once—wasn’t arguing. He turned his face away, but not before Acatl caught the faint tinge of red in his cheeks. “Hrmph.”

He pinched his ears to stop the flow of blood. It was that or give into the sudden, absurd desire to swipe a thumb across one of those high cheekbones and see just how hard that made Teomitl blush. Sternly, he banished the thoughts from his mind. He’d probably take my hand off for the insolence, and I’d deserve it. I don’t have the right.

After a long moment, Teomitl spoke again. “...It wasn’t like this before. I’m sure of it.”

“Oh?”

Teomitl’s gaze slid over the entrances of houses and his warriors’ faces with the same coldness. He didn’t look in Acatl’s direction. “Chalchiuhnenetl wouldn’t have tolerated a thing like this in her domain. Her departure must have created a space for these bastards to flourish.”

He took a breath. “...Do you regret—“

“No.” It came out in a near-snarl. “I only wish I could have removed her from the Fifth World altogether.”

Then he did turn his face back towards Acatl, and Acatl’s breath caught at the look in his eye. He’d seen Teomitl furious, of course, but not like this. Not accompanied by so much self-recriminating guilt, as though by failing his own high standards he’d failed Acatl too. It made something twinge hard in his chest. “...Teomitl…”

Teomitl stiffened, shaking his head. “Never mind. We need to keep moving. You said it’s not far?” At Acatl’s nod, he switched to his usual impatient stride.

Acatl kept pace, unable to stop himself from glancing at Teomitl out of the corner of his eye. Teomitl’s spine was rigid and his muscles tense; he wanted, desperately, to take his hand. He settled for brushing against his arm as they walked, resolutely closing his mind to all acknowledgment of the way Teomitl shivered at the touch. It meant nothing. For his own sanity, he had to believe it meant nothing.

Then another two warriors slipped out of a side street with a nod at Teomitl, falling into step with them as they turned a corner. He knew they were close. As they continued, a ripple of alertness ran through his priests; he felt his own blood turn to ice as a yawning cavern opened in his gut.

“Acatl-tzin?” One of his newer priests drew close, biting his lip.

He set his hands on his knives, feeling the staccato beat of wrong wrong wrong pulse through him. Even his previous encounter with Tezcatlipoca hadn’t made him feel quite this ill, and he willed himself not to retch. The raw emptiness of Mictlan didn’t help much. “We move in. Quietly.” Gods, I hope we’re not too late. The previous murders had all been roughly two weeks apart, but it wasn’t impossible that the perpetrator had decided to speed things up, especially if they felt threatened. And it had taken only four deaths last time for Tezcatlipoca to be summoned into the world.

It’s not the same. He breathed out slowly, seeking calm. All the victims last time had obsidian mirror shards in their hearts, and it looked from the outside as though their hearts had simply given out. These men were strangled, their hearts torn out—it’s not an overreaching god trying to meddle in the Fifth World. No, these deaths were by mortal hands, and mortal hands will avenge them.

They made it within sight of the building—small and nondescript, no windows, exactly the same as every other building on the street—when he felt the tension in the air snap.

He reeled. Around him he was vaguely aware of his priests crying out, heard the confused mutters of Teomitl’s warriors, but he couldn’t respond. All within him was a howling abyss, a screaming tempest that filled his nose with the stench of a thousand funeral pyres and scorched his lungs when he tried to breathe. He dropped to his knees and felt pain radiate up his legs from the impact with the packed earth, but the choked-off scream that gurgled out of his throat had nothing to do with any bodily injury.

Chaos. This is— He blinked frantically, but his eyes refused to focus. Black spots danced at the edges of his blurry vision, and for a terrible moment he thought he was going to faint.

“Acatl?!”

Teomitl, frantic. He dimly registered strong, calloused hands on his shoulders, but he couldn’t make his own hands work long enough to do anything about them.

“Something’s happened,” he gasped.

Teomitl’s hands left him. He didn’t shout, but the clear authority in his voice must have gotten everyone’s attention anyway, because the noise around them abated. “Stop.”

“Acatl-tzin, are you—“

He forced himself upright on shaky legs, breathing hard. Slowly his vision cleared, and he became aware that his priests, though shaken, hadn’t been affected nearly as badly as he had. There was the occasional magical downside to being a High Priest. “I’m fine. Let’s keep moving.”

Teomitl hadn’t gone far, and now he studied him thoughtfully for a long moment. Finally, he nodded and turned to address his warriors. “You heard Acatl-tzin. Be ready for anything.”

They advanced as a loose unit. Acatl saw hands resting on sword hilts, noticed the way a few of the other priests were nervously hefting their knives.

As they drew closer to the building, he could taste the magic; it hung thick and acrid on his tongue. Pyres. The smoke of an erupting volcano. The blood of jaguars. Obsidian, heated until it melts and then reshaped into—into—gods, no—

He broke into a run.

Of course, the warriors all outpaced him immediately, but he and his priests formed a tight knot hard on their heels. They burst into the warehouse nearly at the same time; he almost ran right into Teomitl’s back when the man stopped suddenly, staring into the dark room beyond. “Southern Hummingbird blind me.”

Then he stepped aside so the rest of them could enter, and Acatl was hard-pressed not to echo him. We’re too late. Duality strike me down for a fool, we’re too late.

The warehouse itself was empty; whatever had been stored there had long since been moved out. In its place, someone had traced a quincunx and glyphs that covered nearly the entire floor, fresh blood covering the old ones until Acatl couldn’t tell what they’d been originally. Sloppy, mused the analytical part of his brain. Or else each ritual was only intended for a single use. He couldn’t tell immediately if all the blood used had been human; if so, it represented far more than the three dead men they’d found.

No, he corrected himself. The four dead men they’d found.

The last one was on the opposite end of the room outside of the array; he had been laid on a curved stone, the better to pull out his heart. Acatl skirted the edges of the room carefully to take a closer look, aware all the time of Teomitl behind him.

The dead man’s blood was still steaming. He knew what he would feel when he touched the skin, but he did it anyway. He needed only a brief moment to confirm his suspicions. “He’s still warm. This happened a few minutes ago, at most.”

One of the priests tilted his head back to glare up at the opening in the roof as though it would provide answers. “Nobody’s here. Surely we should have seen it if they’d climbed out?”

A burly warrior swore and snarled, “We’ve been watching the area all day; nobody’s left!”

Teomitl raised his voice. “Search everywhere—“

Something covered the skylight, and they were plunged into darkness so absolute that Acatl couldn’t even see his own hand in front of his face.

No. Oh, no.

He didn’t dare move. From the noises around him, the rest of their forces weren’t following suit; he heard thuds and curses and a distinct grumble of “That was my foot, Chimalli!” He wondered how they were even finding the words to complain. His own tongue seemed to have been frozen to the roof of his mouth, and he could no more have spoken than he could have sprouted wings.

The air stung his eyes. He blinked, breathed in, and tasted smoke again. Slowly, he regained control of his tongue. “Move towards the entrance. Whatever’s coming, we don’t want to be trapped in here with i—“

A frigid tide of magic knocked him off his feet and sent him crashing hard, back-first, into a rough adobe wall. He curled instinctively to protect his head, but it still rattled him; when he could think again, he registered the burn of scraped skin and a distinct throbbing ache that would no doubt be a spectacular bruise tomorrow. Teomitl. He was next to me. Where…?

He opened his eyes and immediately wished he hadn’t.

The dead man was sitting up. The smoke and darkness that had filled the room had been wrapped around his limbs; Acatl saw the shadows of a jaguar headdress, the crumbling remains of a shinbone and foot wrapped in something like the ghost of obsidian, and felt his insides turn to ice. Around him, the warriors and priests they’d gathered had been flattened to the ground in groaning agony; those who had been furthest from the epicenter were staggering painfully to their feet. None of them had been able to reach their weapons yet. Teomitl had been flung into the opposite wall, and from the way he was favoring one hand Acatl prayed he hadn’t injured something.

It seemed to take an eternity for him to stand and draw his knives. By the time he managed it, Tezcatlipoca had swung His legs down off the sacrifice stone and was looking over the assembled warriors with the air of a nobleman inspecting a merchant’s stall and finding only shoddy goods. “So this is how I am greeted?”

“No.” It was too soft, and he lifted his voice. He couldn’t draw enough breath to scream. “No.”

The god turned slowly, head tilted. The empty space where His heart had been shone green and horrible. “Oh,” Tezcatlipoca said with a rictus grin. “Little Acatl. I remember you.”

It hurt to breathe. He sucked in air anyway. “Then you remember what happened last time, my lord. Let the man go, and return to your place in the heavens.”

“...Hmmm.” Tezcatlipoca’s grin didn’t budge. “I don’t think so. This world deserves a new order.”

Then he opened his arms, and the array flared to life.

The surge of magic brought Acatl to his knees, but that probably saved his life; when the first ashen jaguar leapt from the quincunx, its spots black voids, he was able to dodge its first swipe and slice sideways at its paw, pinning it to the ground and buying himself just enough time to scramble out of range.

Some of his priests weren’t so lucky. He heard screaming, felt the bursts of magical protections activating and living blood hitting the edges of obsidian knives, but he didn’t have time to look. The jaguar still had a second front paw and a set of enormous fangs, and it was doing its best to rip itself free for another try at him.

An arm landed nearly at his feet. One of the screaming voices cut off with a horribly final gurgle. He dropped to one knee again, discovered to his considerable relief that Tezcatlipoca’s jaguars did die when they were stabbed in the throat with magical obsidian, and risked the briefest of glances to see how the battle was going.

It was chaos.

All around him men were fighting for their lives; the jaguars outnumbered them two to one, and though they died like any animal they seemed to get stronger as more blood was spilled. With a spike of horror, he saw one flow around a sword-strike, rippling like water, and savage the warrior holding it. The last time any of his priests had been in battle like this had been when Tlaloc had made his bid for the Fifth World, but the same tactics that had served them well against Tlaloc’s creatures weren’t working nearly as well here. The air was full of a choking miasma that weighed on the limbs, making it hard even for Acatl to breathe; he wasn’t sure how the rest of them were managing.

Teomitl, at least, had had the presence of mind to summon his ahuizotls. He fought surrounded by them, jade-carved and glorious, adding algae and deep water to the stench in the air, and for a moment Acatl had hope. It lasted until a jaguar bit one of his ahuizotl’s heads off, and the magical backlash dropped Teomitl to a knee just in time to grapple with it.

I have to fight. I have to… But there wasn’t enough clear space anywhere for a quincunx, and some effect of Tezcatlipoca’s incarnation seemed to be slowing his thoughts. The god himself was lounging on His sacrificial stone as though it were a throne, watching the battle with undisguised glee, and Acatl hated Him. With effort, he rose and took a step forward.

The wind blowing through his soul rose to a mourning wail, and he gasped at the chill that seized his bones—but when a lament sounded in his mind, he could have wept in relief.

Acatl. I am coming.

He didn’t think he’d ever been so glad to hear the Wind of Knives. We took Him down once. We can do it again.

He flung himself into the fray. All else faded but the need to keep moving, to keep his allies safe. Lord Death’s protection flowed over him like a veil—meager in the face of so many jaguars, but the cold pit of despair under his ribs kept him alert and went some way towards clearing his mind of Tezcatlipoca’s smoke. It, and his knives, would have to be enough to hold them until the Wind of Knives arrived from His cenote. He slit the throat of one jaguar, narrowly dodged the grasping claws of another, and nearly collided with a priest clutching the stump of his arm as the life faded from his eyes.

We’re losing ground. A coil of intestines wrapped around his ankle, and he nearly stumbled before catching himself and turning it into a swipe along the ribcage of a jaguar trying to maul one of Teomitl’s warriors. The man barely had a moment to catch his breath before he was screaming, choked and awful, as another one latched its jaws around his neck.

Another scream cut off behind him. He whirled to meet a jaguar, its jaws bloody, only to recoil as an ahuizotl literally dragged it backwards and went for its eyes. Thank you, Teomitl. But there was another to replace it, and as he fought for his life he heard—felt—a warrior die. A priest was next. Another warrior, this one collapsing in front of him with his face gone.

He sucked in a breath and clamped it behind his teeth before it could escape in a scream of pure rage. No.

He forced himself towards Tezcatlipoca, shutting his ears to the sounds of men dying around him. If I kill him, this ends. He could feel the Wind of Knives drawing ever closer, and when He arrived the tables would turn. They could hold out until then. He was sure of it. He lost a knife in a jaguar’s ribs, picked up a sword from a fallen warrior’s hands and swung blindly, savagely, at anything in his way until it splintered—and he didn’t look behind him or around him, because if he let himself be distracted then all was lost. He just had to get into position for when the Wind of Knives arrived...

It was growing horribly silent. The god was watching the carnage avidly, giggling to Himself as blood splattered the floor—but then His gaze fell on Acatl, and He frowned thoughtfully.

“Hmm...I think not.”

A jaguar bore him to the ground, and he screamed as its claws raked his back. Pinned on his stomach, he couldn’t even twist out of its hold. This is it. He couldn’t breathe. He knew, with distant clarity, that a rib had been broken. Cold, stinging smoke blew over the back of his neck. This is where I die.

“Acatl!”

Jade Skirt’s magic like a flood washing over him. A crunch—the jaguar went limp, heavy dead weight for a moment before dissipating into smoke—and then, before he could even rise, a scream. Teomitl’s scream, raw with pain. A wet thud.

He was on his feet before he even realized he was moving, utterly blind to the searing agony radiating from his ribs through every limb. All the men they’d brought with them were dead or dying, and Teomitl was crumpled on the ground with a jaguar’s bloody claws in his chest. His tunic had been ripped apart, loose fabric dyed crimson with his blood; Acatl couldn’t tell if he was breathing or not.

“Teomitl.” It came out in a flayed whisper.

Teomitl made a sound. It was more of a gurgle than anything else, but it meant he was alive. Barely. Acatl could see the dull gleam of exposed bone and knew that they were out of time. That they wouldn’t be able to stall until the Wind of Knives arrived, because unless Teomitl saw a healer—and gods, he was trying to move, he’d only bleed out faster—he was going to die. That he’d cared for him in a thousand small ways, had made a home for himself in his heart, had just saved his life, and he was bleeding out in front of Acatl’s eyes.

Red rage descended over him, and he lunged for Tezcatlipoca.

The likelihood of his own death, any possible strategy—it all vanished from his mind. All he could think about, all that mattered, was sending Tezcatlipoca back to His place in the heavens as swiftly and as violently as possible. You hurt him. You dared—you dared lay your hands upon—

The raw scream that burst from his throat was cut short when Tezcatlipoca grabbed his arm, His touch like being flayed with dull knives, and tossed him aside like a ragdoll. Acatl hit the ground and rolled, landing hard on his side; all he could do was lay there, stunned, and watch as Tezcatlipoca strolled over to where Teomitl had fallen. “...No...”

Negligently, the god waved his jaguar away. “Oh, stupid mortal. This isn’t like the last time.” His voice was a thing of unholy glee.

Acatl couldn’t move. Everything hurt, and he was sure his arm was broken. Each breath scorched his lungs and sent a nauseous spike of agony through his chest. He could barely even feel his fingers wrapped around the handle of his knife. If he’d had enough breath, he was sure he’d be weeping.

And the god was still talking. “You see, this time, little Acatl...I don’t have a heart for you to stab.” He knelt over Teomitl’s prone form and grabbed his jaw, cruelly forcing his head up so Acatl could see his face. “So I’m going to take the man who holds yours. I think that’s a fair trade.”

No.

It beat in his head like a heartbeat, and he couldn’t think past the enormity of it. “You can’t.” Somehow he got his feet under him and pushed himself up with his good arm. He nearly slipped in a puddle of blood; though he caught himself on one knee, it winded him, and he had to take a moment to breathe. “I—will not—allow it.”

Tezcatlipoca laughed, high and cruel. “You can’t stop me.”

Acatl closed his eyes. He didn’t have time for a long ritual; he could barely focus on the words of even the simplest spells. The Wind of Knives would never arrive in time. All he had was a single knife and raw determination.

And he was High Priest for the Dead facing an inhabited corpse, a transgressor of the boundaries he kept, in a room full of men whose living blood was still dripping from the walls to soak into the floor.

Yes. I can.

His fingers tightened on his knife hilt, feeling the ridges of the leather cord wrapping for an instant before he opened himself up to the power stored within the underworld obsidian, that direct connection to Mictlan he’d only ever called on once before. It didn’t get easier the second time. The bottom dropped out of his stomach, rage draining out in favor of a deep, hollow emptiness. He felt dry dust under his fingers, felt the way his bones ached and shifted under his skin. In his mind rose the lament of lost souls carried on a chilling, biting wind. We go down into the dust, into the darkness. We go down, Lord of the Place of Death, to stand before Your throne.

There was a ritual he’d been taught when he ascended to his place as High Priest, one that had almost never been used in the history of the Empire. There was fresh, wet blood on his hands.

His eyes snapped open. The skin of his hands was smoke and translucent obsidian, gray dust like clouds where the fibers of muscle should be. He could make out his own bones underneath it all, glowing like distant torches or the last shimmers of moonlight at the bottom of the lake. The faintest breeze in the air brought the dying whispers of a ghostly lament to his ears, stirring the loose ends of his hair.

Tezcatlipoca was still smirking, gently amused. “Good, you’ve decided to watch while I kill him. I knew you were no coward.”

The blood splattering the floor pulsed like a heartbeat. In, out. In, out. The blood of a dozen men slain in battle, their souls not yet delivered to the Sun’s Heaven. One living High Priest with a blade of underworld obsidian to direct the flow of magic.

“O Lord,” he breathed, “I deliver this transgressor to You.”

He saw the exact moment Tezcatlipoca realized what he was going to do; the god’s eyes widened, and then He was flowing towards him like a jaguar Himself, all smoke and teeth and fury. In a moment He’d be on him, and then they would stand no chance.

Acatl slashed open the back of his hand, tracing a quincunx in his own blood, and slammed it down onto the nearest dead man’s face.

The man’s spirit erupted from his cooling skin. His comrades’ souls joined his, flowing out of open mouths and open wounds like smoke. Those who had lost limbs were limbless now; those whose heads had been torn off were headless. Gaping wounds bled gray, powdery dust into the air. They formed a wall around Acatl, but he could still see through them—could see Tezcatlipoca stop midstride, could see Him slowly and instinctively take a step backwards as though freezing in place would protect Him.

The ghosts descended, and the god screamed.

There were words in that scream—something about how he was going to reign, how they had no right to stop him—but Acatl was past caring about it. All he could do was hold onto the magic running through him, the underworld flowing in a torrent through his veins. While he focused, the ghosts would maintain their forms and their connection to the Fifth World, and he couldn’t let them go until it ended. Until the sliver of Smoking Mirror’s power was fully severed from the body He’d borrowed, banished back to the Heavens.

His lungs burned. His heart beat slow and sluggish in his chest. He rose and took a step forward, and it felt like he was moving through tar.

He spoke, and the syllables lay on his tongue like the finality of the grave. “Your time is not yet come.”

He felt it when Tezcatlipoca’s presence in the Fifth World vanished; the smoke and ash in the air dissipated, and the heavy mist that had hung over his mind began to clear. When he breathed, he smelled only blood and fresh death. As the body dropped—now only so much meat—he took another breath, filling his lungs, and ran the flat of his knife over his bloody hand until his connection to the underworld was severed.

The ghosts left gratefully, voices like the rustling of dry leaves. Thank you. Thank you, priest.

He wobbled on his feet, drained down to the marrow of his bones. He felt halfway to being a ghost himself; for an instant it was hard to remember who he was or what still had to be done.

Then it came back to him in a flash and he ran, stumbling through gore and fatigue, to Teomitl’s side.

Teomitl was still laying where he’d fallen, one hand pressed to the ruin of his torso. Up close, the extent of his injuries took Acatl’s breath away. He’d been mauled; a drawing swipe of razor-sharp claws had opened his chest to the bone and continued all the way to his stomach, deep enough to slice through the muscles of his abdomen. As Acatl approached, he turned and blinked blindly in his direction. “Ah...Acatl…”

Acatl dropped to his knees next to him, tearing off his cloak with shaking hands. His abused arm screamed, but he ignored the pain. He had to stop the bleeding before he could do anything else—but Duality, there was so much blood. “Don’t try to talk.”

He pressed the cloth directly on his wounds, and Teomitl didn’t even flinch. He’d lost a lot of blood already; the heartbeat under Acatl’s fingers was distressingly weak. “Mm.” He tried to raise his head, but flopped bonelessly down a moment later. His voice was so soft that Acatl almost missed it. “I love you.”

He loves me. It wasn’t possible. It wasn’t possible that he was hearing this now, of all times, with the man dying in his arms. He was, for a moment, absolutely sure that no air was making it to his lungs. “Teomitl.” It came out in a rasp. “By all the gods, shut up.”

Teomitl’s smile was red and horrible, blood staining his teeth. Acatl could have wept. “Wanted...to make sure you knew.”

“I love you too—“ Teomitl coughed wetly, and Acatl felt his pulse stutter. Before he knew it, he was grabbing his hand and squeezing it like a lifeline, eyes burning with unshed tears. “Teomitl, Teomitl, I love you so much but you have to stay with me, please!”

There was a strangled, awful attempt at a laugh. “I know what a mortal wound looks like, Acatl.”

No. No, gods, no. “It’s not mortal—it’s not, you’ll be fine, you just have to lay still! Help is coming, I promise, just—“ He cut himself off with a sob. I can’t lose you. Not you.

A shaking, bloodstained hand came up to cup his cheek, thumb gently stroking away his tears. “...Should have told you sooner.”

The hand fell.

Grief and terror surged through his veins with a ferocity that nearly sickened him, and for a moment all he could do was curl around Teomitl and fight back tears. He wanted to weep. He wanted to break something. He wanted to carry Teomitl in his arms and run to safety, but his arm was broken and Teomitl’s injuries were so severe that moving him unwisely would only deal further damage. Duality—gods, please. Please don’t take him from me.

He felt the Wind of Knives’ arrival, but didn’t bother turning around. Keeping pressure on Teomitl’s wounds was more important. His pulse was fluttering like a trapped bird, and Acatl really didn’t like the way he was breathing. Gods, let him not have punctured a lung too.

The minor god’s voice echoing through his mind at this distance was enough to send a chill down his spine. I see you didn’t need my help. He sounded almost amused. If the circumstances had been different, Acatl would have punched Him.

“Teomitl does.” His voice cracked on the words. “Find someone—”

A hand came to rest on his shoulder, the knife-points of the obsidian shards barely even tickling. Rest. Do not weep. You have been a valiant comrade, Acatl, and for that I will grant you this favor.

The Wind of Knives swept out the door, and he took a slow, shuddering breath. Another. Another.

By the time a half-dozen civilians burst into the room with the announcement that the High Priest of Patecatl had been sent for, he’d stopped crying. Teomitl’s heartbeat had remained steady under his hand, and he drew strength from that.

He’ll be alright, he thought. He has to be.

It still took entirely too long for Acatl’s liking. The black-robed High Priest of Patecatl was an older man, hard-eyed and serious and not at all appreciative of being dragged halfway across the city with his entourage, but he took one look at Teomitl’s injuries and sucked in his breath before swearing softly and ordering Acatl to leave.

“But—“ he began.

“This is a very delicate process, Acatl. Move.” Judging by his narrowed eyes and the set of his shoulders, he was prepared to shove Acatl out of the room himself if he was too slow.

Acatl moved. That this meant he could have his injuries looked at by one of the other priests was immaterial; even the grinding, nauseating pain of having a definitely-broken bone wedged into place and splinted before they began casting spells to speed its healing wasn’t enough to distract him from the increasingly frantic chanting going on inside. Heavens, do not take him. Not yet. Please.

When Ichtaca arrived to relieve him of the task of dealing with their slain comrades, he had to take a moment to remember that he was, indeed, still the High Priest for the Dead. His tongue didn’t seem to want to work properly. His mind didn’t seem to want to work properly. Teomitl said he loves me. “It was...Tezcatlipoca was summoned into the Fifth World. I banished Him, but...“

“Acatl-tzin.” His second was looking at him in something like pity. “You can tell us what happened later. Get some rest.”

“Our priests...the warriors...“

“We will handle their bodies.” He’d brought Palli and Ezamahual with him, and both men were eyeing Acatl as though they expected him to collapse any minute.

The priests of Patecatl were carrying Teomitl out on a stretcher, and his eyes followed the motion helplessly. From this distance, he could just make out the shallow rise and fall of his chest.

Ichtaca didn’t smile, but his demeanor softened. “Rest, Acatl-tzin.”

He started walking. He could rest at the Duality House, once he was sure Teomitl was safe.

The sun was low in the sky, tinting the light gold, and the realization took him aback. Gods, was it really only this morning that we set out? It felt like it had been an eternity ago that he and his priests and Teomitl’s warriors had left his temple; his bones ached as though he’d been awake for years. He still couldn’t believe that he was alone, that Tezcatlipoca’s creatures had cut through the trained fighters he’d brought with him like a knife through wet paper. He drew a long, slow breath. I only lived because He was toying with me. Because—Tlaloc’s lightning strike me, because He holds grudges. I’ll have to be very careful around Him from now on.

Fatigue made his head swim, but he forced himself onwards. Patecatl’s priests moved in a seamless knot, eating up the ground in a similar purposeful stride to the one he’d come to associate with Teomitl—but where Teomitl’s pace seemed to suggest he held some sort of grudge against the ground, the healing priests’ antipathy extended to everyone in their way. He had absolutely no chance of catching up to them, but he could settle for keeping them in sight.

After Teomitl’s words, he refused to do anything else. He loves me. He loves me, and he might yet die. He lost so much blood, and the Duality only knows what effects the Smoking Mirror’s touch might have had on him…

By the time he staggered into the Duality House, it resembled nothing so much as a freshly-disturbed anthill. Priests of the Duality were clustered with Patecatl’s healers, and the courtyards seemed to host far more confused and dismayed warriors than they normally did—the normal number, after how Mihmatini had reacted to Teomitl’s attempt at a coup, being zero. He couldn’t see his sister in the crowds.

Just as he determined he should ask around, she strode out of a small receiving room with a face like thunder. The thread of magic that connected her to Teomitl was a line of fire around one ankle, and by the shaking of her hands she’d already been well informed of her husband’s state. Her husband. Acatl felt briefly sick. Things between them may not be as they were, but he told me—gods. It will break her heart if she finds out.

Mihmatini took one look at him and her expression of barely-contained fury twisted; for a moment he was sure she was going to scream at him, but then she took a long breath and closed her eyes. When she spoke, her voice was steady. “I heard it was the Smoking Mirror. Come in; the healers are still with Teomitl.”

He followed her in. The room held only a fresco of flowering trees for decoration, but there was a table and two mats, and he collapsed onto one with relief. His legs felt like jelly. The next room had to hold Teomitl and the healers; though the entrance curtain was drawn, he could make out quiet chanting and the grassy smell of Patecatl’s magic. A slave must have been waiting for his arrival, because he was served water and a dish of frogs with tomatoes nearly as soon as he’d sat down.

She waited until he’d drank before addressing him. “So.”

“So,” he repeated. The food smelled wonderful, but he wasn’t tempted. He wasn’t sure he could keep anything down.

When she met his gaze, her eyes were hard as flint. “Tezcatlipoca.”

He took a deep breath and told her everything starting from the moment they’d reached the warehouse. By the end his hands were shaking, and he had to clench them into fists in a futile effort to keep his composure. We thought we were going off to face a simple sorcerer. A dozen men are dead because we were wrong.

She covered his hand with her own. For a long while, they didn’t speak.

The first healing priest exiting the sickroom broke their strained silence. His voice was rough and low, as though he’d worn himself out chanting. “Teomitl-tzin will live. You can see him now.”

Mihmatini nearly rushed past him, all dignity as the Guardian forgotten. Acatl waited until all the healers had left, ignoring their sidelong glances, before testing whether his legs would even still support his weight. They did, but barely; he had to catch his breath, leaning on the table, before he could rise fully. The noble thing, the right thing, would be to give Mihmatini space with her husband. As damaged as their relationship had been after the attempted coup, he was sure her love for him hadn’t disappeared. He’d just be an interloper. Unwanted. Intruding.

But Teomitl had told him he loved him, so he followed Mihmatini in.

Teomitl had been laid on a thick mat, his chest and stomach heavily bandaged and his right wrist splinted. His normally-dark skin was distressingly ashen; when Mihmatini clasped his good hand, he didn’t so much as twitch. She made an awful hitching gasp, and Acatl braced himself for her tears—but then she shuddered, inhaled deeply, and looked up at him with glimmering eyes. “Sit down, Acatl.”

Acatl sat, staring at Teomitl’s face. He’d never seen him so still, not even when the plague had struck him down. The bandages were very white against his skin. If he hadn’t been so drained—so empty, after all the events of the day and the magical backlash of using his own body as the rallying standard for a dozen angry ghosts—he thought he might have joined Mihmatini in almost weeping. I was the one who should have told you sooner, Teomitl.

“He’ll be alright,” Mihmatini murmured. She was stroking his hand now, so gently that it broke his heart.

She loves him. She loves him, and I’m a selfish monster for wishing she didn’t. His voice felt like it was coming from very far away. “I know.”

“He’ll wake, and smile like he always does, and he’ll be back to driving me mad with his,“—she made a noise, and it took Acatl a moment to realize it was a twisted snort of amusement—“his awful clinging in his sleep, and all the rolling around he does, and it will be fine. I won’t even want to strangle him over it. Much.”

“...Mm.” He hoped it sounded agreeable, and not as though the mental image was making something clench painfully in his gut. He had no right to be jealous over what he’d never have. When Teomitl woke, he would simply...never mention what the man had told him. Yes. That was a fine idea. His fingers twitched restlessly, and he wished he could wrap them around Teomitl’s hand instead.

She was silent for a long while. When she lifted her head to lock eyes with him, her tone was as matter-of-fact as though she was discussing the weather. “He’s really not that annoying, most of the time. I can see why you’re in love with him.”

Acatl froze, the breath knocked out of him. The yawning pit opening in his stomach had nothing to do with Mictlan. He couldn’t think past the blood roaring in his ears, never mind meet Mihmatini’s gaze—but he couldn’t look away, either, and so he stared blankly through her without seeing her.

Her voice was soft and understanding, and that made it so much worse. “Does he know?”

He thought, briefly and shamefully, of lying. In the next minute he dismissed the idea; he wouldn’t do that to anyone over a matter like this, never mind his own blood. “...I told him. During—I thought he was going to die in my arms.” His throat was so dry and tight he could barely force the words out. “But—Mihmatini—“ I was never going to let it grieve you. I would never step between you two, I know it’s not my place, you’re his lawful wife and my favorite sister and I know how much you still care for him...

She heaved a sigh of pure relief. “Thank the Duality, I was getting sick of him sighing over you.”

“He—I’m sorry, what?!”

His brain seemed to have stopped working. Or perhaps there was something wrong with his ears. There was no way she’d just said what he thought she said. He opened and shut his mouth, but no words came out.

And now the sigh was exasperated, and she was looking at him as though he was the stupidest man alive. While this was hardly unprecedented for her, he couldn’t help feeling it was—for once—undeserved. “You heard me.”

“I...I did, but…” But it didn’t make sense. Gods strike him for a fool, it didn’t make sense. “You knew?”

“I suspected while we were courting, but eventually...he told me himself. After the incident with his sister.” She huffed out a breath, brow furrowing at the memory, and he fought the urge to lay a comforting hand on her shoulder. “It’s the only reason I didn’t divorce him then and there. I would have, you know, if he’d said anything foolish like that he was trying to kill Tizoc-tzin for insulting me, or that he was only trying to remove a corrupt, useless Revered Speaker. And that was part of it, but do you know what he told me first made him want Tizoc-tzin’s head on a spike?”

He shook his head mutely. He couldn’t imagine it.

She dropped her gaze to Teomitl’s bandaged chest, watching for each steady breath. “It was when he and Quenami tried to have you executed for treason.” There was a wry quirk of a smile. “I couldn’t blame Teomitl for that. Murder is an appropriate response in that case, you know!”

“...Oh.” It was all he could say. The memories of that time hadn’t faded in the least, and Teomitl’s seething anger back then suddenly made a terrible amount of sense. It was for me. It was—because he loves me. He’d even want to...gods.

Mihmatini shrugged as though she wasn’t upending his entire view of how the world worked. “I always knew I’d have to share his heart; I’m just glad it’s with you and not some concubine. I know you’ll treat each other well.”

“I…” He swallowed past the lump in his throat and made himself meet her eyes. “I’ll try.” I don’t know how, but for him—I’ll try.

She reached across Teomitl to squeeze his good arm, and her smile warmed his heart. “Take joy where you find it, and with my blessing.”

He had to close his eyes as her words settled. She knows. She knows, and she approves, and I...Duality, I don’t deserve such a sister. Her husband loves me, and I—I am allowed, encouraged, to love him back. When he wakes...we can figure out where to go from there.

“...So long as I never have to hear details.”

He choked, feeling his face catch fire. “Mihmatini!”

It took three days for Teomitl to open his eyes.

Acatl had foolishly thought that he would have the luxury of fretting over him. He quickly discovered he wasn’t so lucky; he barely had time to breathe. Funeral vigils for the slain warriors and his own dead priests had to be arranged, their families notified. The entire plot turned out to have been masterminded by the Smoking Mirror’s host himself, a sorcerer who’d declared himself a member of a group called the Sixth Sun Burning; further questioning of his friends and relations revealed that he was the only member, supposedly making Tizoc froth with impotent rage at not having anyone to execute for it. Acatl was apparently still beneath the Revered Speaker’s notice no matter how many gods he banished, which he couldn’t help but be thankful for. By the time the merchant whose warehouse had been coopted for the scheme arrived, furious in his demand for answers, he was hard-pressed to keep his own temper.

Of course, as soon as he dismissed the merchant, an offering-priest burst into his receiving room. “Acatl-tzin—“ He had to stop and suck in a deep breath before continuing. “Teomitl-tzin has awoken—Mihmatini-tzin said you’d want to be informed—“

He was abruptly no longer tired. He couldn’t remember ever having been tired. “Ichtaca. If anyone needs me, I’ll be at the Duality House.”

Ichtaca exchanged a long-suffering glance with the offering-priest. “Of course, sir.”

He ran.

Mihmatini met him at the gates to the Duality House. There were dark circles under her eyes, but her smile was soft and radiant. “He’s still weak, but he’s recovering well. He’ll be glad to see you.”

He had to stop and take a deep breath, willing himself to be calm. He knew he was blushing, but that couldn’t be helped. “...Thank you.”

Teomitl had been moved to the chambers he was sharing with Mihmatini at some point, the brilliant murals at odds with the stark furnishings. He looked exhausted, still ashen-faced and fragile around the edges, but he was sitting up with only a faint grimace of pain and picking carefully at a dish of flatbread with roasted peppers. When Acatl pushed the entrance curtain aside, he set his plate down and stared up at him. “Oh. Acatl.”

“Teomitl,” he said helplessly. For a moment he couldn’t make his legs work, and then he took the three steps necessary to bring him to Teomitl’s side and sat down hard.

Teomitl was still staring at him as though he couldn’t get enough of the sight. Acatl saw the way his fists clenched in his lap, the little wrinkle of concern between his brows, and ached to soothe him. “You’re alright.”

Truthfully, he didn’t feel alright. The priests of Patecatl had only been able to do so much with what they’d had on hand, and he’d still had very little sleep. But none of that mattered now, because Teomitl was fidgeting and averting his gaze and he couldn’t forget what he’d came here for. “Look, about earlier—I don’t know how much you remember, but…” I love you. I need to tell you properly.

Teomitl went rigid, gaze fixed on a point somewhere on the opposite wall. His voice lashed out like a whip. “I won’t apologize.”

What. He found himself temporarily speechless before managing to get his tongue back in working order. “Apolo—did you not hear me?”

“I.” Teomitl blinked at him. Acatl watched as he slowly turned red, jaw going slack until he shut it with an audible gulp. “Oh. Fuck. That’s what Mihmatini meant.”

“...You didn’t.”

Teomitl let out an annoyed huff, making an impatient stabbing motion with his hand. “I was bleeding out! You picked a terrible time to confess.”

Well, now, that couldn’t be borne. He sucked in a breath. “Says the man who told me he loved me with a hole in his guts—“ But the sensation of hot blood flowing over his hands was still too fresh, and he had to cut himself off with a shudder.

“I thought I was going to die. I didn’t think I’d be around for you to reject me.”

“Well.” He swallowed hard, suddenly and unaccountably nervous. “I’m not.”

“...You’re not.” Teomitl’s blush was back with a vengeance, and he still wasn’t looking directly at him. But he patted the mat next to him, a clear invitation. “...Come here?”

Oh.

Acatl shifted over to sit next to him. For the span of a few heartbeats they still didn’t touch, and he wondered if he was brave enough to make the first move—but then Teomitl’s hand shot out and latched onto his, and he made an entirely involuntary noise that definitely was not a squeak. His heart was beating so hard it was a wonder it stayed in his chest; from the heat in his face, he knew he had to be at least as red as Teomitl was. When their fingers laced together, he found he had no words to describe it.

After a long moment, Teomitl broke the silence between them. “...I truly do love you. I’m sorry it took so long for me to say it.”

There was a shy, soft smile on his face, and Acatl had to smile back. “There’s no need for apologies between us.” Not for this. Not ever for this. You have my heart, no matter what.

Teomitl turned towards him, and he went breathless at the look in his eyes. He knew an instant before it happened that he was going to be kissed, and it was the easiest thing in the world to tilt his head and lean in. He’d imagined it before—gods, had he imagined it, in the kind of detail that had left him frankly humiliated by his own lust afterwards—but nothing could compare to the reality of Teomitl’s mouth on his. He hadn’t expected it to be gentle, hadn’t expected the soft noise Teomitl made when he separated their joined hands to turn into an eager moan when Acatl dared to put an arm around him and pull him closer.

Even when they broke apart, Teomitl was smiling. Their noses brushed as he murmured, “I saw you avenging me, you know. You were magnificent.”

He averted his eyes, feeling something twist unpleasantly in his chest. It wasn’t enough. You still nearly died. “Hmph. Shameless flattery.”

“Acatl.” Warm fingers brushed his cheek. “Duality curse you, take the compliment for once.”

When he parted his lips to protest, Teomitl kissed him again. He decided not to argue.

There were better things he could do with his mouth.

#obsidian and blood #acatl #teomitl #mihmatini #ichtaca #tezcatlipoca: obsblood #paladin writes stuff #gore //

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descendantofthesparrow · 5 years

Text

my version of the d3 timeline

okay so with d3 being out, im going to say something

I thought the timeline would be different.

so here's mine

starts off with good to be bad, obvi

then the choosing of the kids

engagement

vks go get the kids

they pick up the four, but instead of the isle crowd being exited, they’re mad, they want to go to auradon too!!! they shouldn't have to wait around till another vk day (this is back when we all thought isle people would only be chosen annually) so the car speeds out of there, and the now just rejected crowd stands behind the car as it exits

hades.

queen of mean

Audrey grabs the scepter, a plan in mind, but because she is not maleficents blood, she falls into a deep sleep, and in a final bit of magic, makes the scepter and crown disappear from her grasp, and she teleports herself to her bed, making it seem like someone else spelled her

now its the mal ben talk, beast suggests closing the barrier for good, both mal and ben are against it, more ben than mal, but mal soon agrees, bens disappointed, but “understands” then he gets his phone call about the crown and scepter being stolen.

beast suggests uma, mal agrees, Ben = uma protection squad

mal tells evie, the exact same scene happens except with more, “kids who want to go back and see their bothers and sisters, or their parents, we’re just going to take that away from them?!”

mal asks evie “E, since when was any parent good on the isle”

“smee” “that's tight, he never did anything but he certainly never stopped anything” “dr facilier” “he was crap to Freddie, he really only likes Celia” “lefou” “again, never really did anything, but never stopped anything”

evie just sits there, trying to come up with an argument, “what about food, if no one goes in or out, what about the barges?” “the goblins grab that remember, no one actually goes in or out, they just reach across the barrier” evie just looks devastated, while there are a lot of bad parents on the isle, some of them are a lot better than others, like Anastasia, dizzy had said multiple times that she wanted to go back to see her auntie, the one who raised her. then the scene goes on like normal.

then the getting ready for janes party scene.

that's when mal gets a call from ben

“Audreys been spelled, her grandmas been trying to wake her up to no avail.”

mal rushes to head over to the dorms, she gets there, seeing Audrey motionless on her bed.

then either she or FG runs a diagnostics on Audrey, revealing that this was a curse of the scepter.

“the only thing more powerful than the scepter is Hades ember”

mal heads back to Evie's house, telling them all about what was going down, and they needed to go back to the isle for hades ember. mal is about to head inside to get changed when magic strikes her, spelling her into an old hag.

the scene goes on like the movie, but instead of Audrey being there, they think its uma behind all of this.

cut to Audrey, Audrey is awake, and she has the scepter and crown, she releases her sleeping spell at janes party, jane goes underwater, she calls Ben, telling him about Audrey.

ben tries to call mal, but she's on the isle, no cell phone service.

mal and gang head to the isle to grab the ember, Celia tagging along, they go to the arcade to get key, the tv plays the same scene, they still think its uma behind it all, then the same pirate stealing bikes scene.

mal tries to get the ember, but hades catches her doing so, and FYI, hades is NOT mals dad in this version, he asks what she wants, she says she needs it to break a spell, one song later (a hard rock version of do what you gotta do, with no daddy issues shit) hades only agrees to give it to mal IF, his son hadie comes off the isle next. mal “I can't do that” “well then~, I guess no ember for you” procedes to walk away, mal breaks, agreeing to his plan.

mal now has ember, but hades warns her only gods/demigods can use the ember, and she would need either him or another god to use it for her

“ill take my chances” “if it gets wet its game over”

cut to ben and Audrey scene. Audrey curses ben to beast mode. but does not turn FG into stone yet.

the core four + Celia exit the isle, mal goes though her little blue up, but Celia bumps her arm, causing the ember to go flying through the air, right into umas grasp.

in the background, harry and gil are rejoicing.

“it can't get wet! give it back before it goes out!!”

“why? you won't be able to use it, either way, ~ only a god or demi-god can use it...and oh~ your not one, but...I am~”

mal is stubborn not wanting to team up with uma, evie rationalizes with her, “M shes right, we need a god to use the ember, and we have one right in front of us”

“but shes the one who cast the curse in the first place remember?” “mal shes offering an out right now, if we just go along with it she might back off”

“uggg.....fine”

uma cackles, but says one more thing “if you want my help....open the barrier for harry and gil”

jay growls but opens the barrier anyway, the boys don't even wait before jumping though.

uma cackles, releasing her transformation, mal yelps out a no, the ember was gonna get wet.

uma reappears on the bridge, harry nearly tackles her, but he remains mostly calm, gil is just like a retriever tho.

the scene continues on like in the movie, with some exceptions.

“uma give me the ember, I need that to break a spell”

Carlos: “yeah one cast by you”

confused uma is confused “what spell? I didn't cast any spell”

the core four are now stunned, “what? but you cursed Audrey to sleep with my mother's scepter-’

“hold it right there dragon breath, if I used the scepter...wouldnt I be asleep right now? cuz im not maleficents blood, only your mom or you can touch it remember?”

mals brain fizzles out, shit shes right

“but if you didn't do it” evie inquires, “who did?”

uma grins turning to her boys “this seems like a job for pirates!!!!” mal is just frustrated “uma give the ember to me, i need it”

uma just hums ‘well I might not give it back~ just to see what happens”

“uma it's not the time for games peoples lives are in danger!!!”

“guarantee me that every single villain kid that wants too, can get off the isle”

“I can't do that” “can't do that huh *holds it over the edge* well how bout now!!”

“deal!...deal” *uma fake stumbles, harry still tries to catch her*

the scene continues on like in the movie.

they arrive at the school, going to make their way to audreys dorm, but they find everyone asleep.

the scene continues on like in the movie, but dude doesn't talk. so they have no clue on who the culprit is.

mal and the others head to audreys room, to use the ember to wake her up, only to find she's not there, they do a minor search tiring to find clues on who took Audrey, uma flops on audreys bed, finds her diary...and that how they find out.

“Hey, guys...come look at this”

they gather around uma, who reads the last input Audrey put in her diary.

detailing her plan for becoming the queen of auradon, and taking it by any means necessary.

it clicks for harry and uma, but takes a second for the others to understand.

“guys” harry growls, like its obvious,(which it is) “yer princess is the one who cast the spell!”

“shes not like that!” “yeah Audrey wouldn't do something like this”

“oh really” uma hums, flipping though audreys diary “take a look at all this”

pages and pages of heartbreak and grief, rants about the pressure put on by her grandparents, how she never even got an apology from Ben OR Mal.

how shes a failure for not keeping her hold on ben, and how she wishes he had broken up with her like a normal person.

“it's obvious she snapped and took the crown and scepter”

‘We need to find ben” mal says, snatching the book from uma and tossing it on the bed, gil steals a glance, seeing that Audrey hung out at fairy cottage a lot, and stashes that info for later.

“and find FG too, we need the wand”

they all nod, following mal out and to the museum, evie calling fairy godmother.

as they arrive, they see FG trotting up the steps,

“mal what in heavens-” shes turned to stone, the vks gasp, harry runs towards uma, as always trying to protect her.

“no!”

the rush off, not wanting to get turned into stone.

they stop in front of the school dorms, breathing heavily, Carlos hears dude bark, and (referencing the fact that he can speak dog) asks dude if he knows where ben is, confused harry is confused “what are yeh doin’ pup?”

“I can speak dog” “okay then”

now for the scene Night falls, goes exactly like the movie. but instead of the dance break defeating the knights, its Mal, Uma, and Evie's combined magic that overheat audreys magic and cause it to fail.

Evie tries the ice breaker, to no avail.

mal sends the boys to find ben, she and the girls follow Uma's plan to go back to audreys dorm to find out where she might be, then Gil brings up that he saw that Audrey likes to hang out at fairy cottage.

core four are surprised, uma and harry are not, their boy remembers things at the best of times.

the boy's forest scene is exactly the same.

mal, evie, uma, and Celia just start to head to Evie's house, since they know where Audrey might already be.

then the Doug scene, now there is no one kiss, evie finds Doug, but because of her fast thinking, before uma can suggest true loves kiss, evie remembers that she has anti sleeping spell potions, uma is surprised, evie just goes, “my mom is a witch remember?”

Doug wakes up, uma is impressed, “alright im a little intimidated by you now”

“as you should be~”

witch evie is best evie

the boys encounter beast ben, the scene is not changed

back to the girls, mal thanks uma for suggesting audreys place, uma is defensive, mal feels guilt because ‘what the hell have I done to make uma this defensive around me’

later mal apologizes to uma about the shrimpy incident, uma does not forgive her

“Apology accepted, but you're not forgiven”

“i-i can accept that”

Audrey boards up the house and mal and uma work together, uma does NOT give mal the ember, she still doesn't trust her. not completely.

the boys arrive, uma reunites with her boys. the scene continues on as in the movie

now the dark forest scene. it continues on as in the movie, but when mal reveals she been lying the entire time, Celia takes the ember from uma, tossing it into the pot.

the scene continues on like in the movie

mal tries to beg uma to help, but she's done with mals shit, she doesn't want to be hurt anymore, harry leads her away.

final fight scene.

uma returns, picking up the dropped umber from the ground where mal dropped it. as soon as she picks it up, it ignites, sensing Umas demigod status.

dragon mal in the sky pressing down on Audrey keeping her distracted, uma controls the water in the air and plants and sends it towards audreys, aided by the ember, she surrounds Audrey with water and puts pressure on the scepter, breaking it.

Audrey falls defeated.

the movie continues on like normal.

okay, so this is my version of the timeline. hope yall enjoyed!!!!

#Descendents #descendants #disney descendants #harry hook #harry hook descendants #mal daughter of maleficent #evie daughter of the evil queen #Carlos De Vil #jay descendants #ben descendants #Audrey deserves better #audrey descendants #jane descendants #my timeline #my version

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treatian · 4 years

Text

The Chronicles of the Dark One: The Dark Curse

Chapter 169: Mr. Hyde’s Dr. Jekyll

It had been an interesting night. He was glad he'd stayed to watch. In the end, Hyde had done exactly the very thing he'd wanted him to do…operate in the best interest of Dr. Jekyll while using all the traits that Jekyll did not have-or at least those he didn't show.

He'd walked in with nothing but his wits and a few very important details. He'd walked out with a membership to the Science Academy for Dr. Jekyll; a simple pin which Mr. Lyndgate had slipped into Hyde's fingers when he'd threatened to tell his wife about his very slippery affair with the younger lady.

It was a win for Dr. Jekyll's Serum, one that gave him such hope! The darker side had won out. Only one thing could have gone better…the issue of Mary.

He'd slipped the information about her being a threat to Jekyll in yesterday at their carriage ride and though he'd been subtle about it, he'd still expected the man to do something about it. He had rather hoped that while he was getting Jekyll his pin, he'd go a step further and banish the girl, approach her and tell her off, yell at her to keep away from the good doctor. Not only would that have been in Jekyll's best interests, or at least those he'd informed Hyde of, but it would have proved that this serum could cancel out feelings of love and even admiration.

But that hadn't happened. It seemed that yesterday Hyde had one goal and one goal only that was to get Jekyll membership into the Science Academy. That was fine. It was the easy target. He'd given him more than enough information to take down the father but only just touched on Mary. It might need a bit of…persuasion. There was only one problem. The oaf was currently sleeping the day away!

He'd returned to Jekyll's loft in the wee hours of the morning with his membership pin in his pocket. Almost as soon as the door closed behind him noted that Hyde was beginning to grow sluggish. He'd used random pieces of furniture to support his weight and make his way over to a bed, shattering countless beakers and vials along the way as he slipped and groaned in his path. He'd only just made it onto a couch similar to Belle's when his body was wracked with violent spasms. Suddenly the suit he'd given him was ill-fitting, his hair grew and lightened, the pallor of his skin brightened a bit as he transformed back into Dr. Jekyll, and there he'd been ever since, so completely asleep he was nearly dead to the world. And he was tired of waiting.

"Rise and shine!" he screeched with a laugh as the sun came up.

Jekyll jerked awake with surprise at his rude awakening and then groaned as he looked around and put his glasses back on.

"Well, well, someone had quite the night."

"I did?" he asked excitedly. "What happened?"

"Check your pockets," he laughed. The boy rushed to his feet and did as he ordered, pulling out the long slim gray box that Lyndgate had handed to Hyde only hours earlier.

"An Academy pin?" he shrieked with so much excitement he thought he might wet himself. "I did it! But how?"

Technically, the doctor had done it with a serum that he'd created so saying he was responsible was hardly true. However, he did owe the heavy work to his darker alter ego, so in a way…

"Well, it seems your other half can be quite persuasive."

"Oh, it really worked!" he exclaimed, stomping his feet like a child who had so much energy they didn't know what to do with it. "Do you know what this means? Everything's going to be different now...my...my ideas, my work."

"Just one thing missing," he interjected before he could get too ahead of himself.

"You mean Mary…" Jekyll assumed correctly. The pin might have been Jekyll's goal, but it was only one part of his experiment and considering the personal stake he had in it, it was the less important part. He needed to do a bit more prodding to get his answers. He needed to bring Hyde out again, and that meant convincing the doctor to take his own serum again.

"You know, that party was filled with suitors. You wouldn't want any of them scooping her up before you had the chance, now, would you, hmm?"

"She doesn't even know how I feel," Jekyll whined, using perhaps the worst argument he'd ever heard but one that suited his purposes.

"Why don't you tell her?"

"Well, I wouldn't know how."

"Just swig some more of that serum and let Mr. Hyde do the talking for you!" he suggested with a smile, mentioning the serum as casually as possible so that the man wouldn't think anything of the request.

"Mr. Hyde?!" Jekyll questioned almost angrily. "My other half has a name?"

"Yes. He couldn't very well walk around calling himself Dr. Jekyll, now, could he?"

Jekyll paused for a moment, his brows furrowed, and he gathered his breath in his lungs. "Wh-wh-why do you care if I end up with Mary?" he asked suspiciously. "You still haven't explained what it is you want."

"Well, isn't it obvious? I'm interested in that serum," he smiled, giving it a point.

"Why?"

"Because I need it!" he screamed. His own inner beast came roaring to life as he rushed forward and put his hand to his jaw. The boy tensed under his grip, automatically pulling his shoulders up to his ears as though he might save him from strangling. Fool didn't even take note that his hand was in the wrong place to strangle him. However, the way his heart beat and the sudden sweat that came over him certainly signaled that he'd gotten the message. That was good because he was tired of answering questions. He wasn't about to tell him about Belle, he wasn't about to share what he felt for her with anyone. All he needed was to test the serum on this one last thing, get the doctor to recreate what he had and then add the magic he had, and he'd have his answer, his cure for all her temptations. He needed to get this done!

"Now...one success proves nothing," he pointed out gently, removing his hand from his throat, straightening his suit jacket and putting a finger to his chest. "Two? Well, then we'd know you really had something. So, what do you say, Dr. Jekyll? Ready to let Mr. Hyde back out to play?"

Fearful, Jekyll stepped away from him. He swallowed hard as he glanced down at the box in his hand and then back up at him; a bold move taking his eyes off of him even for a second. Perhaps he was braver than he thought, but for the sake of his experiment, he didn't need to have that encouragement at the moment.

"Hyde got me this?" he questioned, holding the box up for him to see.

"It took only a few moments," he confirmed.

"And Mary…you think…y-you think he'll be able to say what I can't?"

Undoubtedly.

"Only one way to find out…" he tempted in a singsong voice, then summoned the serum in his pocket into his hand and tossed it at the doctor. He caught it. Then he drank.

#Rumbelle #Rumple #Rumpelstiltskin #Dark One #dr. jekyll and mr. hyde #Belle #ouat #ouat fanfiction #fanfic

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nerdettedreamteam · 5 years

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robstar week 2019: day four

day four! hell yeah!! we’re about halfway done with robstar week! if you’ve been keeping up with my other prompts, @samdraws715 and i chose to collaborate on prompts this year where she drew the artwork above and i wrote a fic surrounding the art. i think it’s a pretty neat way to collaborate tbh :’) all art credit goes to her! overall, i like this prompt, but there’s some parts of dialogue that i’m kind of on the fence about. whatever, there’s some good fluffy robstar in it so i hope you all enjoy that!

Fever

“Aw dudes, no way! Why did it have to rain on the night I did my hair! Now it’s ruined!” Beast Boy complained as the titans stepped into OPS after a mission of fighting Dr. Light in the rain.

Raven watched Beast Boy and examined the wet green hair on his head. “Looks the same to me,” she said as she walked past him.

“Hey! It may look the same but hard work goes into my do every day!” The changeling explained as he put a hand to his hair and slicked it back. “I don’t know what I’d do without my good looks,” he said confidently. “Also, is it just me, or was the rain like, way cold?”

“Tell me about it,” Robin walked in squeezing the water from his cape. “It’s freezing,” he said shivering.

Cyborg walked into OPS next, feeling cheerful. “I’m glad we got home quickly, otherwise I would’ve had a lot more oiling to do for my robotic parts. I feel as good as ever!”

“Glad you’re feeling good, Cy, but I’m still soaked!” Beast Boy whined. “Luckily, the is a problem that can be easily fixed,” he smirked before morphing into a dog and shaking the water off his hairy coat, splashing water everywhere.

“Augh! Beast Boy!” Robin said as he shielded himself with his cape.

“Way to go, now the room’s all wet,” Raven said as she lowered her hood.

“Aw come on, it’s not that bad,” Beast Boy told them while morphing back to his normal form. “Besides, at least I’m dry! And it sounds to me like you guys need a movie night to cheer up!” Beast Boy said as he hurried to the glass cupboard under the television to find a movie for them to watch.

In that moment, Starfire came into the room holding a stack of towels. “Friends, would you like some towels to help you dry off?”

“No thanks, Star, I’m already dry,” Cyborg gave her a smile.

“Yeah, I’m good too, thanks Starfire.” Beast Boy said as he kept digging through the pile of movies they owned.

“Robin? Raven? Would you care for one?” Starfire asked them, holding out the pile.

“Actually, that doessound nice.” Raven took a towel and wrapped it around herself. “Thank you, Starfire,” she smiled.

“Yeah, thanks, Star.” Robin gave a warm smile at her in which she returned.

“Oh, dudes, we’ve got to watch this one!” Beast Boy said excitedly as he held up a movie. “We haven’t watched it in ages, plus, since when was the last time we watched a comedy?”

The titans got comfortable on the couch and put on the movie as the rain still continued to pour from outside. Everyone was laughing and having a good time except for Robin. Despite having the warm towel still wrapped around him he was still cold, and, quite frankly, a little tired. He tried to close his eyes for a few moments but the occasional shivers he’d get kept him from doing that. He wasn’t sure if it was just because of the usual cooler temperature of the OPS room but he ultimately decided to just sleep in his own room. He turned to Starfire who sat on his left. “Star,” he whispered.

“Hm?” Starfire turned her head in his direction.

“I think I’m just going to sleep for the rest of the night.”

“Oh? Are you tired?” She inquired.

“Yeah, very, and a little cold too.”

“Would you like me to go with you?”

“As much as I would like that, I think you should stay here.” Robin softly explained as he stroked the side of her arm. “I wouldn’t want the others to think we ditched them just so we could be together.”

“Hm, that is true. I can see how they might think that if we both left together.” Starfire paused for a second. “I will join you once we are done?”

Robin smiled and nodded. “Definitely,” he tilted her head slightly and captured her lips in a short kiss. He then glanced over to see the other three titans on his right side and made sure they weren’t looking to see him leave. He quietly got up and made his way to his room without any of the others noticing.

Once in his own space, Robin changed out of his damp uniform and into a loose t-shirt and shorts. He climbed into bed and wrapped himself up in the covers and blankets that lay on the bed. He felt much better and felt a lot warmer. Apparently, a good night’s sleep was all he needed.

The next morning, however, Robin felt even worse than before. He turned to his other side hoping to find Starfire there but she wasn’t in bed with him. He sighed. He hadn’t seen her since the previous night and even then he still didn’t feel a hundred percent.

His throat felt dry, so he reached for the glass of water he put by his side the night before and drank from it. He put the glass down after only a few sips, noting the uncomfortable feeling he had in his throat whenever he tried to swallow. He must’ve had a sore throat. “Great,”he thought. “just when things couldn’t get any worse.”Robin, only seeing it as a minor setback, put on a fresh set of uniform and headed out into OPS, continuing on with his morning.

Robin found the others in the OPS room just as he expected. It was just another typical morning for the team. He was about to go find a spot on the couch next to Cyborg and Beast Boy when Starfire approached him first. “Robin!” She said cheerfully. “Did you sleep well?”

Robin rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, kinda.” He then remembered the events of the previous night. “You didn’t come to sleep with me?”

“What?” Starfire said confused. “I did, however, you looked so peaceful sleeping I did not want to disturb you.”

“Huh. I don’t remember you being next to me at all last night.”

“Yo, Rob! Glad you’re finally awake after all this time. C’mon dude! I could use another partner!” Beast Boy piped up from the couch as he waved his controller in the air.

Robin smiled at Starfire before departing and made his way to the couch. He took a breath through his mouth and exhaled, feeling quite hot. He sat down next to Beast Boy who was eagerly waiting for him.

“Me and Cy are playing this round, but whoever wins, you’llbe versing him.” The changeling explained.

“You’re goin’ down, grass stain!” Cyborg told Beast Boy.

“I dunno Cy~” Beast Boy teased. “You lost the last three rounds and your chances here are looking pretty slim.It seems that the video game Gods are in favour of me for a change!” He said confidently.

“Yeah, yeah, less talk, more playing!” Cyborg interrupted his rambling.

Robin watched the two of them start their match with tired eyes. He didn’t understand why he felt so tired again, and the irritation he felt in his throat certainly didn’t help. Hoping the boys wouldn’t notice, Robin laid down on the side of the couch, trying to ignore the itching feeling in his throat.

“Robin! Robiiiinnn! Robin, wake up!”

Robin slowly opened his eyes, which stung badly. He rubbed them and saw Beast Boy and the others around him. “Where… am I…?”

“Uh, on the couch? Right where you were just a few moments ago?” Beast Boy told him, hoping it would jog his memory. “It’s literally only been five minutes.”

“Are you okay, Robin? You haven’t been acting like yourself all morning.” Cyborg asked.

Robin sat up, feeling drowsy. “Yeah… why?”

“You don’t seem fine.” Raven said. “your temperatures appear to be fluctuating.”

“W-What? What do you mean?”

“Hmm…” Cyborg began. “I think I’m picking up what you’re putting down, Rave.” He turned to Robin. “Close your eyes and breathe in.”

“Why?” Robin gave him a look.

“Just do it.” Cyborg groaned.

Rolling his eyes, Robin did what he was told, but he barely had time to do so before Cyborg shoved something into his mouth. Robin recoiled backwards and Cyborg took the object out of Robin’s mouth. “What was that for?!”

“It was just a thermometer.” Cyborg said as he looked down at the reading.

“But I’m not even sick!” Robin exclaimed.

Cyborg looked back up at Robin. “You’re right, you’re reallysick.” Cyborg said as he waved the thermometer in the air. “103 seems pretty high to me.”

“Let me see that.” Beast Boy took the thermometer from Cyborg to read it himself, with Raven and Starfire on either side of him. The changeling’s eyes widened. “Woah, that is high, dude! Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”

“For the last time, I’m fine. I hardly ever get sick.” Robin told the others before a short pause, followed by a small sneeze and sniffle which came from him. The other titans exchanged looks, obviously not believing him.

“How do you even suppose he got sick?” Cyborg asked. “Ya think it had something to do with the rain last night?”

“If you’re saying rain gets people sick, then I’m staying out of it.” Beast Boy exclaimed.

“Rain itself won’t get you sick, colder temperatures do.” Raven cut in. “Rain is just water, but colder temperatures can weaken the human immune system, which can cause people to get sick.”

“And it was cold last night…” Beast Boy said as he rubbed his chin.

“If he has a fever, it wouldn’t be a total surprise if he also has a sore throat, since body temperature also rise when it’s fighting an infection…” Raven continued.

“You guys know I’m still here, right?” Robin interrupted. “This doesn’t make any sense… how come I’ve never seen of you guys sick?”

“Maybe…” Cyborg started. “because they’re from another planet,” Cyborg pointed to Starfire and Raven. “he’s got a different genetic code,” he pointed to Beast Boy. “and I’m part robot. Basically, you’re the only one of all of us who’s fully human, which is why we’re immune to that stuff.”

“Lucky… I’d do anything to get better.” Robin groaned.

“Then it is a good thing you can get better.” Starfire said as she picked Robin up bridal style and held him in her arms.

“Star?! What are you doing?” Robin asked as she walked toward the doors leading out of the OPS room.

“We are going to get you better as soon as possible,” she said with determination.

“But I-“ Robin started as he looked back to where the other titans were standing.

“No buts, Robin.” Starfire interrupted him. “If you wish to get better, you must admit that you are sick and not resist on getting healthy.”

Robin didn’t know how to reply to that. “O-Okay…” was all he could say as he let Starfire carry him away to his room.

Once they arrived there with Robin back in his bed, he got under his covers once again and looked back up at Starfire. “I do feel better just lying down, but now what do I do?”

“You don’t need to do anything, beloved. Let me take care of you.” Starfire kissed the top of his head before departing, not giving enough time for Robin to reply in time.

“Wait! Seriously?” Was all Robin could say in time. A few short moments later she came back with at least three different blankets and pillows, which she handed to him.

“You might as well get comfortable, Robin, because you won’t be leaving this room for at least little while.” Starfire told him.

“So I’m just supposed to stay here until I get better? All by myself?” Robin asked as he laid out all the blankets on top of him.

“Of course not, I can stay with you for as long as you want.” She reassured him.

“Are you sure? I don’t want you to feel like you have to stay just because I’m sick…”

“You silly, you being sick is the reason I wantto stay.” Starfire said as she unfolded one of the blankets and placed it on top of him. “Now wait here for a moment, I will be back with something else.”

Robin watched her leave and was left by himself to think. He really wish he wasn’t feeling so crappy, but he was super grateful he had such a caring girlfriend who wanted to take care of him. He perked up a little when she returned with a box of tissues and a hot mug.

She placed down the tissues on the bed and held out the hot mug. “Here, drink this.”

“What is it?” Robin asked as he sat up a little.

“It’s herbal tea,” Starfire said. “Raven taught me how to make it. She said it’s good for illnesses like yours.”

Robin took the mug from Starfire and let it sit in his hands for a moment. He blew on it before taking a small sip and swallowed it, liking how the the warmth of the liquid soothed the back of his irritated throat. He took a few more sips in peaceful silence as Starfire watched contently. After the last sip, he lowered the mug and exhaled, obviously having enjoyed drinking the tea.

Starfire softly giggled at that. She always found her boyfriend to be undeniably cute doing little things that he didn’t pay much attention to, just the little quirks that made Robin his adorable self. “How does that feel?” Starfire said with a smile still on her face.

“Much better, thanks for that.”

“You are most welcome.” Starfire said. She then looked at Robin’s bed. “Could you move forward please?”

“Yeah, sure,” Robin said, thinking Starfire would add another pillow to the pile he already had which propped him up, but instead of a pillow, Starfire shifted onto his bed and ended up behind him, with him laying in her arms along with the pillows as well. He was surprised, and looked up at her from where his head rested on her chest. “I hope you do not mind me joining you.” Starfire said.

“No, it’s perfect, actually. I like this a lot…” Robin said as he let his head fall back, his eyes meeting with hers. “Thank you, Star, I really appreciate this. You didn’t have to do all this, seriously, I could’ve just done this all on my own, and you could’ve saved some time as well.”

“You are not wrong, Robin, however, you know how I like to spend any extra time I have with you, even if it is helping you recover from an illness.” Starfire told him. “I care about you deeply, and I would do anything for you, you know that.”

“Of course I do. I’d do the same thing for you too, even though you can’t really get sick.”

Starfire giggled. “No, not necessarily.” She reached down and ran her fingers through his messy black hair.

“But I would do anything for you too, you know that right?” Robin asked as her stared into her gleaming eyes.

“Yes, I do know,” Starfire had nearly chuckled as she laid a hand on Robin’s cheek, which he leaned his face into. “And I am glad to have someone who cares just as much for me as I do to them.”

“Me too, it feels nice to know that.” Robin said as Starfire continued to run her fingers through his thick hair. She did so in silence for a moment longer, absolutely loving the way Robin pushed into her touch. She knew he wanted more, and he knew she knew it as well.

“Feels good?” Starfire gave him a look as she watched his face as she continued.

“Mmm, very.” Robin nearly sighed. He took her hand that was on his cheek and kissed it twice before stroking it with his thumb. “My princess…” he said lazily. “I love you so much.”

She smiled and leaned forward, leaving a kiss to his forehead. “I love you too.”

The two of them continued to lay together in bed until eventually they both ended up falling asleep together, feeling happy to have each other, always.

#teen titans #robin #starfire #robstar #robstar week #robstarweek2019 #oneshot #also i’m surprised that there aren’t more fics of robin getting sick??#he IS the most human of all the titans so why not

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mrslittletall · 4 years

Text

Title: The Sparring Accident Fandom: Bloodborne Characters: Laurence the first Vicar/Ludwig the Holy Blade Word Count: 8.375 AO3-Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22280614

Summary: Laurence misses the time he could spar with his old friends. He asks Ludwig if he could spar with him to satisfy his nostalgia, but he didn't take into account just how strong the Holy Blade is.

(Author's note: I needed some Laulu hurt/comfort so here is some Laulu hurt/comfort.)

As Laurence had taken a break from sitting on his desk to stretch his legs a bit, wandering the cathedral, he had stopped to look out at the yard where Ludwig was training his hunters.

It looked like they were sparring. They had formed groups and he could see one going against Ludwig himself. As he watched them, it brought Laurence back to easier times.

He often had sparred with Gehrman or Maria. He was nowhere good at fighting beasts as them but he could pride himself in having some duelist skills, often having brought Gehrman and Maria on the edge.

He missed them. Thinking about this only made his chest tighten so he shook his head and tried to get this thoughts out of his mind.

But he couldn't stop thinking about that he would like to spar again. It often helped him getting his focus back or getting rid of bad emotions. And it certainly had made him a little more fit.

So this evening after dinner Laurence asked: “Say, Ludwig, we have never sparred with each other.”

“Um...”, Ludwig said and Laurence could feel how his boyfriend stared him over, probably concerned about his scrawny and small stature.

“Hey, I don't look like it but I used to spar with Gehrman and Maria. And I was on par with them.”, he said, narrowing his eyes.

“Wait, what, really?”, Ludwig said, “But you never partake in the hunts...”

“First.”, Laurence said, “The hunt is a complete different thing than a sparring match against a human. Second, someone has to stay and prepare all the blood vials.”

“Yes, the church doctors and the blood saints.”, Ludwig said.

“Um...”, Ludwig had a point. “I mean, you are right, but when we started the church it was all me... so I got used to staying in and prepare the blood ministrations and blood vials.”, he murmured. “Anyway, would you spar with me this evening? I feel like I want to try some of my techniques again. Have gotten rusty.”

“Well, of course, if is your wish.”, Ludwig said and smiled to Laurence.

“Great, then let us meet at around 9 PM on the yard.”, Laurence smiled back.

After Laurence had finished a bit more paperwork he snatched his threaded cane and strolled down to the yard, where he already found Ludwig doing some warm up slashes with his Holy Moon Light sword.

“Ah, Laurence.”, he said. “I actually feel a bit uneasy sparring with you using the holy moonlight sword. I know we have blood vials, but I would feel more at ease when I could use a wooden training weapon.”

“Fine with me.”, Laurence said. “I intend on using my cane, there doesn't exist a blunt version of it.”

“Fine with me.”, Ludwig said and put his Holy Moonlight Sword back on his back, getting a wooden substitute that had exactly the same size. “Do you want to make a few warm ups first?”

“Good idea.”, Laurence said as he tested a few slashes with his weapon. Next to him he noticed that Ludwig adjusted himself to the wooden sword.

After he was satisfied, Laurence said: “Let's start.”

“Alright.”, Ludwig said, walking a few steps away and then turned around so that he faced Laurence.

“Ready?”, he asked.

Laurence took in his stance, clicked on the cane to transform and braced himself: “Ready.”

The next thing Laurence knew was that he saw Ludwig flash forward, that the floor beneath his feet got drawn away and that he heard a sickening crunch. And then his whole body was pain. He had the faint feeling of tasting some blood.

Somewhere through the fog that his head had become he heard Ludwig scream: “Laurence, by the holy blood, I am so sorry! Are you alright?!”

Laurence was half aware that he was lying on the ground, probably bleeding, it felt like he had broken something.

“Ludwig.”, he groaned. “Did you... really think... I could... take... a hit... at your... full strength?”

He felt himself slip into darkness after this.

The next time he awoke he could see Ludwig's worried face come into focus.

“You are already awake? How are you feeling?”, he asked.

“Ungh...”, was all Laurence brought out at first. He didn't feel any different than before he had passed out, well, maybe there was the difference that he felt the pain concentrate in his left arm, chest and head. “...Where am I?”, he asked instead of answering the question. He was faintly aware that he wasn't lying on the floor anymore. The thing he was lying into was far too soft to be the floor.

“Infirmary.”, Ludwig said, stroking a streak of hair out of Laurence' face, stopping the motion as Laurence scrunched up his face. “Sorry, did that hurt?”

“Everything hurts...”, Laurence whimpered.

“Don't worry, your blood ministration is prepared right now.”, Ludwig said. “Though the doctor has to set your arm first.”

“It's broken?”, Laurence asked, practically already knowing it. The crunch he had heard earlier, the intense pain and the fact that he couldn't move his left arm at all told him. Ludwig just gave a tiny nod to his question and then, Laurence hadn't expected this at all, almost broke out into tears.

“Laurence I am so sorry, I thought you could take a hit, when you said you used to spar with Gehrman I got a wrong impression of your skill and strength and I didn't want to hurt you like this and...”, he rambled on.

“It... it's fine...”, Laurence said, feeling helpless. He tried to pull himself up, to maybe show Ludwig that he wasn't hurt that bad but a wave of pain and nausea forced him right back into the pillows. He winced when another wave of pain tingled through his head and his right hand flew up to his mouth as his body still considered if it wanted him to throw up.

“Do you have to vomit?”, Ludwig asked and Laurence could see his big brown eyes staring at him in concern. Laurence needed a while before he could answer, breathing slowly in and out until the wave of nausea passed.

“No...”, he finally said, half aware that a good minute must have been passed. Ludwig had never left his position during this time, his hands still on the bed, leaning forward to look at Laurence.

“Good.”, Ludwig said, his eyes easing as he stared over Laurence, “Doctor Tiffany said you might have a concussion. You... were bleeding quite badly so we got a blood vial into you and put some gauze around your head so that you wouldn't make such a big mess.”

As Ludwig spoke, Laurence reached out to his head to in fact feel a thick gauze bandage wrapped around his head. He winced as he felt the spot where the wound must have been.

“Ungh.. what is taking the doctor so long?”, he asked, “I would like to finally get the blood ministration.”

“Ah... it's because it is rather late, sorry, Laurence.”, Ludwig said. “There is only one doctor in charge right now. And I think she is still new and will need a little while to prepare the blood ministration correctly.”

“Not the best news to wake up to...”, Laurence said, staring up at the ceiling. He half wished he had just stayed unconscious, then he hadn't to deal with his body being in that flaring pain.

“Do you want me to stay or shall I look upon her progress?”, Ludwig asked.

“Hm... stay...”, Laurence said. While he would approve of not being in pain anymore, the thought of being left alone while he couldn't move properly was more scary. He searched for Ludwig's hand with his uninjured right one. Luckily, Ludwig noticed his efforts and took it into his own, a certain warmth spreading from them through Laurence' whole body.

Laurence almost managed to slip into sleep while they waited but got brought back when he heard an unfamiliar voice: “Sorry for the wait.”

He opened his eyes to be greeted with the face of who must be Dr. Tiffany. Ludwig was right, she must have been new, she looked rather young.

“As you are probably aware I need to set your bones before I can apply the blood ministration, Vicar.”, she said.

“Mhm...”, he just said. “Can I have a few sedatives before we start?”

“Laurence, you know you shouldn't take this many sedatives.”, Ludwig scolded Laurence. Laurence gave him a glare as best as he could. Really? Was Ludwig calling him out on his addictions when he had very good reasons to take them?

“It shouldn't be a problem.”, Dr. Tiffany said, “In fact, the sedatives will help him deal with the pain better.”

“See?”, Laurence said. “They are in my coat pocket, can you get them for me?”

As Ludwig stood up and walked over to a chair where Laurence' recognized his clothes, he wondered what he was wearing and took a sneak under the blankets. There he cringed as he got a better look at his left arm, which was twisted in a way that just looked plain wrong. He also noticed that he pretty much had nothing on his body than his underwear and a few bandages.

“My apologies, but it is hard to tend to wounds when clothes are in the way.”, Dr. Tiffany said right as Ludwig came back with the sedatives.

“Which kind of injuries do I suffer from?”, Laurence asked as he watched her taking the sedative bottles and put a few drops in a glass of water.

“A laceration at the back of your head with a possible concussion, multiple breaks in your left arm, a few broken ribs, quite a few bruises.”, she said.

“Pretty much your entire left side is blue.”, Ludwig said, fidgeting with his fingers.

“It won't be any trouble because the blood ministration will help him back on his feet in the span of 48 hours.”, the doctor said.

Laurence internally groaned as she said that. He knew how powerful the blood ministration was, but he also knew that they had to be slow with it and so bad injuries like the ones he suffered would need a bit longer to heal.

“Ludwig, would you please help him up so that he can take the sedatives?”, Dr. Tiffany asked.

“Of course.”, Ludwig said and came nearer to Laurence' bed, carefully lifting him up, stopping whenever Laurence winced in pain. As Laurence was successfully propped against the pillow, he supported him as the doctor led the glass with the medicine to his lips and made sure that he carefully drank the liquids inside it.

Once the glass was empty, Ludwig carefully laid him back down. Laurence could already feel the effects of the sedatives and searched for Ludwig's hand as the doctor handed him some wood.

“Just bite on it when the pain gets too worse. And when you want me to stop, please raise your right arm.”

Laurence wanted to nod to tell her that he had understood but settled for another “Mhm”, instead, his head felt like cotton candy. He felt Ludwig squeeze his hand in reassurement.

Laurence put the small wooden block between his teeth and braced himself as the doctor went to set his bone. At least he knew what he was getting into, it wasn't the first time he got a break set.

That of course didn't meant that it would hurt less. After the doctor was done around five minutes later, he was laying there, taking deep breathes as his arm pounded in pain.

Dr. Tiffany made sure to splint his arm and fixated the splint with a bandage. “I think we can save the cast because the blood ministration will have it fixed soon.”, she said. She still felt the need to instruct Laurence to move his arm as little as possible.

“And now it is time for the blood ministration.”, she said, finally having brought over the equipment, the needle glistening in her hands. “I will put it into your right arm, because your left is covered in bandages.”

Laurence wasn't too thrilled to hear this, but he knew he didn't had another choice. There was just one thing...

“Wait...”, he said, “before you put the needle in, can I get something more to wear? I am cold.”

She stopped, looking at him and then at Ludwig. “Um, we should have night shirts for the patients here... But are you sure? It could be a bother to get your arm through a sleeve...”

“I don't care... I am freezing...”, Laurence said. He always had froze easily and that it wasn't a hot night didn't make him feel any warmer.

“Wel, alright.”, Dr. Tiffany said and rummaged around in a cupboard to come back with a night shirt. “Will you help him get dressed?”, she addressed Ludwig and received a nod from the Holy Blade.

“Come, Laurence, let's get you dressed up.”, Ludwig said. Like Dr. Tiffany had predicted, it was quite a hassle to get his broken arm through a sleeve and that Ludwig stopped every time Laurence even slightly winced made the process even more drawn out.

Eventually, he was dressed in a loose woollen night shirt and laid back on the pillow, already feeling warmer and less exposed.

“Can you roll up your sleeve then?”, Dr. Tiffany asked. Oh, apparently she wanted to stick the needle in the crook of his arm. Laurence could understand why though, it was far easier to see the veins there. He wished he could just do the blood ministration himself, but he didn't had a choice.

“I would like to but I can't move my left arm.”, he said and saw the doctor blush, apparently she had forgotten this tiny detail.

“I am taking care of it.”, Ludwig said and rolled up Laurence' sleeve, so that the needle of the blood ministration finally could get stuck in.

As Laurence felt the rush of the old blood circulate in his own body he sighed as the pain in his body got duller and he closed his eyes. He didn't knew how late exactly it was but he would like to sleep.

“You shouldn't get up for the next 24 hours.”, he heard Dr. Tiffany say, but didn't care anymore because his body just wanted to sleep off the pain.

The next time Laurence awoke it was still dark outside. He blinked a few times, confused at what had happened and why he wasn't in his bed in his room. When he shifted a bit he felt a sharp pain in his left arm and the “accident” he had came back to him. He lowly hissed in pain, wondering why he had awoken in the middle of the night when all he desired was to sleep over the pain.

However, he knew right away when his body gave him the urgent signal to visit the bathroom soon. Laurence sighed, that wouldn't have been a problem when he wouldn't be hurt. But like this... he required help.

Luckily Ludwig was sleeping in a chair right next to him, close enough so that Laurence could nudge him with his right hand. “Hey, Ludwig, wake up...”, he murmured.

Laurence had expected for Ludwig to need a minute or two to wake up, not for him to be awake in an instant and practically shouting: “Is something wrong? Does something hurt? Do you need pain medication? Should I get Dr. Tiffany?”

“No, it's nothing like that.”, Laurence said, taken aback by his boyfriend's panicked concern, “I just have to pee. Can you help me to the bathroom?”

“Oh, of course.”, Ludwig said, but then fell silent for a few seconds. “I mean, I would when you were allowed to get up. Dr. Tiffany said you shouldn't get up for 24 hours. Also, you are still hooked to the blood ministration.”

“Fuck, I forgot...”, Laurence said, a faint memory of her saying it in the back of his head. He stared down at his arm to confirm that he indeed was still hooked up. And he knew best that someone shouldn't move around too much while getting a ministration.

“Don't worry, this is an infirmary. There surely will be a chamber pot around.”, Ludwig said cheerfully, apparently relieved that Laurence' problem was easy to take care of. “Or should I wake her and ask if you can get up for a few minutes?”

“Nah, it's fine.”, Laurence said. Staying in bed felt like the better option anyway, he still had a slight nausea and didn't want to risk having to puke by getting up. He silently watched as Ludwig lit a candle and searched the room until he came back.

“Found one.”, he said and put the chamber pot down.

Laurence looked down at himself, his left arm being splinted and bandaged and his right arm being hooked up to the blood ministration. “I think I require your assistance...”, he said, blushing faintly.

“Hey, you don't have to blush.”, Ludwig said. “I was helping you go potty a lot when you had your frenzy. I don't mind.”

Laurence blushed even more when Ludwig brought up the time he had spent in a catatonic state, completely unable to perform even the most basic tasks. But at least he hadn't been aware of this time. Mostly.

“Let's... let's just get his over with.”, he said, his face now feeling as red as the blood that was pouring into him.

Gladly Ludwig stopped the teasing and after Laurence had taken care of his need he was already feeling like drifting back off to sleep again. As he saw Ludwig walking away, he murmured: “Ludwig, stay with me...”

Ludwig stopped and looked back at Laurence. “Of course, Laurence, I just wanted to take care of the waste. I will come back right away.”

“You better...”, Laurence murmured and fell back into a deep slumber.

The next time Laurence awoke the sun had rose and when he turned his head he saw Ludwig kneeling besides his bed, his head resting on the mattress.

“He has watched over you almost the whole night.”, Dr. Tiffany came in the room and smiled as she saw him awake. “How are you feeling? Need anything?”

“Hmmm...”, Laurence said, checking his needs. He needed to go the bathroom again, but decided that he could wait for Ludwig to wake to help him instead of asking Dr. Tiffany. He also noticed that his nausea had been replaced with a slight hunger, though he still had a lingering headache. He guessed the blood ministration had managed to mostly heal the concussion already.

However, his bruised left side and especially the broken arm still stung. He knew he would need to lie still for a little while longer. “Head doesn't hurt as bad anymore.”, he finally answered. “A little hungry.”

“It's still early, but breakfast should be prepared soon.”, Dr. Tiffany said.

“So it isn't 7 AM yet?”, Laurence asked, staring at the ceiling.

“Yes.”, Dr. Tiffany confirmed for him, it is around 6.30 AM.” She had been busy preparing a few blood vials and once the last one had been out away she came closer to his bed. “Say, how did you get yourself injured like this by the way?”

“Huh?”, Laurence said, glancing at Ludwig, “Didn't Ludwig bring me here? He was there when it happened.”

“The only thing he brought out was a garbled mess of words and begging me to take care of you because you were hurt and unconscious and he seemed to be very worried that you wouldn't wake up.”, Dr. Tiffany said. “So I don't actually know what happened to you. Did you fall down some stairs?”

“Nah...”, Laurence said, shaking his head. “Something in me was crazy enough to ask the Holy Blade if he would spar with me... and... he seemed to misunderstand a sparring with going full force.”

Dr. Tiffany stared at Ludwig and Laurence could see how her gaze went over the muscles in his arms and his pectorals and then her gaze wandered over Laurence and he could practically feel how she took note of his thin arms and scrawny build.

“I really don't know which of you two has been the dumber one.”, she said and while Laurence could have easily interpreted this as an insult, a part of him knew how right she was.

“Tell me if you need anything. Pain medication, sedatives, help with anything you can't do on your own. I'll get some food for you once it is ready.”, she said and turned around, tending back to her duties.

Laurence confirmed her with a “Mhm” and watched her for a few minutes before turning his attention to Ludwig, studying his sleeping face and then extending his hand to stroke over his head, playing around with his ponytail a bit.

This didn't went unnoticed and after a few minutes Ludwig opened his brown eyes, blinked a few times and then gently forced Laurence' arm to sit still on the bed. “You are the inventor of the blood ministration and should know not to move that much when you get one.”, he said, getting up and stretching himself, making his bones pop.

“Good morning, Laurence.”, he said. “Let me guess, you need the bathroom?”

“Morning, Ludwig.”, Laurence said and blushed a bit at this suggestion. “How did you know?”

“You always visit the bathroom first after you wake up.”, Ludwig said and when his gaze wandered through the room, probably searching for the chamber pot he had found yesterday, it fell on Dr. Tiffany.

“Oh, don't worry, I give you some privacy.”, she said. “I will get on my way to get some food now.”

“Thanks.”, Laurence said, “To, uh, both...”

“Don't mention it.”, Dr. Tiffany said as she left the room. “I wouldn't want to be stared at every little thing I need help with in your situation also.”

It took Dr. Tiffany around twenty minutes to return with some breakfast, during this time Laurence had decided to doze some more and Ludwig had apparently watched him the whole time. Laurence thought about that he probably had to be more tired than him. While Laurence was the injured one and his body craved the sleep to help with healing, Ludwig had apparently been awake for a long time to watch him.

Laurence awoke from his dozing by a voice from the door. “Excuse me, could you open the door for me? I am carrying three servings.”

“Of course, I am coming.”, Ludwig said and got up from the chair, walking to the door, letting the doctor in and taking two of the servings from her, carrying them over to the bed, putting one down on Laurence' night stand and keeping one on his lap. Laurence noticed scrambled eggs, bacon and a piece of toasted bread.

“Hey, by the way, where are all the other doctors?”, Laurence asked. “Why are you the only one on duty?”

“Yesterday was because it was already late and most of them had headed home.”, Dr. Tiffany answered. “And this morning I got the message that there has been a new outbreak. They went there to take care of the disease.”

“And why has nobody told me about this?”, Laurence said, a bit upset that he didn't got any news about outbreaks or accidents right away.

“Maybe because you are hurt and shouldn't get worked up?”, Ludwig said.

“The message has been delivered to your secretary.”, the doctor said, while putting a piece of scrambled egg on her fork. “Who has run around headless to search for you by the way.”

“Florence, fuck, I forgot.”, Laurence groaned and gave Ludwig a tiny glare. He knew about Florence and could have gone to tell her. But granted, he had watched over him the night and it simply hadn't occurred his mind.

“Don't worry, I told her about your whereabouts. She said to me that she would reschedule all your appointments.”

“Hm, alright.”, Laurence said and then looked at Ludwig again, who hadn't touched his plate at all yet. “Why aren't you eating?”

“Because I am waiting for you to finish talking so that I can feed you.”, Ludwig said. “Also, isn't it time for your sedatives? You usually take them before breakfast.”

“Oh.”, Laurence said, feeling silly about having forgotten his inability to move both of his arms again. “And yes, two drops in a glass of water.”

“You can get some water from the sink.”, Dr. Tiffany said between bites. Laurence watched as Ludwig got up to get a glass of water, put it on the night stand beneath the meal and added the two drops of sedatives.

After the sedatives had swirled in the glass for a minute, Ludwig helped Laurence into a sitting position before leading the glass to his lips and help him drink it. Like always, Laurence could feel the effect of the sedatives right away and his mind seemed to fly away to a place where there wasn't a care in the world.

“And now it's time to eat.”, Ludwig said, taking the plate from his lap and putting a bit of scrambled egg on a fork. “Say aaah.”

“I am not a little child, Ludwig.”, Laurence said, narrowing his eyes at Ludwig, suspecting that his boyfriend started to have fun with this situation.

“Aw, don't be stubborn, are you refusing to eat?”, Ludwig said.

“Only if you don't treat me like a child.”, Laurence said.

“Aw... fine.”, Ludwig said and finally got Laurence to open his mouth to get a fork of the now half cooled egg.

“You are having to much fun with his.”, Laurence murmured.

“Well, the last time I had to feed you, you have been unresponsive and I was worried sick about you ever getting better.”, Ludwig said.

“Please don't remind me of this anymore...”, Laurence said, opening his mouth to get fed a piece of bacon and while chewing on it, he heard Ludwig say a tiny “Sorry.”

Ludwig proceeded to feed him until Laurence told him that he was full and didn't want to eat anymore. He hadn't been that hungry to begin with. He noticed that he pretty much had only eaten the half of what had been on the plate.

“Are you sure you don't want to eat anymore?”, Ludwig asked.

“Yes, I think I would get sick when I took another bite...”, Laurence said, the concussion hadn't been fully healed yet and he didn't want to risk anything.

“Then you don't mind when I eat your leftovers?”, Ludwig said. Laurence was aware that there was a third serving on his night stand but didn't point this out. He knew that Ludwig could eat a whole lot.

“Go on.”, he said and gently lowered himself back in a lying position, grimacing when his broken arm shifted and he felt a twinge in it. He then watched Ludwig eat, a process that was over in several minutes because he didn't waste any time shovelling the food into him. Even though it already had gone cold in the meantime. Ludwig didn't care.

After Ludwig had finished eating and downed a whole glass of water at once he got up and took the used dishes with him.

“Are you going to start your duties now?”, Laurence asked.

Ludwig turned around to face him and said: “Nonsense, I just intended to take the dishes back to the kitchen. I won't leave your side for long today. And if you request it from me, I leave the dishes here and stay at your side.”

That was actually nice to hear. Laurence had feared that Ludwig would leave him alone for the rest of the day, while he was unable to take care of himself. Sure, Dr. Tiffany would be there to help him out, but he felt far more comfortable with his boyfriend around.

“That's a relief to hear.”, he said and gave Ludwig a tiny smile. “You can take the dishes back to the kitchen, as long as you come back afterwards.”

After Ludwig had left Dr. Tiffany stepped to Laurence' bed to check the blood ministration. “Should be done around noon.”, she said. “And then you only have to wait for your body to heal.”

“I know.”, Laurence said, aware that she simply had done what she had learned.

While the blood ministration was able to heal bad sicknesses and injuries, it took some time for it to take effect the worse it was. Or more, Laurence thought, the healing process got sped up. Two days for a broken bone instead of several weeks. A concussion would be healed in one day instead of two weeks. Tiny scratches would heal instantly and with blood vials, basically a weaker form of blood ministrations, any bleeding would cease immediately.

While Dr. Tiffany adjusted the needle in his elbow crook, he was taking check about how his body felt and determined that it was a mix of a dull pain and a weird itch that he couldn't do anything against. He also had the feeling that every area that had been injured felt far hotter and he felt himself sweat a little after this realization.

“Please tell me if you are in pain or uncomfortable.”, Dr. Tiffany said and went back to her duties. Shortly after this Ludwig returned.

“Is there anything you want to do, Laurence?”, Ludwig asked.

“Nap.”, Laurence answered without thinking about it. His body still felt beaten up and tired but most importantly... “And you should nap too, the doctor told me you were watching me almost the whole night.”

He saw Ludwig blush a little, muttering: “I wanted to make sure that you were taken care off...”

“And everything turned out fine. I will call Dr. Tiffany should I wake up and need anything. Or she could wake you when you prefer it.”

“I would prefer it.”, Ludwig said. Laurence had the assumption that since he had gotten out of the Frenzy Ludwig didn't trust others with his care that much anymore.

“Good, so I will call Dr. Tiffany to wake you should I need something.”, Laurence said. “Now go and lay down a bit.”

“You are the one who got hurt.”, Ludwig muttered but complied and soon Laurence could hear him breath evenly from a patient bed not too far from him. Once he was sure that Ludwig had fallen asleep, he closed his own eyes to give his body the very much desired sleep to help him with healing.

When Laurence awoke a few hours later he saw Ludwig at his side, looking much more fresh than before. Turned out it was already noon and after Ludwig had helped Laurence to freshen himself up a bit, he got some food from the kitchen and proceeded to feed Laurence again.

“Ugh, please don't feed me the peas, you know I don't like them.”, Laurence complained once he saw Ludwig fork them up.

“You will never grow when you don't eat your greens.”, Ludwig said, making Laurence huff.

“I stopped growing years ago, so who cares?”, he replied, keeping his mouth shut as Ludwig brought the fork nearer.

“You are far too stubborn, Laurence.”, Ludwig said. “I could tickle you to get this stubborn mouth open.”

“What? No, don't touch me, I am hurt!”, Laurence weakly yelled and then realized that Ludwig had tricked him when he found the fork in his mouth.

“That was mean.”, he said as he had to chew on the disliked food. “At least give me some water to rinse the bad taste.”

As Ludwig gave Laurence to drink from a glass of water, Dr. Tiffany's voice sounded behind them: “If I wouldn't know better I would think you two are a couple.”

This comment actually made Laurence spit out the water he hadn't swallowed yet.

“Laurence, don't make such a mess.”, Ludwig said and got a towel to dry him up, making them look even more like a couple.

“We.. we are just good friends...”, Laurence said weakly, not sounding very convinced.

“I know. That is common knowledge in here. I may be new but I got as much from simply listening.”, she said, stepping to the blood ministration equipment and observing it. As Laurence took a glance it became apparent for him that it almost had completely seeped into his bloodstream.

“Though, I don't know why neither of you has married yet? You are in the right age, both of you are of stunning looks and there wouldn't be a girl in Yharnam that would turn any of you down.”, Dr. Tiffany continued.

“Uh.. I am a man of the Church, I can't marry.”, Laurence blurted out a bit too quickly, completely aware of what a weak excuse it was.

“And I don't want to leave a family behind because I regularly participate in the hunt.”, Ludwig said, his attention had never left Laurence as he carefully dried his chest, taking care to not upset the broken ribs. His excuse felt a lot more real but Dr. Tiffany seemed to be satisfied with both of them.

“You probably just haven't found the right one yet, it's fine.”, she said and Laurence felt his body physically relax at her not poking this subject further and because Ludwig had finished drying him off and released the pressure from his chest. “I plan to draw the needle now. Ludwig, would you please press on the wound until it closes?”

She gave him a piece of gauze and Ludwig gave her an affirmative nod. Laurence knew that normally the person getting the ministration would press on the wound, but with his left arm out of commission he needed the help.

Laurence had drawn the needle out of himself so many time that he knew how to do it completely painless but Dr. Tiffany was still new to the whole blood ministration thing and so he winced when she pulled the needle and it actually did hurt quite a bit.

“Oh dear, did I do something wrong? That usually never bled that much at the test patients...”, she murmured to herself.

“That isn't very reassuring.”, Laurence hissed but calmed down when he felt Ludwig press the gauze on his wound.

“You probably have made mistakes too, the first time around?”, Ludwig asked, but his gaze on Dr. Tiffany had some disdain in it.

“Of course, but back then the blood ministration wasn't as advanced at now...”, he said. He wanted to rub the wound but was damned to wait for it to close up on its own. Thankfully, it didn't take too long and Ludwig removed the gauze, folded it once and used the clean site to wipe off Laurence' arm.

“There's some blood on the sheet, should we change it?”, he asked Laurence.

Laurence didn't had any motivation to get out of bed and answered: “Just leave it like this...”

“I would like to have you lie still until around 10 PM this evening, alright?”, Dr. Tiffany said. “After then your concussion should have healed up for you to move around again. Oh, but you can feel free to go to the bathroom down the hallway now, but only if you get some support.”

“Don't worry, I will be there for him.”, Ludwig said with this warm smile he gave everybody but that always made Laurence' insides tingling.

Before Laurence could ask Ludwig what they could do now, because he was forced in bed for a while longer, the door to the infirmary shot open and a chubby woman in her fifties entered the room.

“Your grace, just how did you manage to hurt yourself like this?”, she asked. “And why did I had to run around this morning to find out what happened?! You couldn't have send someone to inform me!”

Laurence felt himself getting a bit smaller. He really should have tell Florence, his secretary, what happened. Before he could open his mouth to say anything, he heard Ludwig's deep voice speak: “It is my fault, Florence. He got hurt because I didn't had my strength under control. And I didn't want to leave his side to inform you. Besides, it already had been late when it happened, so please take my apologies.”

Florence gave Laurence a thoroughly look over and then spoke: “Ludwig didn't had his strength under control? Were you two fighting?”

“Sparring...”, Laurence answered, finally finding his voice, though it couldn't have been called a spar, it was more a violent flying through the room and hitting a wall.

Florence glared at Ludwig and Laurence recognized that look. It was her “I know he is the Vicar of the Healing Church but I secretly adopted him as my son” look and braced himself for the tirade that was about to happen.

“Ludwig, have you looked at him? How should he be able to keep up with your strength let alone spar with you on par? All he does is sitting at his desk and going to parties and drink too much...”, she gave Laurence a tiny glare as she said that, “...and don't forget the Frenzy, his body is still in bad shape. What were you thinking?!”

“Actually...”, Laurence started, seeing how Ludwig seemed to deflate into his chair as Florence continued to give him an earful, but was cutting short by her.

“Shh, Vicar, you just stay in bed and relax.” And then the tirade went on for several more minutes until Florence finally was finished and said: “I have made sure to reschedule all your appointments to next week. And I have taken care of the cats.”

“Thank you, Florence.”, Laurence said as she got up and went away. “Sorry for this, Ludwig.”, he said after she had left. “I think she secretly adopted me.”

“It's fine.”, Ludwig said. “I am used to this by now. Though I have made worse mistakes... but I admit... I can sometimes be a bit... thoughtless.”

“That's one way to put it.”, Laurence chuckled and quickly hid under the blankets when he saw Ludwig's glance.

After Florence had visited an hour or two had passed and Laurence stared at the ceiling, sighing. “It's booooring.”, he complained. “I can't do anything.”

“Maybe try to nap a bit more?”, Ludwig suggested.

“Not tired anymore.”, Laurence said. He had tried to get back to sleep but hadn't managed.

“Shall I get you something to read?”

“I wouldn't be able to turn the pages.”, Laurence said. Also, he doubted that he could concentrate on tiny letters, there was still a slight headache lingering.

“And reading to you?”

“I appreciate the offer but your reading speed would make me go nuts.”, Laurence said, not missing the hurtful expression in Ludwig's face. “Oh, um, it's my fault for reading so quick, not yours.”

That cheered Ludwig up a bit but still didn't solve Laurence' problem of being bored. He sighed. “I wish there would be anything you can do when being forced into bed and can't move one arm...”, he said.

“Wait, Laurence, look.”, Ludwig had got up and fetched something from the other side of the room. When he came back he presented a chess board. “We could play this. You only need one hand for this.”

“Oh.”, Laurence said. “That could work. Though I haven't played in a while, I could need some time to get back into track.”

“That's fine, I could need someone to go easy on me anyway.”, Ludwig said.

Ten rounds later Laurence knew why Ludwig had said that, because he had managed to destroy him every single time.

“I didn't think you were that bad at chess.”, he said.

“... I know that I am not the best at this game, but you are simply a genius at it.”, Ludwig said. “You seem to perfectly know how to counter everything. How do you do this?”

“It's just pure logic.”, Laurence said, a bit baffled. “That's why I always liked chess, it's like math. I often would have play sessions against Micolash, but then we discovered Sudoku. Ah, talking about this brings me back... Why don't you ask Micolash if he comes over for a party of chess?”

Right after he had said that Laurence realized his mistake and his face fell. “Oh fuck...”, he whispered, his right hand wiping some sweat of his forehead.

“Yes, I just wanted to ask. Nobody has seen Micolash after you had this big fight last year.”, Ludwig said.

“Yeah, forget what I said... I was just... longing for simpler times...”, Laurence said and in an desperate attempt to change the subject. “Why don't you get Amelia? She is still young, but smart. She could prove a real challenge to me.”

“She is still in school and after that she has to train for her duties as a blood saint”, Ludwig said. “Shouldn't you know her schedule?”

“Um..”, Laurence mumbled, there was no reason for him to not know Amelia's schedule, he just didn't knew, like usual, which day of the week it was. “I thought it was still Sunday...”, he said.

“Aha, of course you don't know which week of the day it is again. Today is Wednesday!”, Ludwig said, resetting the pieces of the chess board. “How about another round, but this time you could go easy on me. Or teach me how to play better.”

“Going easy...”, Laurence suddenly said. Ludwig had mentioned it earlier and it had rubbed him in some kind of way, but he didn't knew in what kind. “Um, Ludwig, you remember that I told you that I used to spar with Maria and Gehrman?”

“Yes. That was the reason why I thought you would be able to counter my blow.”, Ludwig said, staring at his lap.

“Well... I think...”, Laurence needed a bit to get the words right, “I think... they might have went easy on me...”

Ludwig glanced over Laurence, from his small frame to his puny arms.

“Looking at you, this makes absolute sense. And I have been an idiot for thinking otherwise. I should have gone easy on you too, Laurence.”

“Actually, I wanted to thank you... for not doing it...”, Laurence said weakly.

“What, why? I did hurt you pretty badly after all.”

“It's because... because it felt good that you thought I could keep up with you. Everybody always has let me feel that I was weak and often too sick to keep up with. It was nice to see at least one person that thought otherwise. Even... even if he was right and I can't keep up with him...”, Laurence said.

“Um, you are welcome then?”, Ludwig said. “But the next time we spar I will make sure to not hurt you, alright?” He gave Laurence a big smile

“Fine with me.”, Laurence smiled back at him.

The both of them played a few rounds more of chess which Laurence still all won. Sadly, it hadn't killed much time.

“And what know?”, Laurence asked. He could feel that the old blood had already worked great on his injuries, his left side didn't hurt anymore and the headache was gone. His arm and chest still hurt, of course, broken bones needed a bit longer to heal.

“You know what?”, Ludwig said and Laurence tiredly looked at his boyfriend's face. “I envy you a bit, Laurence.”

“Envy me for what?”, Laurence asked, cocking his head, regretting it, that brought the headache back.

“The thing you had with Maria and Gehrman. And... and Micolash.”, he said. Laurence felt a sting in his chest. He asked himself if Ludwig knew that the mention of his old friends hurt.

“That is all over...”, Laurence said, investigating the bandage around his arm. And it's my fault., lingered in his mind.

“I wanted to ask you... I know it sounds strange, but I never had something like a close friend. Everybody liked me, but nobody really was that kind of friend, you know?”, he trailed off before he found his words again: “Can you tell me a few stories of these times?”

“Huh...”, Laurence said and the blushed. “But... but a lot of them are really embarrassing. Why do I remember them first, by the good blood...”

“You don't have to tell me anything that you are ashamed of.”, Ludwig smiled. “I just... would like to hear a few stories.”

“Alright then...”, Laurence said. “But there is no guarantee that I remember everything exactly like it happened.”

The next few hours Laurence talked to Ludwig about his time in Byrgenwerth, only sometimes interrupted by his boyfriend asking a question.

“...and one day I found out how to open Master Willem's wine cellar and managed to get really drunk right away... and Master Willem was so mad but also worried because I had a pretty bad hangover and I think I had to sit in detention for the whole month...”

“I would have also put my thirteen year old protégé into a month long detention if he got drunk on my personal wine.”, Laurence didn't miss the look in Ludwig's eye at his teenage misbehaviour.

“...and then we saw the largest beast I have ever seen in the labyrinth. We all were running away in a panic until we fell down a hole. I remember that we all landed on Gehrman. Don't worry, he was fine, but he was really mad because we didn't get up right away and apparently we were heavy...”

“...Micolash and me had this rivalry going on. It mostly was about who scored better at tests, but we did a few really really dumb contests that I don't want to go into detail about...”

“I have some assumptions but I will keep them to myself.”

“...and Master Willem would always get upset with me when I would curse so I made it my life goal to use the f-word as often as possible. My whole language was littered with it and... this is the reason why I always say it when I am upset, it is an old habit...”

“You really wanted to make the life of your caretaker as hard as possible, right?”

“Well... I think it was my rebellious phase. Oh, and did I tell you that I fainted all the time back then? Fuck, I am glad that is over. Sometimes I would know it beforehand and could warn people, sometimes it would happen without warning. And I so often hurt myself when nobody was around catching me... One day I was smashing my arm open on a table...”

“So that is how you got that scar.”

Laurence didn't even notice how the time flew by as he told Ludwig about all kind of deeds and misdeeds from his youth, not even realizing that he even started to tell him about the more embarrassing things. Ludwig just listened, smiled and occasionally commented.

“...I think this has been all.”, Laurence said after a while, noticing how hungry he was. “Oh, time for dinner I guess...”, he said. “And time to take a leak...”, he added as he realized that all the water he had drunk to make his voice smoother wanted to get out again.

“I'll help you and then we get some dinner, alright?”, Ludwig said and supported Laurence who had the feeling he would be able to walk on his own, but didn't forget Dr. Tiffany's instructions.

After he was laid back down in the bed, Ludwig came back with food and prepared it for Laurence. He was a bit clumsy with his right hand but at least he didn't had to be fed anymore.

After they had eaten, Dr. Tiffany came to check on him. “It isn't 10 PM now, but you look a lot better.”, she said. “If you promise me to not push yourself too hard, I let you go. Just remember to come back once your arm stopped hurting.”

“Wait, really, you will let me go prematurely?”, Laurence practically beamed. After all this time in bed he was eager to get up and be able to stay up for more than a few minutes.

“Let me just remove the bandage around your head, that should be healed now...”, Dr. Tiffany got straight to work and after approving that he wound had indeed healed and he didn't show any signs of concussion anymore, Ludwig helped him up.

“We should maybe secure this arm a bit more.”, Ludwig said. Dr. Tiffany had him covered because she gave Laurence a sling where he could rest his arm in.

“Come back for another blood ministration should your pain get worse.”, Dr. Tiffany said as Ludwig let Laurence out of the infirmary.

“Where to?”, he asked.

“My room.”, Laurence said. “I couldn't kiss you the whole day, we have to make up for this.”

“With pleasure.”, Ludwig said, carefully leading Laurence into the direction of his room.

The rest of the night the two of them spend snuggled against each other.

#bloodborne #fanfiction #hurt/comfort #laurence the first vicar #ludwig the holy blade #laulu #cw broken bones #littlewritesstuff #look I just wanted them to be cute with each other!#also I love caretaker/whumpee

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juju-on-that-yeet · 4 years

Text

Unravel, Chapter 8/20

Work Summary: Antisepticeye has a plan to destroy Darkiplier, steal his power, and take over everything - and he might just succeed. What starts with Yandereplier going missing evolves into a messy web of betrayal and grief, of blood and tears, of old wounds and new faces. However this ends, Ego Inc. will never be the same again. Chapter Summary: The egos attempt to adjust to Yandere’s return and Dark’s absence - a task made much harder when Damien wakes up. Warnings: Mild references to death and torture

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Enjoy!

Dr. Iplier misses most of the immediate aftermath thanks to shock. Host is the one who takes charge, getting the Googles in the loop to see what they can find, letting Wilford know of what’s happened. Dr. Iplier doesn’t know the details, especially not after Plus gives him a sleeping pill and makes him go to bed to recover. He’s sleeping when the rest of the egos are told what happened in a meeting, sleeping when Yandere, Damien, and Celine are put into hospital beds.

But he’s awake when Yandere’s friends come into the clinic to see him. Dr. Iplier is triple-checking the IVs that Plus gave him, triple-checking his bandages, fussing endlessly over him. If he focuses on how relieved he is to see his baby home and safe again, then he can think less about what happened to Dark and about the other two people in his clinic.

Chrome and Yancy visit Yandere first. Rather, Chrome visits first; Yancy comes in with him but hangs back, out of the room, knowing how much closer Chrome is to Yandere than Yancy is. Dr. Iplier is still in the room, though, unwilling to let Yandere out of his sight for even a moment. Chrome ignores him completely, eyes trained on Yandere from the moment he steps through the doorway. He sits by him in a chair Dr. Iplier already put there, and at first all he does is touch Yandere’s cheek, gently, lightly, and stare at him with a strained expression, like there are sobs burning in his throat that he can’t release. He scans him, Dr. Iplier can tell by the way his eyes move. Chrome scans Yandere multiple times, reassuring himself that Yandere’s actually here, that he’s alive, that he’s not dreaming after going a month without a clue where his best friend was. Eventually, he cups Yandere’s cheeks with both hands and presses his forehead to Yandere’s, whispering to him in Japanese so no one else can understand. Still, Dr. Iplier catches the word “onii-san” more than once. The more he speaks, the more his voice chokes up and the more tears start to roll down his cheeks. Finally, he stands to go, leaving Yandere after giving him the lightest, softest peck on the forehead.

Yancy is much less emotional. It’s clear he’s relieved, his shoulders sag with it at the sight of Yandere, and he sits by him and keeps a hand over his as he tells him what he missed in the month he was gone. He’s guarded, though, wary of Dr. Iplier in the room with him. Normally Dr. Iplier would leave and let Yancy be alone with Yandere, but he can’t make himself leave his baby now. He wonders if Yancy would cry like Chrome did if he left. Yancy still shows a little softness around Yandere, holding his hand gently in his own and eventually singing a little to him, quiet and light. He spends less time with Yandere than Chrome did, but looks happier than Chrome when he leaves.

Wilford, though, is a whole different beast.

Dr. Iplier doesn’t see how he reacts the first time he sees Damien and Celine, doesn’t know firsthand how he took the news of Dark’s death. But Host does tell him about how the news twisted his mind up, ripped open the old denial and put something new in its place. After the meeting he locked himself in his room for hours and just stayed there, screaming. When he finally came out again, he was numb, raw, shattered. Dr. Iplier wonders if Wilford feels anything like how he himself felt after he first met with Anti, or right after Anti left with Dark’s aura. Either way, it takes Wilford a couple days to work up the nerve to even enter the clinic to see Yandere, much less Damien and Celine. All three are still unconscious; Yandere is healing and should wake up in a few more days, Damien could wake at any moment, and Celine is so deep in a coma she might not wake up at all. Yet Wilford is still afraid to even look at either of the twins; he pointedly avoids doing so when he comes in to see Yandere. It’s like he’s suddenly aware of how fragile his own mind is, and doesn’t want to crack it any further.

For all his complicated feelings, though, the one thing he’s certain of is how much he missed Yandere, how relieved he is that he’s back home and safe again. He says as much when he goes to Yandere’s bedside, sitting in the chair there.

“I’m glad he’s here,” he murmurs, half to Dr. Iplier and half to himself. “I’m happy he’s alive, I don’t…I don’t know what I’d do if he wasn’t, at this point.”

Dr. Iplier hardly hears Wilford talk so seriously about death, but then, he rarely sees Wilford so lucid. His eyes are clearer than they’ve ever been, but his clothes are rumpled, his hands shake, and he looks like he hasn’t been sleeping.

“Me either,” Dr. Iplier says honestly. “He’ll be okay, though. He’ll wake up soon.”

“That glitch…” Wilford’s expression twists up. “I told Dark. I told him it was Anti. But no one believed me. I knew it was Anti, and now, that–” He breathes in roughly. “–that goddamned glitch is trying to take everything from me.” He takes Yandere’s much-smaller hands in his own, squeezing gently. “If he never brought Yan back, we never would’ve found him.”

Dr. Iplier ducks his head. It’s the truth; he knows that better than Wilford does. His secret weighs down on him still; he has yet to reveal it to anyone. He knows he should, but he’s still too afraid.

“And Dark…” Wilford laughs a little. “He kept telling me they weren’t coming back. I was almost starting to believe him. Maybe. I don’t know anymore. I feel like I don’t know anything. What if they wake up? What will they be like, after so long? What…” He looks down at his own hands, still holding Yandere’s. “What will they think of me?”

Dr. Iplier has no answers.

“Damien will probably wake up soon,” he says gently, “So you’ll find out in a day or two.”

“Hm.” Wilford sighs and shakes his head. “I thought I’d be so happy when we found our little mochi.” He moves one hand to Yandere’s cheek, cupping it and slowly running his thumb over the cheekbone. “I thought I’d be bouncing off the walls with excitement. And I am happy he’s back, I’m so so happy, just…” He smiles a little, bittersweet. “I thought Dark would be here for this, too.” His smile fades as quickly as it came. “What’s Yanny going to think when he finds out what happened to Dark?”

Dr. Iplier doesn’t even want to think about it. Wilford appears to be imagining it, but shakes his head again before long, trying to dispel the thoughts. He leans down to Yandere and kisses the cheek he isn’t touching, more gently than Dr. Iplier’s ever seen Wilford kiss Yandere before. Then he moves up and does it again, kissing the top of Yandere’s head.

“I love you, otouto,” he whispers against Yandere’s hair, “We’ll figure this out. I’ll be right here, and so will Doc.” He glances expectantly at Dr. Iplier.

“Yeah, of course,” Dr. Iplier says, voice quiet and tired, “I’ll always be right here.”

Wilford smiles again, a little brighter than before. He looks like a leader, and good thing, too: With Dark gone, Wilford’s the boss of Ego Inc. He’s the one in charge of fixing this mess, and of protecting the other egos in the meantime, with Host as the new second-in-command. It’s Dr. Iplier’s understanding that Dark arranged this all long ago, and that there’s a whole plan of succession in case something happens. If anything happens to Wilford now then Host will lead, and Google will be his second. As for how much further down the line the plan goes, Dr. Iplier doesn’t know. Wilford probably does. Dr. Iplier wonders if he’s in the line somewhere, if he’d find himself leading the group if the stronger egos were decimated somehow.

“Leaders should probably be honest,” the voice in his head reminds him, and Dr. Iplier shuts down the whole train of thought.

Those first few days without Dark are difficult. The other egos, even the ones who hated Dark, are reeling from his death and from the possibility of Damien and Celine walking among them. They’re relieved to have Yandere back, of course, but their relief is eclipsed by the fear of what Anti plans to do next. They know he caused this from the static Host found at the scene, and they can guess that Anti made off with Dark’s aura, considering that it was nowhere to be found. A few people question Dr. Iplier and try to jog his memory of the incident. Dr. Iplier can’t blame them; he was the only one there who could’ve seen, and it’s not like he doesn’t know what happened. But he’s still too scared to tell, even as his conscience screams at him to. If Host peeked into his mind he could figure it out (“why won’t he, why won’t he just figure it out already, why can’t he just read my mind so I don’t have to tell anyone–”), but too much time has passed for narrating the event itself to be of any use. Host instead tries to figure out what Anti is planning, tries to reach out the threads of his narration to Anti’s thoughts, but the glitch has always been a wild card and excellent at evading Host’s predictions.

Wilford, despite finally recovering from the shock of everything, has yet to do much. He seems at a loss for how to address the situation, other than wait for someone to wake up and see if any new information can be found. He does manage to get into a shouting match with Google over Ego Inc.’s security measures, and how they must not have been strong enough if Anti was able to kidnap Yandere and return to kill Dark. He still can’t bring himself to visit Damien or Celine, even as he visits Yandere.

That’s why Dr. Iplier is the only one there when, five days after Dark dies, Damien wakes up.

He’s still in the winter clothes he appeared with, the ones from his video. His air is still long, he still has his grown-in beard. Despite monitoring him often in between taking care of Yandere and checking on Celine, Dr. Iplier is still shocked to be seeing him in the flesh, to have this person in front of him. He can’t help but wonder what he’ll remember, if he’ll remember anything at all from after he became part of Dark. Despite knowing that Damien would wake soon from his strong and steady vital signs, Dr. Iplier nearly gasps when Damien’s eyes slowly open. Dr. Iplier approaches him, watching him rouse. The first expression to cross his face is confusion.

“What…” Damien starts, “What on earth…”

“You’re alright, Damien,” Dr. Iplier tells him, somehow keeping his voice gentle and even despite his racing heart. “I know this is strange, but you need to stay calm. Do you know who I am?”

Damien looks at Dr. Iplier, and his uncertain gaze tapers into something like recognition.

“I do,” he says, as though this fact is new to him, “I remember…I’m remembering some things. You’re Dr. Iplier.”

Damien’s voice is a lot like Dark’s, but softer, kinder, even after everything he’s gone through. He speaks carefully and eloquently despite his confusion. It reminds Dr. Iplier of how Dark defaults to cold composure for every situation, but Damien’s speech, though just as refined, is much warmer.

“Why am I…” Damien’s brow furrows as he tries to describe what he means. “Why am I…here? Why am I not a…a fragment, or a part of Dark anymore?”

“Dark was killed,” Dr. Iplier tells him, heart splitting the way it always does whenever he lies by omission, “We suspect it was Antisepticeye, if you recall who he is. He did something that split Dark apart, so here you are.”

“I recall Anti,” Damien answers, realization dawning. “If Dark split apart, then…then…”

“Celine is here, too,” Dr. Iplier says, “She’s in another room. You can see her once I clear you to leave the clinic, but that shouldn’t take long. Your vitals are strong; you seem well.”

“Is she awake?” Damien’s eyes are wide, shimmering with hope. Dr. Iplier realizes Damien probably hasn’t properly spoken with Celine in a long, long time.

“No,” Dr. Iplier admits.

“Ah, well, when will she wake up, then?”

“I…I don’t know if she will,” Dr. Iplier murmurs, sympathetic. The expression on Damien’s face is hard to look at. “She’s stable and there’s no danger of her condition worsening, but she’s completely comatose. I’m sorry, Damien.”

“I…I suppose that makes sense,” Damien mumbles, looking away. “It would’ve been nice if…nevermind.” He shakes his head. “What about the rest of Dark?”

Dr. Iplier can’t imagine how Damien must be feeling, yet he’s able to turn it off and address the situation at hand. Like a true politician…or like a doctor.

“Dark’s aura is gone,” Dr. Iplier explains, “It looks like Anti might have stolen it. The body Dark used is gone, too. It disintegrated after Dark split apart.”

“I see.”

A pause.

“You’re taking all this remarkably well,” Dr. Iplier ventures.

“Thank you,” Damien replies, giving a brittle smile, “But I daresay I don’t have any choice but to take this well. I haven’t been myself in a long time, yet…” He thinks. “It feels less like returning from the dead and more like…coming back from a holiday, to a workplace that’s changed since I was there last. I have a lot of Dark’s memories, but they feel disconnected from me.” He looks down at his hands. “It feels both like one day and one hundred years have passed since I was endlessly cutting down trees and living in a cabin with my sister.”

Dr. Iplier doesn’t know what to say to that.

Fortunately, at least, Damien is in perfect health. Dr. Iplier gives him a full physical just to be sure, and he can’t help but look for the similarities between Damien and Dark. There are many, to be sure, but even more striking turn out to be the differences: Damien breathes, blood pulses through his veins, his heart beats against the head of Dr. Iplier’s stethoscope. He stands as straight as Dark did but without the strain of holding up broken bones. His body is free of scars, including the bullet hole that Dark had in his chest. His eyes are lighter than Dark’s, more brown than black. His facial hair is grown in more evenly than Dark’s, his hair is straighter.

As the exam comes to a close, Wilford comes in. He might have been intending to check on Yandere, but he sees Damien first. Dr. Iplier sees Damien react, sees his eyes widen, as though Dark’s memories are rushing into his mind, one at a time, reminding him of who Wilford used to be and who he’s become. Wilford, conversely, is stunned still. For once, he knows exactly what he’s seeing, and it’s something he’d given up on ever seeing again, even if deep down.

“Dames,” he half-laughs, voice softening to a tone it hasn’t had in many years. “Old friend, it’s been too long.”

“Not truly,” Damien answers, smiling a little. “I remember what Dark remembers, I still…I still know you.”

That’s all Wilford needs to rush at Damien – Dr. Iplier barely has enough time to get out of the way – and scoop him up in a bear hug, laughing and crying.

“Oh, you scoundrel!” Wilford exclaims, “Do you know how long I’ve been looking for you??”

“I’ve been there the whole time, my friend,” Damien says, laughing a little but mindful of Wilford’s tears. “I missed being myself, and I missed you, too.”

“Well! You’ll have to tell me what you think of everything that’s happened these past few years.”

“…You mean everything that’s happened since Dark was created?”

“Of course! I need every detail! We need to get properly caught up after all.”

Dr. Iplier, despite himself, can’t help but smile a little at Wilford’s excitement and Damien’s bewilderment. He probably remembers enough about Wilford to know that the man’s completely serious about wanting every single detail. Dr. Iplier ducks away to give them privacy, as well as check on Yandere again.

His boy. The one he killed Dark for.

Yandere looks a lot better than he did when Anti first brought him here: Figments heal fast, and Yandere is no exception. His bruises and cuts have mostly healed, and only his neck is still mottled yellow and muddy purple. He’s still too thin, but IV nutrients have brought color back into his skin, his lips are no longer so cracked with dehydration. Some bigger gashes are still mending, with one across his stomach being particularly stubborn. But even that is getting better, beginning to scar instead of continuing to fester. Scars fade, scars are not permanent for egos.

But Dr. Iplier can’t help but fear the emotional scars Yandere might carry. Anti said that Yandere would remember nothing from the moments Anti clouded his mind with static, but what about the rest of his time with Anti? How much will Yandere remember about being kidnapped, controlled, tortured? And there was clearly torture. Not enough to risk death, but enough to have made Yandere miserable: Locked muscles from being forced into cramped positions, scar tissue from repeated limb dislocations, abnormal changes in body chemistry from ingesting no-longer-identifiable poisons, all hiding beneath the more obvious deep gashes and bloody bruises. Yandere is tough, but this is unlike anything he’s ever been made to suffer before. This is nightmarish. Dr. Iplier almost hopes Yandere remembers nothing at all, but wouldn’t that be equally frightening? To one moment be watching TV in his room, and the next to be waking in a clinic bed, exhausted and injured, with an entire month wiped from his mind? And that’s to say nothing of how Yandere will feel when he realizes that the man he loves was killed during his absence. Dr. Iplier tries to imagine it, wonders what it’d be like for himself, if he were to wake after a month of being puppeted and tortured only to find that The Host was dead. He shudders, has to force the thought away. But Yandere won’t be able to turn it off.

Dr. Iplier sits by Yandere for a while, wondering if he’ll wake today. But it seems unlikely judging from his vitals, and Dr. Iplier is equal parts relieved and disappointed.

He leaves then to check on Celine, and finds that Wilford and Damien have moved from Damien’s room to see Celine as well, to look at her with much more sedate expressions than they held a few minutes prior. Dr. Iplier would normally come in and tell them off for going into a patient’s room without his permission, but there’s no point to it, not with the state Celine’s in. He lingers in the doorway, and neither Damien or Wilford notice him.

“Has she really been sleeping this whole time?” Wilford asks. He’s facing away from Dr. Iplier so his expression is hard to see, but he certainly doesn’t sound happy.

“She needs it,” Damien explains, “That snowscape we were trapped in…it was practically eternal.” Dr. Iplier notices that one of his hands is holding Celine’s. “She kept us both going through that, kept protecting me. So it’s…just been me since.” He frowns a little. “But that’s not true, either. I was barely present. Dark was…Dark wasn’t me. I wasn’t Dark. I couldn’t say who Dark was, despite what pieces of him I remember.” He shakes his head. “It’s all so bizarre. We were never meant to end up like this.”

Neither were you, he must be thinking, staring at Wilford, but Dr. Iplier can’t know that for sure.

Wilford doesn’t speak right away. He looks down at Celine with emotion, strong but hard to define, playing over his face.

“I still love her, you know.” His voice is strangely subdued. “I never stopped.” He reaches out a hand to touch her, stroke her cheek or her hair, but stops midair and retracts it. “You remember, I’m sure, how I slept with so many other people, but…but I never forgot Celine. At least…” His brow furrows. “I remembered her more than I remembered most things. That means something, doesn’t it?”

“Of course, Wil,” Damien answers, smiling sadly.

It’s an expression Dr. Iplier can read, one he knows. The expression of a man who knows that too much has changed, who knows that nothing will ever be like it once was. That feeling of loss, of sadness, but bittersweet acceptance. Dr. Iplier felt it when he looked into The Author’s eyes and saw The Host, and now Damien feels it looking into William’s eyes and seeing Wilford staring back. The knowledge that nothing can change what has already happened, and all one can do is smile and continue and rebuild from the ashes.

Or not, in Damien’s case. If there’s a way to get Dark back, then Damien will be back where he was before, returned to the ashes again. If not, what will become of the egos?

What of Anti?

He’s done nothing that the egos know of, so far. He’s been quiet, dormant. Perhaps getting used to his newfound power. Testing. Discovering. Gaining strength. Strength and power that Dr. Iplier helped him attain.

Dr. Iplier continues to keep his secret close to his chest, continues to wait for something to happen.

At this point, he’s all too used to doing both.

#markiplier #markiplier fanfiction #mayor damien #dr. iplier #wilford warfstache #kristin says stuff #unravel #my writing #fanfic #SORRY IT'S SO LATE #i actually did things today if you can believe it

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thehonestmommy · 5 years

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What I wish people told me about postpartum life

There is a TON of advise and guidance on what to expect when you are pregnant. Theres even more about how to handle every little cough, hiccup, and milestone that your baby goes through. But theres something in between thats severly lacking in conversation and warning. Postpartum life. Im not talking about how tired you will be or how your house will turn into a toy store. I mean the little things that will likely take you by surprise unless a well meaning friend shares it with you. Because for some reason, we as a society dont talk about the post partum mom, except for breasfeeding, baby weight, and stretch marks. But let me tell you, there is a whole lot more than that.

Well, as the over-sharer that I am, allow me to prepare you for the things that never get spoken about, and might surprise you about life after pregnancy. Here are some of the things I had to learn on my own, and that I wish someone told me about so I was more prepared.

WARNING: I’m gonna get personal and gross right from the get-go. Buckle up.

You will sweat…profusely

Seriously. My first night after giving birth, I was so sweaty. But I passed it off as just part of recovery. I mean, I did just spend 3 days pushing a human out of my body, I’m understandably sweaty. But then the next night, same thing. And the following night, too. For weeks and weeks it continued. I would wake up at night to feed my baby and be soaked, almost like I had the flu! I felt disgusting, and was constantly changing clothes. But the more I questioned other moms (online and in mom groups) the more I realized we all were experiencing this to some degree….we just wen’t talking about it. I mean, sure. It’s a bit embarrassing, especially if you aren’t a person who sweats very much under normal circumstances. But it woulda saved us all a lot of embarrassment if it was something we were told was par for the course! No need to worry, soggy momma. You are normal.

You will smell

This goes hand in hand with being sweaty. But it’s so much more than that. I was constantly getting whiffs of my own body odour…and boy was it bad. And it wasn’t the typical B.O. smell I’d get if I’d done some cardio and wasn’t able to shower straight away. This was a whole other beast. I kept trying to compensate for smelling horrible by saying it out loud and apologizing. But my mom and my husband kept reassuring me that they couldn’t smell a thing. But how couldn’t they?! I was so rank. Im telling you, it was so bad that I would shower, and sniff my pitts after soaping up while SILL IN THE SHOWER and I could still smell myself. Seriously. No amount of soap or scrubbing was making this go away.

But heres the thing. No one around me could smell it (or at least they wouldn’t tell me so) except my baby. You see, this is a special function of a breastfeeding mom. You take on a unique signature scent that helps your young baby identify you. And as they grow and their senses develop, the stench (or strength of it) fades away.

If i had known this before it happened, maybe I wouldn’t have cried in the shower after scrubbing my armpits raw.

Postpartum insomnia is a thing

We all know that new parents have a hard time sleeping. But I always thought it was because

A) The baby keeps you awake with its very loud singing, practicing for auditions on The Voice, B) The baby being asleep makes you freak out that its too still to be breathing , or C) You cant stop watching this adorable little chubby mini-me peacefully sleeping

So, it really surprised me when my baby started sleeping through the night, but I did not. I didn’t feel anxious. I wasn’t plagued of thoughts about my baby’s safety. And even though I loved watching him sleep, I was cool with rolling over and enjoying my much needed rest. But, no matter how tired I was, the sleep wouldn’t come. I would lay awake, utterly exhausted. I would just nodd off and the baby would wake. Every 5 nights or so, I would sleep. Yes, you read that right. I would only sleep after about 4 full sleepless nights. Those 4 to 5 days were torturous cat naps only. After about a month of this, I went to my Dr because I thought something was seriously wrong. She knowingly chuckled when I explained what was going on. “Postpartum insomnia” she said. Apparently, it’s a hormone thing. Not every woman experiences it, but it’s not uncommon. “it will go away when you are done breastfeeding, most likely.” Oh. My. God. Are you kidding me? My kid is finally sleeping for more than 30 minutes at a time, and now I cant, and wont, until i’m done breastfeeding? (I plan to breastfeed for at least a year) Mother nature, your jokes aren’t that funny.

Carpal tunnel syndrome

Exactly the same as postpartum insomnia, some women get carpal tunnel that wont go away till breastfeeding is over. Its not unusual for women to get it while they are pregnant, but even if you didn’t have it then, you could still get it once your baby has left the flesh-building. According to my doc, hormones mixed with weight-bearing hand positions (breastfeeding again, yay!) is the perfect recipe for some inflammation of the nerves in your forearms and hands. My hands didn’t hurt much during the day but at night they would drive me crazy. Think pins and needles to the nth degree. That shit is going to keep you awake #postpartuminsomnia

Breastfeeding + binge eating

breastfeeding burns a LOT of calories. You think you were eating for two while you were pregnant? Thats not nothing on breastfeeding. That baby keps getting bigger and hungrier. Get ready to smash some food.

Breastfeeding + thirst

Breastmilk is surprisingly watery. Baby drinks breast milk, your fluids deplete, the body needs more to make more milk. The process is not surprising. What might surprise you is that you get thirsty IMMEDIATELY after your baby has triggered the let-down (aka within minutes of him/her latching on) Keep a bottle of water handy for every nursing session. You are gonna need it.

Period pains

I think its fairly well established in the way we discuss postpartum that your period may not come back for a while. But what they DON’T tell you, is that you will still get similar pains fairly often. In the beginning, your uterus needs to go back to its regular size, so cramping/contractions will take place for a few weeks after giving birth to contract that uterus back to its old self. Thats right. You will still have contractions for WEEKS. Yay!

If you are breastfeeding, the cramping will happen DURING nursing. Its kinda cool, although pretty uncomfortable. You might notice the postpartum bloat go down in unison with those sessions of cramping. its different for all women, but for me, that intense cramping only lasted about 3-4 weeks. But here’s where people stop talking about it. But guess what? you will still get cramps! Pretty much once a month, I get a day of mild cramping. Its nothing like what it used to be (although my experience may be biased since I’m an endometriosis gal) but it’s still noticeable, and identifiable.

You are still ovulating

Carrying right on from getting those period cramps comes the obvious but often misunderstood fact that you are still ovulating. Many people are lead to believe that if they are breastfeeding and did not get their periods back yet, that they can not get pregnant. This is FALSE INFORMATION #fakenews So many woman end up pregnant again because they are not practicing safe sex under the assumption that no period means no ovulation. Sorry to say, your body goes right back on makin’ them eggs. Life, uh…finds a way #jurassicpark

Hormone imbalances continue (acne, sweats, cravings, mood swings)

Again, no secret to anyone that pregnant women are on a rollercoaster ride of hormones that are challenging at best, and downright unfair at worst. But whats most unfair is that you dont get to just be done with all that after your sweet little bundle arrives. Oh no. no no no. The rollercoaster gets more intense, if you can believe it.

Many people will be familiar with the term Post Partum Depression, which is common and no joke. If you suspect that you or someone you care about might be suffering from PPD, please access help. Start by talking to a doctor. There is LOTS of help available.

But, outside of PPD, it seems a disservice to me that no one explains that mood swings, food cravings, exhaustion, acne, hair loss/hair gain, sweating and the like are almost guaranteed to happen. I don’t mind speaking out about PPD and saying that I suffered, and I still do suffer from regressive episodes from time to time. But for a while, I wondered if all my other symptoms were PPD. My amazing midwife explained that those things are not indicative of PPD but a normal part of your body settling into its new role as a food truck (breastfeeding, again! argh!)

So if you are experiencing things that make you feel like a teenager again, you are not alone. It’s par for the course. But please talk to a Dr to get screened for post partum depression just to be sure.

leaking breasts

So I heard of this before. But I seriously was not prepared. I thought it was a unicorn thing that only happened to the rare woman who’s a breastmilk goddess with an oversupply. So i’m going to do you ladies a service and let you know the real deal here. Even if you think this wont happen to you, it probably might.

You don’t need to have an oversupply, your baby doesn’t need to suddenly sleep through the night. (although both of those things make it even more likely) Your breasts will spontaneously leak; maybe when your baby sleeps through the night the first time and your supply was hoping for a night feed. Maybe when your baby cries because it’s hungry and you don’t immediately get to them. Maybe when a srangers’ baby cries because it’s hungry. Maybe when you are looking at them on the baby monitor or watching them do something especially cute. Or maybe when you are having an intimate moment with your partner (YUP). MAKE PEACE WITH THIS. It will happen, and continue to happen, when you least expect it. You’r boobs now have a mind of their own.

Oh and just when you think that phase is over, it will happen again. #oops

Speedy hair and nail growth

This may be a pleasant surpriuse to some (or a major inconvenience depending on your maintenance level). Your hair and nail growth might speed up. Not sure why that one happens, but wow I feel like i cut my nails every week now. And I am getting 2x more haircuts, too.

Another common thing that happens is the texture of your hair changing. Many women go from luscious curls to straight locks or vice versa after pregnancy. Your body grew, sustained, and continues to sustain life. Those are MAJOR changes, so… Anything is possible!

Dry vaj (masquerading as injuries)

Oh yes. Im going there. If you made it this far, lets just assume you’re cool with how gross I can be at times. okay? Great. :) OKay, You are a mom. You might have pushed at baby out of your body. Or maybe you had someone surgically remove it. In both cases, your muscle structure gets significantly compromised. Under good health care, we are told to limit our activity for 6 weeks while the body heals. I dont know a single mom, c-section or vaginal delivery, who felt like their body was actually ready to get back in the game. It takes MONTHS to heal, and my midwife (did I mention shes awesome?) laid it out for me honestly. She said things are not gonna feel anywhere near normal for the better part of a year. I’m currently 8.5 months postpartum, and yo she was right. My core is weak, my diastases is still present, and I was in some serious pelvic pain for a long while.

So, on the advise of many a Dr and friend, I decided to see a pelvic floor physiotherapist in hopes that she can help guide me into a life where it doesn’t feel like I’m going to lose my uterus every time i squat down.

It was an embarassing and humbling experience. This Dr literally tests out your muscle control from within. Its like the most revealing pap you’ve ever had. But seriously, it was worth it. What i learned was even though i was expierencing pain, my muscle structure was NOT compromised. Where did the pain com from you might ask? Dryness.

Yeah I know. It’s not ladylike to talk about that. No one wants to admit its an issue either. But remember how breastfeeding affects almost every topic covered above? Well this one too. Surprise! Your body’s natural fluids are depleted in a big way when your kid drinks sometimes 200ml 6-10 times a day. (Go measure that our if you’r not familiar with it. Its a lot.) If you are not super hydrated, and extremely well nourished, your body will totally ditch its other systems to provide for your child instead. Its admirable, but dang if your not careful it really translates in so some serious discomfort.

Turns out that some topical moisturizers (coconut oil did it for me, but some people need something more substantial with estrogen in it) and maintaining my body’s hydration brought me back to 80%. Couple that with learning how to do diaphragmatic breathing and activating your transverse abdominus during kegel exercises (okay can we just not cover that? I’ve said enough gross stuff) and you’re well on your way to recovery.

The takeaway

Growing and serving up a baby does a number on your body, but it continues after the birth. It takes work, healthy choices and a lot of knowledge to stay on top of whats happening to your body once your baby is here. Breastfeeding, no matter how long you decide to do it, is a lot harder than people give credit for. It goes far beyond latch and weight peoblems, and not enough people talk about that. Be prepared for your body to continue to go through changes as your baby changes with you. Be kind to yourself, eat well, drink as much water as you can every day, and TALK TO OTHER MOMS about what the heck is going on. You’ll be surprised to know you are not alone. <3

#postpartum #ppd #baby #body #womens health #post partum #postpartum depression

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zrscottz-blog · 5 years

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The Pilot

I was the pilot of a C 130 transporting a giant squid to the museum of natural history in New York City. Several scientists from prestigious universities and federal agencies were on board the sixteen hour flight from Santiago, Chile. They were thrilled at the prospect of studying the giant, ten legged cephalopod. The behemoth of the southern Pacific. Two male scientists, biologists from a research facility in northwest Germany couldn't wait for the eventual landing and complex transport. They convinced the lead scientist, Hans Brenner to allow them access to the custom-built tank in the cargo hold of the airplane.

"Ve only vant to zee zee eyes doctor, and our research is highly sensiteev, as you know. Vee von't deesturb the creature, just a peak before zee uzzers." The two men eagerly awaited permission while I attempted to unscramble their foreign accents.

Dr. Brenner waved the two scientists away and continued the conversation he'd been having on a state of the art satellite phone.

"Two hundered thousand dollars!", Brenner protested.

"You have got to be kidding me Alfred, these people wouldn't know what to do with that kind of money!"

I overheard the doctor's exchange and it piqued my curiosity. It turned out he was discussing the payment which the tiny fishing village off Argentina's southern coast desired for having caught the giant squid. I imagined what that kind of windfall could do for an impoverished village, possibly expanding educational programs and improving on their crumbling infrastructure. There had been strange lizards, rabid jackals, and exotic penguin species upon the villages one-lane, dirt and gravel runway. Nobody was qualified to man the ancient radio in their tiny control tower. Arrival and departure was quite treacherous, a mission I decided was worth undertaking. These scientists had a huge grant from NYC. I began to envision a brighter future for the hardworking people as Brenner relented on the phone.

I began counting my blessings, grateful for all the opportunities I'd been given in life

Cumulus, white, pom-pom shaped clouds began to crest the horizon, casting shadown across my cockpit as I recounted my harrowing adventures and looked back on my life. A wave of nostalgic contentment rushed over me while I thought of my time in the armed services and my time throughout flight school. I was good at my job and I enjoyed it immensely. I couldn't imagine a different path for me and I shut my eyes for a moment. The hum of the aircrafts propellers buoyed me and i fell into a cozy slumber.

It could not have been long before I was awakened by the altitude change and my ears began to pop uncomfortably. My instrument panel was going haywire and an irritating alarm was sounding.

"WHAT IN THE HELL IS GOING ON AIRMAN?" In my daze I looked up to see Dr. Brenner's terrified, stricken face. Quickly, I adjusted the throttle, eased the control collumn back, and steadied the twenty-ton airplane, sweat beading upon my brow.

In my thirteen years transporting hazardous, often classified materials, this dozing had occurred just a handful of times. Only once did any loss of life occur. I was forced to conduct an emergency landing on the busy highway 101 skirting Los Angeles. Miraculously, I emerged from the wreckage unscathed. My cargo however did not evade the grim reaper. Sixty seven FBI recruits were unlucky and perished on impact. Fortunately, there were insurance policies in place to protect against such a tragedy and after a short investigation, some national media coverage, and a stint inside Army's psych-tech unit I was permitted to resume flying.

I felt exhilirated by this current close call and explained to the good doctor,

"Everything is fine, relax, and please take your seat."

Brenner looked worried but retreated back into the aircraft to rejoin his collegues, muttering under his breath.

Some coffee was certainly in order at this junction and I called back to the doctor,

"Hey Brenner!"

He peaked his face back into the cockpit.

"How about a cup a joe, will ya?"

The blank stare across his countenance told me he didn't take kindly to requests from a mere pilot like me, but I knew he'd fetch the coffee. After all, the success of this entire trip depended solely on me. Once again Hans withdrew to the rear, muttering.

Checking the cabin pressure and consulting my GPS equipment, I determined we were somewhere above bolivia and had a long way to go.

Just then a young woman who I'd noticed before takeoff came right into the cockpit.

"I don't know what it is you fink you're doing but you'd better cut it out. You've got Brenner all in a state. He's making us nervous."

Her English accent and doe eyes had me 'all in a state' but I played it cool.

"Oh let him be, he's fine, probably figuring a way to hoodwink those villagers. Name's Mack, didn't catch yours."

I held out my hand. She looked at me, eyebrows raised.

"Didn't frow it now did I?"

Sheesh somebody woke up on the wrong side of the fuselage, I thought. I withdrew my hand and fixed my gaze elsewhere. To my surprise she climbed into the empty copilots seat beside me.

"Sorry," she said. "That was rude, I'm Maggie Grantham."

She didn't offer a hand and her eyes remained steady forward but I could feel the mood shift, the tension lessen.

Over the mountains and jungles of Bolivia and on toward Venezuela and Brazil our conversation flowed effortlessly. We laughed. She shed a tear recounting her parents tragic deaths. We even began to flirt.

"I feel as if I've known you all of my life," she quipped, a radiant smile beaming my way.

I can remember thinking to myself how quickly time seemed to be moving. In the blink of an eye most of the passengers were asleep and we were quickly approaching the notorious Bermuda Triangle. Then, the plane lurched westward, took a deep dive about one thousand feet and I scanned the outside of my plane, searching for some cause. I recovered and found my bearings as Brenner invaded the cockpit once more.

"Shut up!' I barked before he could say a word.

"Just some turbulence, we're above water," I explained.

"Uhm well, there's a bit of a problem." Brenner stammered.

Although we hadn't gotten along pleasantly before now, I took his tone and demeanor seriously. Something was up. Once again, the aircraft took a heart pounding dip.

"Spit it out damnit!" I yelled.

Maggie looked from Brenner back to me and I could see the horror etched into her face. Her slender hand came up to cover her mouth, that universal sign of shock and trepidation.

Brenner began, "Our specimen is awake." He paused before continuing. "And angry.", he finished.

"So get it back to sleep, calm him down, that creature's gonna put us at the bottom of the Atlantic!"

Of course there were marine biologists on board who could sort this thing out. I figured there'd be tranquilizers, restraints, maybe a soft ballad to soothe the disturbed monster. But alas, the team's supply of heavy sleep-inducing narcotics were smashed, their glass vials shattered just as the squid's supposedly "safe-tested" enclosure had. Now there was a veritable ocean, ten thousand cubic meters of South Pacific salt water squelching, sloshing freely in my airplanes lower hold.

I feel at this point in the story it would be prudent to elaborate on the unique design of my custom C130. This wasn't just any old transport plane. The wingspan was fifty yards across, imagine half a football field! The body was about as wide as 3 school buses. Unlike the Airbus and popular passenger plane, the Boeing 787, my aircraft didn't utilize the latest lightweight alluminums and poly-carbons. Good, old fashioned American steel and a kevlar coating was necessary. At the base it was nicknamed 'the battleship' and onlookers, no matter how many times they'd seen it airborne, were truly dazzled by its ability to fly. The gunmetal grey paintjob added to its naval mystique but its official mandate was secret and not necessarily commissioned by any of the branches of our military. The giant aircraft contained two levels, the upper being small, cramped, and exclusively for passengers and crew. There was a ramp that folded down and out at the back of the plane to accomodate Humvees, tanks, advanced weapons systems, or any other large loads. The cavernous cargo hold, or "belly of the beast", which held the giant squid was retrofitted specifically for the journey. Because of the large volume of salt water the squid needed to remain alive, a waterproof spray was applied to the walls, floor, and ceiling before the squid's humongous tank was secured within.

When I first took this assignment, my only hesitation was about the immense volume of water. Surely the plane would be more difficult to operate, and a thin margin for error made this endeavor a risky operation at best. Now, faced with the prospect of a writhing, tentacled, and angry squid, negotiating the craft was nothing short of suicidal. Something had to be done.

Then it hit me. While in Argentina I made a personal purchase. I met Juan Carlos in a saloon about half a mile from the tarmac. Procured by Juan Carlos were four hundered fifty, sixty milligram quaaludes, a bygone intoxicant completely unavailable stateside. The leather jacket I had hung on a hook behind my seat contained the pills. I knew from firsthand experience the sedative properties of the quaaludes, just five of these could knock an elephant unconscious quite easily. Certainly a dozen or so could act the same on the squid.

I clambered behind my seat, spilling my untouched coffee. As I grabbed for my jacket I relayed my plan to Brenner and Maggie. Amid shouts of protest I exited the cockpit and made my way to the hold. I prayed the short lesson I'd given Maggie had sunk in.

"Just keep us in the clouds!" I shouted.

I climbed down the staircase. Before I reached the floor my entire body was submerged. There was no sign of the researchers from Germany. Fluorescent running lights flickered above me creating an eerie sense of doom. I worried about electrocution but quickly stowed the thought away. Any fear now would paralyze me thus dooming the entire flight. Armed with the sedatives and a strong sense of valor, I plunged into the frigid depths.

Immediately I became disoriented as I was gripped round the waist by a tentacle and flung helter skelter around the hold. As the beast brought my writhing body toward its chomping beak-like jaws, I grabbed the only thing within arms reach - a crowbar. The intentions of the squid were clear, I was to be the dessert which followed the two scientists who woke the beast. As oxygen quickly left my bloodstream I lashed out, forcing the crowbar into the squids beak, jamming it open and force-feeding the quaaludes into its gullet. I felt the tension subside and the tentacle release me. I scurried to the surface, grabbed hold of the ladder, and took a huge gasp. I had done it. The immediate threat was over.

Now what were we to do about the loose water, unbalancing the plane every second, putting our lives in jeapordy. Soaking wet, I collapsed into the cockpit and resumed control of my airplane. I explained to Maggie and Hans the circumstances we found ourselves in.

We would have to dump the squid.

Hans turned white as a ghost. He had just released the two hundred thousand dollar payment to the fishing village. This mission was the culmination of over two years of field work and exploration. He put up a token resistance but he knew it had to be done. The lives of him and his crew were at stake.

I took the aircraft slowly and steadily down toward the waves of the Atlantic ocean. We became dangerously close to the surface when Maggie yelled,

"Stop, hold one minute!"

She tore down to the lower hold before I released the ramp and she secured a tracking device to the squids tentacle.

"We'll find him again Dr," she said soothingly, patting the scientist on the shoulder.

"We'll find him again." He repeated with conviction. They returned to Mack's cockpit with a new mission on the horizon.

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thebibliomancer · 6 years

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Essential Avengers: Avengers #195: Assault on a Mind Cage!

May, 1980

... Wasp’s new outfit is just so terrible.

And I’m a little bummed that apparently Wasp is going to end up captured and have to be rescued by her husband and her husband’s spin-off character.

She’s on the Avengers now and Hank isn’t and I was hoping that she’d get to grow into herself a little bit.

But hey... first time Ant-Man, Yellowjacket and the Wasp are together in one book apparently? And first time the new Ant-Man is appearing in Avengers, the team that will ruin his life and then kill him.

H-hooray?

So last time: the Avengers had a quiet day (except Vision who broke a bunch of stuff because he was a poet and didn’t know it) which was ruined when an escapee from an institute for the criminally insane showed up and begged the Avengers to save him from people that were trying to kill him.

Instead of doing that, the Avengers handed Selbe back over to the Institute because, hey, their paperwork was all in order!

Wasp thought there was more going on than was apparent and followed back to the institute with the Avengers following after once they realized that Wasp was missing.

And that brings us to now, where the Avengers are lurking outside the Solomon Institute for the Criminally Insane in Southampton, Long Island.

The Wasp is inside, maybe.

Also, they picked up Yellowjacket and Ant-Man at some point on the way.

But they also never explained anything to Yellowjacket at some point along the way which gives an excuse for Captain America to recap the previous issue.

Iron Man chimes in some exposition that he learned off-panel about the Solomon Institute. Apparently this institute for the criminally insane is choosy who they accept as a patients, which is a weird quality for a psychological institute to have, right?

But not weird enough to get the Avengers a search warrant so instead they’re going to flaunt the law by having Yellowjacket sneak in to snoop around.

Oh and apparently the Avengers didn’t pick up Ant-Man. Yellowjacket invited him along and he’s been lurking tiny sized waiting to make a dramatic entrance, which he does when Iron Man laments having to send Yellowjacket in alone.

Although its less of a partnership and more of a... job shadowing?

Ant-Man: “YJ asked me to meet him here when he found out what the scam was. And being something of a neophyte in the super hero biz, I jumped at the chance to learn at the hands -- er, wings -- of an old pro!”

Intern Ant-Man. Antern-Man!

So with Captain America telling them to get on with it already, Yellowjacket and Ant-Man fly off to infiltrate.

And Yellowjacket thanks Scott Lang Ant-Man for coming along.

Yellowjacket: “I appreciate your coming along on such short notice, Scott. I know your job at Stark International is important, and --”

Ant-Man: “Say, look, I enjoy soldering transistors as much as the next guy -- but the reason I originally took your offer to be Ant-Man was because I craved excitement and adventure. And if that means being docked an hour’s pay, pal, then them’s the breaks!”

I like that transistors are still a huge deal in Stark’s company. Tony Stark doesn’t forget his roots.

But also I misread Scott’s line and briefly struggled with the incorrect revelation that Scott Lang invented PayPal.

I briefly existed in a very different and confusing world.

Anyway, Ant-Man, Yellowjacket, and a giant swarm of ants sneak in through the keyhole of a side door at the Solomon Institute. And nobody notices.

There’s a guard right next to the door and he doesn’t hear a giant swarm of ants flying through a keyhole.

I was under the impression that that many flying insects creates a racket.

So as the strangely hearing impaired guard trudges off to get coffee, Ant-Man and Yellowjacket climb into the ventilation system while Ant-Man tells his ants to split up, gang, to cover more ground.

The two size-shifting heroes take a tour through the vents and see that this supposed institute is very weird.

Like. Should a place for treating the criminally insane have so many guns in the big communal bedroom? Or a big communal bedroom?

And instead of therapy, they spot people doing combat drills. Or maybe its... physical therapy?

And further along, they spot a group of people talking about candidates, students and fulfilling an order for Dr. Octopus.

Why would Dr. Octopus need inmates from an institute of criminally insan-

Oh wait a dang minute.

This isn’t an institute for the criminally insane at all, or at least not in the mental health sense!

The Solomon Institute is a front for a training academy for all those goons that supervillains always seem to have!

Although to be fair, Ant-Man and probably some of the audience have probably wondered where all those faceless lackeys came from (they have a name, Scott, probably!)

And disguising it as a place for the criminally insane means nobody would suspect a thing because training camp/institute, they’d both have a lot of criminals hanging around.

But the tour is over because “Steed” the ant and friends have returned with news on the Wasp’s whereabouts.

And she’s. She was captured off-panel (dammit, comic) and is being kept in some kind of dumb oxygen tent to keep her unconscious with sleeping gas.

She’s the only one of the Avengers that had any kind of initiative and insight and you play her like this, this comic? Come on!

There’s so many other ways this could have been played other than having her be the damsel in distress.

She could be solid snaking the institute, looking for actionable informations. She could have set off one of those emergency beacons from last time to lead the Avengers to her position. Anything other than caught off-panel!

Hmph.

Anyway, Yellowjacket blames himself because clearly with him around to tell her what to do, this wouldn’t have happened. Ant-Man, more savvy to the combined effectiveness of Yellowjacket and the Wasp instead predicts that Hank would have ended up captured too.

Also, Ant-Man has an ant-plan.

I.e., he plans to use ants to solve this and every other problem.

Its what he does, what he knows, and what he’ll stick with, thank you very much.

So Ant-Man summons a big swarm of ants to distract the guards and random scientist with biting of the eyeballs and otherwise and then Yellowjacket flies down to shoot one with his disrupter blasts and Ant-Man does the growing uppercut thing that is a cornerstone of Shrink Fu.

Then they get Wasp out of that dumb oxygen/sleeping gas tent and she revives almost immediately.

I don’t know how sleeping gas works but it seems like maybe it would take longer than that but whatever.

And with Wasp awake and “Just... slightly embarrassed. I-it only hurts... when I think” she can recount What Happened To The Wasp.

So, yes. We get to see her damseled on-panel. Honestly, its a little better than the alternative. =\

So since she thought that Selbe was telling the truth when the Solomon Institute’s limo took him away, she followed on wing.

Wasp: “It was so cold... I was almost as blue as my boots by the time we reached the Solomon Institute... but that was nothing compared to the chill I felt when I saw those stormtrooper guards... and heard the orderlies told to prepare Selbe for some sort of operation!”

Hey. Maybe you wouldn’t be so cold if you didn’t design a new costume during wintertime that is missing a sleeve and a pant leg? Just a thought.

Seriously, why this new costume?

Sure she was right about shady business, Wasp slipped into Selbe’s cell and returned to normal size to try to revive him.

But that was a stupid move because apparently there were hidden cameras in the cell and the room was filled with fast-acting sleeping gas to incapacitate her.

And the next thing she knew, she was being woken up by Ant-Man and Yellowjacket.

And then she starts making out with Yellowjacket because that’s what you do when your husband rescues you from a fake institute that’s really a training camp for mooks. You get a little frisky.

But Ant-Man points out the obvious thing. If Selbe’s cell was monitored, what are the odds that this room is too?

Very. Very odds.

Dr Solomon: “A most perspicacious query, young man. Unfortunately -- it is also rather tardy!”

Geez. Its always a bit hurtful when the villains call the heroes dumbasses. Its usually true but its like adding insult to intended injury. Exactly like that, in fact.

And we meet Dr. Pernell Solomon, as spoiled by my putting his name on that offset dialogue.

Wasp exclaims - and I’ll take her word for this - that Dr. Solomon looks just like Selbe except thirty years older.

So Solomon reveals that Selbe IS HIM DUN DUN DUNNN! but for more information please join him in his study. And that please is just to be polite. The guns that attack the nervous system are the real please in this situation.

Meanwhile, outside, the Avengers continue to wait outside. In the snow.

Luckily Beast thought to bring coffee. Although when this happened will be a mystery. Maybe the Avengers just keep some instant brew on the Quinjet just in case. That would make sense.

Either way, the point of this vignette is a conversation between Wonder Man and Ms Marvel.

And the point of the conversation between Wonder man and Ms Marvel is how Carol is an overreacting, touchy feminist.

I cannot think of any other intended reading for this exchange:

Wonder Man: “I can’t help it, Ms. Marvel. I’m worried. Maybe Iron Man and I should have just smashed our way in and pulled the Wasp out. After all, we are --”

Ms Marvel: “--‘Men’? Are you still on that kick? Look, Simon, I know you were out of action for a long time, but this isn’t the 60′s anymore! You’ve got to learn that women are more than fair damsels waiting to be rescued by shining knights! The Wasp is a valuable team member, as competent as any of her male counterparts! She --.”

Wonder Man: “Ms. Marvel, what I was going to say was that perhaps we should have gone after the Wasp because we’re... her friends.”

Ms Marvel: “‘Her...?’ oh.”

I choose to believe that the ellipses in Wonder Man’s reply is because he’s frantically trying to dig himself out of the hole he put himself in.

But that’s not the intended reading. I know that because the very next panel has Beast smirking across the distance and Jocasta suggesting they put more sugar in Carol’s coffee.

Ha. Ha. Ha. Isn’t it hilarious how tightly wound she is?

I don’t want to pretend I can guess the motives of the creative staff behind these books from across the gulf of time. But considering whats in store for Carol, a writing out of the book that would make Classic Doctor Who go ‘geez that’s fucked up’ I can’t think that otherwise.

At least in Avengers so far, Carol has been pretty chill about her feminism and Wonder Man has been stuck in the past.

But this swaps things so Wonder Man is the poor, put-upon misinterpreted well-meaning dude.

Bah.

Anyway.

Ant-Man, the Wasp, and Yellowjacket are taken at gunpoint to Dr Solomon’s office so he can explain EVERYTHING.

Why? Because otherwise how would we, the audience, understand what was going on?

Basically, Selbe is a clone of Dr Solomon.

DUN DUN DUN

Well. Its slightly more obvious if you know German since Selbe apparently means “same.”

Because Dr Solomon was born with a weak heart and a rare blood type so it would be hard to get a transplant. So obviously the most correct and obvious solution is to just grow a new heart that is genetically identical.

This raises the question, if Selbe is just a clone of Solomon, wouldn’t his heart also be weak? But surely a scientific genius who explains his whole plot to superheroes would have thought of that.

Selbe is just a few months old, by the way. Artificially aged up.

Why is it even necessary for the clone to be self-aware if he’s just an organ harvest or why it even needs to be a full-bodied clone if you’re just after a heart is a mystery.

Because here’s what happened. Selbe heard that he was going to be killed to be harvested and also heard about the Avengers and decided ‘fuck this shit, i’m out’ and escaped to look for the Avengers’ help.

Of course we all know how that went. With him right back where he started and several Avengers being forced to listen to exposition at gunpoint.

Wasp actually questions why someone intelligent enough to set up a secret training school for supervillain mooks would need to create a full, self-aware clone just to get a heart but Solomon reveals that he’s just an administrator. He didn’t set this up. And if it gets out that he was using resources for a personal project, geez would he be in trouble!

He has no trouble saying that in front of several of his guards who no doubt would never blackmail him.

Dr Solomon: Pretty smart dude.

Also he notices that Yellowjacket has been wiggling his... shoulder wing things.... and tells him to cut it out.

But wiggling his shoulder things allowed Yellowjacket to build up a charge for his DISRUPTER BLASTS!

FZZAK ZZAK!

And Ant-Man punches a guy too. Good job, Ant-Man.

Dr Solomon tells his remaining two guards to “jangle them!” because the neural attacking guns are called janglers.

Takes some of the menace out. JANGLE THEM YOU FOOLS! See?

But the two guards find their guns clogged with ants.

Good job, Ant-Man! And Yellowjacket had detected the ant controlling signals so that’s why he knew it was safe to attack.

Dr Solomon decides he’ll try to strangle Wasp because she hasn’t contributed to the escape attempt at all so she must be a pushover.

And granted, I was just about to complain about that but when Solomon grabs her, Wasp introduces his chin to the heel of her palm.

“This ‘lady’ -- is a champ!” indeed!

Also “Nice teamwork, people” indeed. Wasp is just saying all the right things.

I begrudgingly forgive her of her new costume.

More guards burst in but rather than wide-dispersal *snrrk* janglers, they’re carrying cartridge weapons so everyone shrinks down to avoid the guns or perhaps lasers and then Yellowjacket and Wasp combine their respective blasts to COLLAPSE THE ROOF ON THE GUARDS

DANG

I can never get a bead on how powerful the disrupters and bio-stings are supposed to be...

Meanwhile, outside again, the Avengers notice a vehicle approach and land at the institute.

“The sinister craft glides slowly down from a gun-gray sky... hovers for a moment... and then settles with a metallic whisper. The master has arrived!”

The Avengers boggle vacantly at how advanced the ship is and Wonder Man says that they should be ready for anything.

But meanwhile, inside again, I’m noticing that although the Avengers are involved, this is basically an Ant-Man, Yellowjacket, and the Wasp team-up story.

The three of them find Selbe’s chamber and there’s only one guard guarding it. So Wasp flies inside his ear and whistles

REALLY LOUDLY

And then flies out, grows, and chops him in the back of the head to knock him out.

While complaining about how waxy the guy’s ear was.

It was your decision to go for this tactic, Jan.

They unlock Selbe’s cell. Wasp tells him they’re getting him out of here and they’re going to find the one really behind all this madness and-

Aw dang.

The one really behind all this madness found them.

And beat up Yellowjacket and Ant-Man so quickly and so off-panel that Wasp didn’t even notice.

Taskmaster: “My moniker’s the Taskmaster, shuggy, and I run this little operation -- along with a dozen or so others. My shtick is teaching the teachers, an’ I’ve just decided that you an’ your sleepyhead partners here would make perfect visual aides for my next class. It’s one o’ my favorites, dumplin’. I call it -- DISMEMBERMENT 101!”

Yup. Iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiintroducing, Taskmaster! And he’ll be staying around for a while.

Just like the Terrible Tinkerer was introduced to explain where the villains got all their fabulous toys, the Taskmaster was introduced to explain where villains got their never ending armies of vaguely competent henchmen.

But as you can tell by the next issue caption, this is a three-part story. So to be continued next time.

Follow @essential-avengers. I’m at 13 followers. Sad, ain’t it? But with seven more, I can be forced to cover some alternate Avengers that aren’t the main 616 ones. What Ifs?, alternate universes, terrible terrible cartoons. The spectrum of everything is your menu.

#Avengers #surprise last panel villain #the Wasp #Yellowjacket #Ant Man #Ms Marvel #Carol Danvers #Wonder Man #some other people that sit in the snow and wait for the plot #Essential Avengers #Essential marvel liveblogging

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windienine · 6 years

Text

Curtain Call- Part 1

requested by @maya-fey

pairing: winona/wigfrid

summary:

Winona has been surviving all by her lonesome, and seems to be doing just fine for herself. However, after crossing paths with old friends, she promises them her protection. When she decides to add herself to their party, she is soon informed that there is one member of their group that she has never met on any previous "wake-up". The newcomer is valiant, strong, and overwhelmingly pretty in a way that leaves Winona with a longing heart for the first time in over ten years.

However, that's not all. Winona knows without question that she recognizes Wigfrid from somewhere before all this. As the images grow clearer in her mind, it begs the question--could Winona be the key needed to unlock Wigfrid's memories and uncover why she was brought to the Constant in the first place?

With a bright lantern in one hand and Abigail holding the other, Wendy lead the way through the woods. Daybreak wouldn't be coming for another few hours, yet she had set out with Webber on a midnight misadventure. The latter, however, seemed to be in the middle of voicing some doubts about the excursion.

"Wendy, are you sure this is a good idea?" Webber whispered, their voice rising a bit with anxiousness. "What if the grown-ups find out we left camp without them? We're gonna get in trouble!"

Wendy shushed them, before continuing on into the gloom. "Keep your voice down, if you're so afraid of that. We're still rather close to camp. We have to-"

"But they're gonna wake up and see our empty beds!" Webber interjected. "Dr. Wickerbottom doesn't even sleep-she's probably going to walk over to our tent and see that it's empty and then she's never gonna trust us to go out on our own!"

"Don't be ridiculous. We'll surely back before anybody notices," she said, before turning her head to Webber for a quick moment. They were shaking like a leaf. "… Please don't tell me you're so scared that you were planning to run back and tell them about the flash."

Every hair of theirs was on end, sticking out and making them look like a spooked cat. "I-I-I won't do that. We're not tattletales!" Webber replied defensively, but their fearful shudders were telling a different story entirely. They couldn't stop staring at the darkest shadows of the thicket, silently wondering if there were thousands of horrible monsters inside there, only waiting to jump out and attack.

Wendy walked onwards, choosing to disregard their fright. "Webber, keep your wits about you. I need you to summon your bravery right now. This is to protect the adults, remember?" she said, before pausing to address Abigail. "Sister, may you keep him company?"

The translucent figure beside Wendy let go of her hand, stopping to walk (float?) beside Webber instead. While they still seemed reluctant to move forward, they gripped Abigail's hand tightly in his right claw, barely realizing that he had phased through it completely.

He looked up at her, smiling just a little. "Thank-you, Abby."

She replied with a hollow tittering that was almost like one of Wendy's rare laughs, and they could swear he saw her smiling back at them. Webber felt a bit of confidence rushing back; the spider, who was piping up in the rear of their mind, was warier about the spooky lantern-light than the darkness it was warding off.

Webber spoke up again. "The big flash… don't you think it just could have just been heat lightening or something like that? Dr. Wickerbottom once told me that it's a thing that happens in late spring and makes the sky flash at night, sometimes."

"Heat lightning?" Wendy corrected.

"Yes! That!"

"Not out of the question. But didn't it seem awfully close?"

"We d'know, maybe. It kind of made more of… more of a 'brbrbrbrbr' than a 'KA-BOOM', so it sounded kind of far-off even though it looked close-up. I remember that Grandpa has a tough time hearing really low or really high sounds, so maybe that's why only we heard it. This place is strange."

"Yes. That it-"

Wendy was cut off by a loud rustling in the thicket ahead of them. She and Webber both flinched, but Wendy moved quickly to protect them. Drawing her spear, she immediately stepped in front of Webber. Abigail edged forward in tandem, on her guard to protect the both of them If need be.

"We can fight, too!" Webber hissed, their claws at the ready. If anything, they should have been in front!

Yet, just as the three were preparing for the worst possible outcome…

Somebody, rather than something, trudged out from the heavy underbrush. Her clothing was still covered in a mix of dirt, dust, and leaf litter. She was gripping a pickaxe firmly in both hands, looking as if she had been just as ready to brawl as the children. Upon seeing each other, they all dropped their weapons.

"Miss Winona?"

"Auntie-M-Miss Winona!"

"Kids!" she exclaimed, opening her arms. Both of the children immediately ran to her, all sharing in a hug that lasted for just a moment before Winona spoke again. "What are you three scamps doing here at this hour? Don't tell me that you're striking it out all by your lonesome..."

"Don't worry! All we did was sneak out after dark to see what that flash of light was!"

"Webber, I thought you were still afraid of getting into trouble."

"Yep, I was," Webber said, followed by a laugh. "But seeing Miss Winona out here makes me feel one hundred times better! I bet that Abby's glad, too!"

The children found themselves in another death-grip of a hug. "Don't you two ever go running off like that again. You're going to give me gray hair before we get off this island, I swear it," she began, but paused. "What was all that about a flash, now?"

"There was a light in the sky and what sounded like rolling thunder some distance from camp," said Wendy. "We took our little journey and found you. Honestly, I was expecting some terrible lightning beast…"

"But all we found was you!" added Webber.

"A light in the sky, eh?" Winona repeated, thinking on it. "Tell me, kiddo, about how long ago was that?"

"Thirty-two minutes… on the nose!" Webber said, before getting a pair of surprised stares from the other two. "We're both really good at keeping time! We didn't have a clock in the living room, and my father made me take these awful hour-long piano lessons, so I learned to count the minutes out! The spider is good at it, too!"

"Alrighty, then!" Winona said. Webber was always full of surprises. They were a good kid. "But that does mean I'm right- about thirty minutes ago is when I came back using that there touch stone!"

"There's a touch stone in the woods?" Webber asked. "Wendy! The grown-ups are going to be so happy! We've got assurance!"

"Insurance," Wendy corrected. "But how did you know this was here? Did you already pass through these woods some time ago?"

"Right," said Winona. "Just a few days ago I was out here chopping firewood! I'm surprised none of you folks heard me. I would have come back here and probably found you lot the old-fashioned way if it hadn't been for those ornery mutts outnumbering me twenty-to-one!"

"Oh, gosh! Auntie Winona, are you okay?"

"Not at the time," Winona said, pulling back her sleeve to reveal a slew of faint bite marks. "I'll spare you the child-unfriendly details, but it's safe to say I woke up here with what was probably a big flash to you kiddos. It's a relief to find you all-my rear end is safer too, with your company. Now, tell me-who all is back at camp?" she asked, before adding: "Let's start walking back, now."

Wendy took the lead, Webber and Winona following close.

"Dr. Wickerbottom," Wendy started to answer, followed by a chuckle from Winona.

"She's still kicking, huh? Glad to hear it!"

"And Lady Wigfrid!" added Webber.

"Who, now?" asked Winona. "I think I've heard that name tossed around before, but I've never met her."

The children looked at each other for a moment, before looking back to Winona in slight surprise.

"You haven't?" they asked, almost exactly at the same time.

"Sure haven't." Winona said, but she barely finished the word as the kids began singing Wigfrid's praises.

"Oh, golly, she's so incredibly cool! You're both very cool in such different ways!"

"I do think you'd get along rather well. You both place emphasis on physical strength and are both very gifted at snuffing out the lives of other creatures, when necessary."

"Aw, Wendy… I'm, uh, going to choose to take that as a compliment, all right?"

"It was meant as such…"

"Oh! Good!" Winona said, with a bit of relief. "In that case, I'm going to make sure to introduce myself to this Wigfrid character right away. The world could use more tough gals!"

The group returned to camp a bit before sunrise. Wickerbottom, oblivious to the whole ordeal, still appeared to be studying away in her lit tent, from the look of her silhouette. Wigfrid, on the other hand, they assumed was still asleep. Though the children wanted badly to stay awake and catch up with Winona's adventures, but they were refused. Winona walked them back to their tent, even going so far as to tuck them all in with another hug for the four or five more hours of sleep they could hope to accumulate.

Ever the workaholic, she had decided to stay up and survey the camp, serving as night watch in the meantime. After all, if anything else strange were to happen, she certainly did not want the children to be the ones investigating once again. So, she stoked the central bonfire and had herself a walk around the perimeter of camp, inside of the short palisades. The first order of business, as always, would be to check inventory. As she perused the contents of their chests, she was shocked to see how much they had stockpiled. The party had a ready supply of kindling stacked up beside the machines, and the chests themselves were full of various medicinal tinctures, warm clothing, an entire set of back-up tools, and a bunch of standard survival gear. Then, in the last chest, another detail caught her eye. Were those… spears? The five of them certainly looked a bit pointier than the usual flint-shard-on-a-stick fare, but the decals made them look… well, fake, if Winona was being honest with herself. They looked like stage props-convincing stage props, even, but certainly not like anything that one would find in the jury-rigged kits of these survivors. Each of them had little symbols carved into the hilt, but Winona had no idea what any of them meant. One looked like an arrow, another like the letter "Y" but with an extra line through its middle, and another looked like an oddly written lowercase "n". They were all carved with exact, straight strokes that looked just as surreally perfect as the rest of the weapon.

Curious, she lightly poked a spearhead with her index finger, and quickly drew it back. It wasn't just sharp, it could probably go through some sorry beast's chest and come out its back with the right force behind it! If this so-called "Wigfrid" was their maker, Winona reckoned that she would have to pick up a few tips and share them with the others in order to figure out a way to make better spears more quickly. Yet, the odd symbols puzzled her. Why bother incorporating all of this ritzy business into something you were just going to stab things with and probably break a few days later? To Winona, it was pointless-but probably just some artsy signature or good-luck charm. That aside, she decided to take one with her. In case anything decided to try and get the jump on her,

As for the rest of the camp, things appeared to be running smoothly under Wickerbottom's supervision. A variety of machines were quietly whirring away pleasantly, and Winona was always a fan of Wickerbottom's mechanical prowess. She worked slowly, to Winona's chagrin, but she could never disagree that the finished products had a tendency to run like magic-even and especially the ones that actually ran on magic itself. Winona was a bit lost when it came to those, and she tended to hand off anything involving the arcane to someone with a bit more knowledge in that field. Just thinking about spells, staves, gems, and the like made her head spin. The final oddity was the stock of food. It was excellent! A range of quite edible (and some less edible) steaks lined the icebox, and there were even more cuts of meat left to hang on a couple of drying racks beside it. Winona was left wondering where all of the veggies, were-she was hoping the children were getting a balanced diet. Even so, she was happy that this group had apparently had some successful hunts as of late. No one would be going hungry. After her little self-lead tour, she sat back on a pine stump near the tents with a slight but audible crack that was followed by a shock of pain. Had she really been straining herself that much? Not that it mattered, of course; Winona was determined to stay up and wait for dawn. What if some terrible monster snuck in and destroyed the entire camp? What if there was a storm brewing and she'd be the only one to taste it on the air? She'd stand guard, regardless!

She looked instinctively back to the children's tent every few moments, listening for a rustle or looking for a light flickering inside. She hoped that they were catching some z's in the small amount of time they had. She would be vigilant! She would be responsible! She would be there for everybody… or, would have been, had those not have been her final few thoughts before slumping over just a bit and falling fast asleep right on the stump. Considering the fact that she had stayed up for over 36 consecutive hours beforehand, it wouldn't have been surprising to anyone but her.

Winona was awoken with a start at the crack of dawn by a distant scream. Opening her eyes, she jolted up from the stump in a mix of heart-racing surprise at having fallen asleep in the first place and terror for the screamer. Sprinting to the front entry of camp in the faint morning light, spear clutched in both hands, she looked around frantically to identify where the scream had come from. It had been somewhere out towards the open meadow.

The scream came once again. On a closer listen, it sounded quite more like some sort of battle cry than a scream of terror. Confused, Winona squinted and stared off into the distance. There, just a speck of a figure in her sight, was a woman with red hair and a helmet. What in the world was she fighting?

From a small grove of trees emerged an enormous, growling wolf, its maw alone almost dwarfing her.

"Well, I'll be damned." Winona muttered under her breath, staring in awe for just a moment before running towards the woman. This tiny lady was going toe-to-toe with a Varg, and as Winona closed in, she could make out that she barely had a mark on her.

"Be still, föul spawn öf Fenrir!" cried the woman, brandishing her spear. "Shall yöu fashiön yöur demise swift, ör wröught with the möst baleful of agönies?"

The enormous creature snapped its slavering jaws, keeping its distance, and Winona was left in stunned silence at the outlandish newcomer. She was wearing what could only be described as a slightly blood-spattered costume of golden scale and a leather chest-piece, and her braided hair fell past her shoulders and blew in the morning wind. She was fierce. She was peculiar. What in blazes was that accent? Never mind that, she was maybe five-foot-short and exuded a presence worthy of a seven-foot giantess. She was gorgeous.

Wigfrid had apparently noticed Winona some time ago.

"Fellöw shield-maiden, I see yöu wield a weapön! Jöin me! The beast's strength has been whittled döwn, with but a sliver remaining!"

"S-sure thing." Winona answered, her face barely above a whisper as she took her spear and looked the gigantic Varg directly in its ugly eyes.

"I see yöur face glöws red with hatred för the Wölf! We will make gööd partners!"

"… Yep. Sure does."

"Ön my cöunt, we attack!" Wigfrid said, stepping to the left. "Öne…"

Winona instinctively stepped to the right, matching up. They would attack from both sides, pinning the Varg and making for its quick undoing.

"Twö…"

Winona was star-struck. How was this woman a real person? Why was she acting like a viking? How was she so fearless? How is she being so absolutely bizarre about this whole endeavor and coming out on top? And, for the love of everything good in the world, why was she making Winona's heart race faster than any monster ever could?

"Three!"

Wigfrid zigged and Winona zagged, and while the Varg attempted to move out of the way and come for Winona with a terrible bite. Wigfrid jumped up. Twirling and throwing her spear, she managed to stab the beast right in the back of its head as it reared up. Just as soon as it had opened its maw wide, it fell to the ground with a mighty thump, its red tongue lolling out.

"Many thanks, my newly-förged friend!" Wigfrid said, seemingly incapable of a register other than loud and surprisingly melodic. She held out her hand for Winona. "Pardön the mess. I am slightly öff-kilter töday. I was öut all of the eve, tracking a beast tö keep me sustained, and I am left with this creature! I will eat its flesh, as all flesh is the fööd of warriörs, but I am ashamed tö admit that the flesh öf evil settles with me… less amicably."

"I… reckon you're Wigfrid. Is that right?"

"Sö yöu have heard my name and my explöits!"

"… In some ways, yep. My name's Winona. You're awfully, uh, good at fighting," said Winona, finally taking the handshake and firmly returning one that very well may have ripped a weaker person's arm out of its socket. "It's a pleasure to meet another woman with some real physical abilities around these parts. Shame we met in the middle of battle," she continued, while clearly thinking exactly the opposite of that. "Thanks for killing that thing. If it got to camp, our collective geese would've been cooked."

"The pleasure is all mine!" Wigfrid replied with an almost booming laugh. "You're an ödd öne, my scarved ally. Nöw, shall we skin it and return tö camp?"

"That's the plan, I guess." Winona said, while admonishing herself for not speaking with more reverence. This was a lady she was talking to! A lady of war! She was bizarre, warlike, bloodied, and had the strangest air of familiarity about her, but she was strong and beautiful, and Winona wanted nothing more than to talk to her for the next forever-and-a-half. For the first time in decades, Winona was love-struck. It wasn't an attitude becoming of her career-based mindset.

As they walked back to camp, Wigfrid began telling stories in that thick Scandinavian accent of hers. Winona, enamored, listened closely to every word while having the most neutral expression plastered on her face. Half of her brain was excited by the idea of having someone to fawn over after so many years, but on the other side, a thousand kinds of red flag were being raised. One thought overpowered them all, on both ends:

Winona knew her from somewhere.

#don't starve #dont starve #winona #wigfrid #winonafrid #fic #windie writes #maya-fey

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