#its okay bernard its okay to cry | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sleptwithinthesun · 2 years

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d/c fic, because i am nothing if not obsessive. featuring t/im d/rake, b/ernard d/owd, and d/ick g/rayson. the longest fic i've written yet, clocking in at 10K words. i've actually been working on this fic for just about two months, so i'm really excited you all finally get to see the fruit of my labors :D

tw: mention of emeto about halfway in, starting with "But, again, it's Tim and it’s Bernard..." and ending with "'This is anxiety?'"

(just so you know, this is That Fic™ from the t/imber college au. hope you like it)

Tim's talking quietly on the phone when Bernard wakes up, blinking blearily across the room. His knees are pulled up to his chest with the blanket still covering them, and he has a hand as the back of his neck, spine pressed against the wall in a way that can't be comfortable. His side of the conversation is soft enough that Bernard, still half-asleep, can't quite make out what Tim is saying, but he can see his roommate's hands shaking.

That's not a good sign.

He's taking deep, shuddering breaths, like he's trying not to cry, and worry crawls into Bernard's chest. In the three months that've passed since he first met Tim, one of the few things that he's learned about him is that he's always almost perfectly composed, never admitting to stress or struggle and waving off any concerns about him with practiced grace, as if it's rational to stay awake for four days straight. Bernard isn't sure why Tim is the way that he is, but he's making consistent efforts to break him out of his shell. It hasn't produced any results so far, but he's hoping something will happen. Maybe.

Eventually.

That's the goal, at least.

One of Tim's hands comes up to tug at a strand of his hair and he hisses, with Bernard finally picking it up in his semi-lucid state, "Dick. I can't."

The person on the other end— Dick, presumably —says the wrong thing, as displayed by Tim's reaction. "It is. Don't even pretend it isn't, you know it is, but it's not like I want to go around advertising it." There's a brief pause, and then Tim deflates, like a puppet with its strings cut. "No, I know it's important. I'm just— fuck." The phone switches hands, his newly-freed fingers suddenly occupied with a rubber band. "I think I might be doing too much and semester finals are next week and Bernard keeps trying to, like, check in on me and I don't know how to do that with him because he's not you or Jay and now this is hanging over my head and I feel like I'm suffocating."

In for a penny, in for a pound, right?

"Yeah, okay. That sounds… that should be manageable." His voice drops slightly in volume, and Tim just sounds resigned. "Love you. Bye."

The phone slips from his shoulder, landing on the blanket as Tim curls in on himself, both hands moving towards the back of his neck and stroking at the hair on the nape of his neck in an attempt to self-soothe. It feels uncomfortably private, and Bernard closes his eyes again and shifts slightly, not wanting to intrude but also needing to get up soon.

He hears Tim pull himself together, taking deep breaths until they even out, then tossing the blanket aside and standing. Bernard waits until he hears one of the drawers open before shifting again and doing what he hopes is a believable impression of someone walking up, stretching slightly before he straightens.

Tim's only in a T-shirt and boxers, likely his sleep clothes, but it takes Bernard a minute to register it as Tim. He's never actually seen Tim change clothes, the realization just now hitting him, in the moment where it sinks in that it's actually about to happen.

Bernard's about to speak up when Tim takes off his shirt. Normally, this wouldn't be a big deal; every other pair of roommates have seen each other's bodies and neither of them care about it.

The difference with them, as per usual, is that Bernard's never seen Tim in anything less than a T-shirt and shorts.

Tim's back is a mess of scars, all twisted pink lines and angry marks curving around his shoulder blades, along his spine, across the small of his back. There's one that might be a from a bullet on his side, and another that looks like a stab wound below his shoulder and to the left. Bernard can't hold back the gasp that escapes from him, clapping his hands over his mouth as Tim whirls around, his eyes wide and scared.

They're both silent for a second, staring at each other, and then Tim yanks his shirt back on and wraps his arms around his abdomen, like if he can hide it, Bernard will forget he ever saw it. He still looks like a deer in the headlights, spooked and unsure and waiting for the blow.

"I—" he starts, hesitant, before falling silent once again.

Bernard glances at the thread of one scar, visible on the side of his neck, only now noticeable because he knows what to look for, and swallows nervously. "Tim, what..."

"I don't want to talk about it," Tim says, suddenly hoarse and speaking barely louder than a whisper. "Please, Bernard, just drop it."

He holds Tim's gaze, mind racing to come up with reasons, any explanation for what he just saw, but he's left drawing a blank. There's no logical explanation for the amount of scars that Tim has unless he had a really shitty upbringing—

Oh, fuck.

"Okay," Bernard manages, still steadily staring at his roommate. "But if you do want to talk about it, I'm here, alright?"

Tim nods, then asks quietly, "Could you, uh…"

"'Course," Bernard replies hurriedly, turning on his bed so his back is facing Tim. He can hear him changing, his movements quick, like he doesn't trust Bernard not to turn around and look again. It's not as if Bernard can blame him, though, so he leaves it until Tim's soft "okay" drags through the tension, sticking in the grooves.

He's staring right at Bernard when he turns around again to face him, eyes guarded and wary. "You're not…" he starts, biting at his lip and looking away as he trails off. "You're not going to... talk about this, are you?" he asks, the implications clear as day in his emphasis.

"Not if you don't want me to," Bernard replies, trying to play it off as if this is a normal, everyday occurrence. "I can keep a secret, Tim."

Tim nods in apparent relief, slumping the slightest amount as Bernard moves to stand up, looking at his watch as he does so. "Don't you have classes soon?"

He takes the change in topics easily, shaking his head. "First lecture's at ten-thirty; I was going to head to the library for a bit." Tim gives him a tight smile, one that doesn't fully reach his eyes, and Bernard decides he's off his game as he starts grabbing notebooks from his desk and shoving them into his bag.

It must have been the phone call. Bernard has never heard that amount of emotion, much less frustration and distress, out of Tim. He's very careful about how he expresses himself around Bernard, something that shouldn't bother him as much as it does, and if he's being honest, it's off-putting to see Tim like this.

"See you later," Tim murmurs, nodding once at him and exiting the dorm, leaving Bernard alone with nothing but his thoughts and a barely-there tickle in his throat, easily resolved by clearing it once. He'll deal with Tim later, as the other said. Right now, he needs to focus on his finals.

As it turns out, the barley-there tickle from that morning has morphed into a full-on sore throat by the next morning, coupled with a slight headache and the beginnings of congestion. Bernard knows what this is. Everyone does. The entire campus is stressed and the winter chill is already dawning, resulting in a cold that's being passed around from dorm to dorm. Bernard's assuming that he's caught it, though thankfully not in the middle of finals week. He's got about three days to kick this before it actually becomes a problem, and he's confident in his ability to do so. His immune system's always been strong; he almost never got sick as a kid or in his adolescence, and the few times that he did were so mild he didn't even have to stay home from school. Plus, it's Friday, meaning he has no classes tomorrow and therefore the entire weekend to recover and study.

He's got this.

Bernard still groans in displeasure as he rolls over in bed, though. Just because he can handle it doesn't mean he has to like it, and since Tim's already out of the dorm, presumably at the library again, Bernard doesn't have to worry about any of the awkwardness that tends to come with their interactions. Meaning, he gets to be vocal with his complaints as he gets ready in the morning.

…Maybe 'vocal' is a bit of a stretch; it hurts to talk, so Bernard's keeping up more of an internal rant rather than actually expressing it. He hates being sick, no matter how minimal the affliction is. Plus, he's at college now, so it's not like he has either of his parents to help him out. Not that he doesn't know how to deal with a cold, it's just easier when he has someone else to look out for him.

He guesses that's what roommates are supposed to be for, but to be honest, he doesn't see Tim as the mother hen type. Bernard can probably ask Nessa, one of his sophomore friends, if she has cough drops or something else that can help. She's usually pretty prepared; if anyone he knows could help him, it'd be her. He heads over to her dorm with fifteen minutes before class starts with all intentions of asking her for a travel pack of tissues and cough drops, or maybe shot of cough syrup if she doesn't have the former.

Or, at least, that's the plan, until Bernard's actually standing in front of the door to her dorm and she holds out a bottle of Nyquil apologetically, saying, "This is all I have, Bernard, I'm so sorry."

"Don't worry about it," Bernard tells her, sniffling against the congestion he can feel surfacing. "I'll figure something else out; I'm sure a bunch of other people will have supplies, considering."

"Or," a voice interjects from further inside the room, "you take the Nyquil and drink a Red Bull and they cancel each other out while still helping you."

"Gwen, I don't think that's how it works," Nessa says, a wrinkle of concern appearing between her eyebrows as she turns back to Bernard, who's genuinely considering the offer.

In response to the incredulous, dumbstruck look she's giving him, Bernard just shrugs. "I mean, what's the worst that can happen?"

Nessa throws up her hands in defeat, reluctantly retreating into the dorm after a beat and re-emerging with a can of Red Bull as well as a plastic cup with a dose of Nyquil in it. "Don't die," she warns him, placing them both in his hands.

"I won't," he says, downing the Nyquil the second she closes the door and wrinkling his lip at the Red Bull. He's not really the biggest fan of energy drinks, but he needs something to negate the sedative effects of the Nyquil. So, with a quick and simple prayer to whatever deities may exist, Bernard pops the tab and chugs the can.

It's about as awful as he expected, but he's not feeling any immediate effects from either substance, which is probably a good thing. He still has about ten minutes to get to his morning class, though, so he hopes whatever potion he just drank kicks in soon.

Bernard blinks once.

And then he's back in the dorm, standing there like an NPC waiting for someone to tap on him. He has absolutely no memory past visiting Nessa's dorm, but even that's a bit fuzzy around the edges.

The only thing he's sure of is that he's never doing that again.

"Are you high?"

He tunes back into reality to see Tim, who's setting his bag down on the floor next to his desk, staring at him with something adjacent to concern painted on his features. "Maybe?"

"What'd you take?" he asks, moving a bit closer and looking directly into his eyes. "Your pupils are huge."

"Nyquil and Red Bull," Bernard replies, moving to sit down on his bed. "Think I caught that cold that's going around; didn't have anything and my friend only had Nyquil. Took Red Bull to try and cancel it out." He shoves a hand into his eye, pressing at it slightly before his hand shifts to rub at his sinuses.

Across from him, Tim literally facepalms, the sleeve of his sweatshirt riding up the slightest bit to expose a sliver glint of metal on his wrist, obscured again a second later. A bracelet, if Bernard had to guess, but not one he's seen before. Although, in his defense, his brain is still coming down from whatever kind of high that was, so maybe Tim's had it the entire time and he just never noticed. "How could you possibly think that was a good idea?"

"Only option available. Plus, I hate being sick."

"That's not a valid reason," Tim says, throwing him a box of tissues that clearly just materialized out of nowhere. A pack of cough drops joins it a second later, and he warns, "Don't even think about leaving that stuff all over the room; I'm putting the trash can right next to your bed so it's easier for you. Sleep it off."

Bernard smirks. "Wow, Drake, didn't know you cared so much."

"Don't get used to it," he replies, completely deadpan. "Just stay away from me while you're sick and we'll be fine."

"Deal," Bernard responds, lying down and closing his eyes. He falls asleep while Tim's still flipping through his notes and textbook, distantly aware that he should be studying as well but already feeling bad enough that it's drowned out by the need to rest.

When he wakes up again, it's the middle of the night and to the sound of Tim falling out of his bed.

"You okay?" he rasps, regretting speaking the second the words come out of his mouth. His throat feels like someone dragged a cheese grater down it, raw and fiery with pain. "Fuck," he hisses, immediately fumbling around for the cough drops Tim tossed at him earlier and ripping open the package.

No response from Tim.

Bernard's tossed the wrapper in the trash and set the bag of cough drops and tissue box on the ground by the time Tim makes so much as a sound, and even then, it's only one of those sleepy sighs people make when they're readjusting their position. There's a small shuffle among the tangle between Tim's sheet and blanket on the floor, and then near-complete silence, the only sound being Bernard sucking on his cherry-flavored cough drop.

A minute passes. Then two. And Tim's still on the floor, breathing relaxed and even, as if he hadn't woken up.

He's too tired to deal with this. Bernard rolls over the second his cough drop is gone and goes back to sleep.

Tim locks eyes with Bernard, glaring at him from across the room. "What do you think you're doing?"

"...Moving to my desk?" He really doesn't mean for it to come out at a question, but six words from Tim make him rethink his actions.

The glare intensifies until Bernard's genuinely worried that lasers are going to start shooting out of Tim's eyes, which isn't exactly an illegitimate concern. While he doesn't know any aliens or metahumans personally, that doesn't mean there isn't the possibility of him meeting one. Besides, if anyone he knows turns out to have superpowers, he'd place bets on Tim.

He raises his hands to surrender, retreating back onto his mattress until Tim backs off, his hackles smoothing back down. There's not really any use in trying to move over to his desk to study; Tim restricted him to his bed first thing in the morning. While it's definitely not an ideal place to study, he's been managing between coughing jags and an undulating headache he's had since he woke up. Thankfully, his cold isn't any worse than that, but it's still annoying as hell.

Tim was actually nice in the morning (despite spending half the night on the floor) and had brought him his studying materials and laptop, along with a paper cup with green tea from the dining hall. However, five hours later, that behavior has long since passed. He almost seems resentful of Bernard doing so much as sniffling, and keeps his headphones one like he's trying to prove a point. Not that Bernard can blame him, he hasn't exactly been silent with his symptoms, but it still stings. He thought he'd at least get a little bit of sympathy, but Tim's adamantly avoiding him.

"Seriously, dude, don't you think this is a little bit excessive?"

Tim shakes his head in a staunch refusal. "Absolutely not. I'm not taking any risks that might result in me catching this off you."

"Are you a germaphobe or something?" Bernard questions, brows furrowing. There's literally no other reason he can think of for him to be acting like this.

"Or something," Tim replies cryptically, not looking up from whatever he's typing on his laptop. Probably a study guide. God, this would be so much easier if he wasn't sick.

Bernard's about to reply again when a breath snags in his throat and he starts coughing for the umpteenth time, deep and grating into his elbow. The fit goes on for nearly a minute, and by the time it ends, his lungs are begging for air. "Holy fuck," he wheezes, wiping at the involuntary tears pricking in his eyes.

"It's good that you're moving air," Tim comments, completely nonchalant. "It'd be more concerning if you weren't coughing."

"Thanks," he responds, voice dripping with sarcasm. Tim merely hums in acknowledgment, throwing another cough drop at him and angling his torso away from Bernard, signaling that he's done with the conversation.

Bernard can take a hint. He unwraps the lozenge, drops the paper into the trash, and goes back to poring over his own notes.

"Timb."

"What do you need now?"

"...Cand you get andother cup of tea? Please?"

"Fine."

"Thangk you. Seriously. I know I'mb a paind to deal with right ndow, but. Thangks. For helping me. And for staying."

"You can repay me by not getting me sick."

"Fair enough."

Bernard is starting to get the sense that there's something Tim isn't telling him.

The constant insistence on keeping distance between them was sort of amusing at first, in a weird way, but with the arrival of Monday and their first finals, he's just annoyed with the whole thing. Bernard never asked to get sick in the first place. Sure, he understands that Tim doesn't want to catch this cold off of him, but at the rate the others in their dormitory are getting sick, there's no way he'll make it through the week. Easier for him to catch it now than later. Still, Tim is unwilling to be within arm's length of Bernard at any given moment, which is understandable. Sort of.

It's just…

He doesn't want to say it's suspicious, because he can't, but since Tim won't talk about it, Bernard's thoughts are left to fester unbidden and without any hope of resolution. All he wants is one answer, one that he wishes were simple, but getting anything out of Tim that he doesn't want to share is like pulling teeth.

"—just saying, you're still showing symptoms," Tim argues, flipping a piece of paper over and quickly scribbling out a chemical formula on the back of it. "I don't want to be too close to you until you're no longer contagious."

"Do you even know how ridiculous you sound right now? Do you?" Bernard snipes back, close to his limit. They've been going back and forth ever since Bernard crossed over to Tim's side of the dorm to try and grab the tissue box, and he can't hide his irritation anymore. "What the fuck is your deal, Tim? I mean, we live in the exact same room; there's no way you're not going to catch this. Why do you care so much, anyway? It's not the end of the world, and besides, you're smart enough to pass your finals even with a cold."

Tim scoffs, but still fails to look away from his studying material. "You don't und—" He cuts himself off, blowing out a breath before picking up again, "Look, I just don't want to get sick, okay? I'm really not in the mood for it."

"Well, tough, because as I just told you, there's no way you're going to be able to avoid this. Just get over yourself!"

He knows he's being rude, but it's not like Tim is being fair either. There's another factor at play here, something Bernard can't quite get a grip on, but he's too tired and spent to try and figure it out. Besides, if Tim doesn't want to give him any hints, if he's not willing to make any effort to help him understand, why should he try?

"Fine," Tim whispers, shutting his chemistry textbook purposefully, the pages smacking against each other. "If this is what you want, then so be it." He picks up the box of tissues Bernard was trying to get earlier, crosses the room, and places them on Bernard’s desk. When he speaks, his tone is pure ice, eyes hard and unforgiving as he glares down at Bernard. "I hope this is worth it to you."

It's Wednesday when Tim finally becomes the campus cold's next victim, and frankly, Bernard's relieved. No more tiptoeing around the issue and each other, no more of him muffling the lasting coughs at night, no more wary glances from Tim every time he breathes too loud. Once this passes through Tim, they'll be at winter break and then it's back to normal after that.

But, again, it's Tim and it’s Bernard, so nothing can go as simply as it should. The first thing Tim does when he wakes up, at the ungodly hour of four in the morning, is stumble down the darkened hall to the bathroom, where he promptly throws up while Bernard lags behind him, guilt swimming throughout his body as he listens to his roommate retch. Something that sounds suspiciously like a sob slips out, but when Tim returns, he's dry-eyed, albeit pale and shaky.

Bernard can feel himself swallowing sympathetically, the movements of his throat almost perfectly timed with Tim's own. "Is this what... did you catch...?" He's hesitant to say it, unsure if this is why Tim didn't want to get sick or if it's something else entirely.

His roommate shakes his head slowly, evidently trying not to stir up any more nausea. "That was anxiety. This," he's quick to demonstrate with a deep cough, reminiscent of Bernard's own, "is your doing."

"Hey, you were going to catch it regardless," Bernard defends. "Everyone's been getting sick. I'm not the sole person to blame."

Tim shrugs, sniffling into the back of his hand and holding onto the edge of the row of sinks with the other to steady himself. "If you say so, Bernard." He takes in a breath like he's about to say more, but suddenly closes his eyes, Adam's apple bobbing convulsively. Shit.

Bernard barely manages to drag him back into the stall before he's shuddering forward with dry heaves again, nothing else coming up but saliva and stomach acid. Still, he's heaving hard, and if Bernard remembers correctly, he has a final first thing in the morning. "Tim," he says weakly, hands held helplessly an inch away from his roommate's shoulders. "Talk to me."

He gives a final gag, practically collapsing against the stall door and pressing down on the handle to flush it as Bernard crouches at his side. "Fuck," he mutters, tilting his head back until it hits the metal of the stall wall, then closes his eyes and just sits there for a second.

"This is anxiety?" Bernard asks after a beat of silence, Tim's ragged breaths filling the space between them. The kid nods, color leached from his cheeks and forehead beading with sweat, hair flopping limply over his face.

"Told you... wasn't in the mood to get sick," he says, an attempt at a smile ghosting across his face for a second before he groans. "This isn't a symptom of the cold, just a side effect."

Bernard moves to sit down next to him before asking, "What does that mean?" His eyes roam across Tim's face, trying to look for any hints there, but he's almost completely blank, energy focused on drawing in breaths as deep as he dares.

"I hate getting sick," Tim states simply, then leans forward fast enough Bernard's almost certain he's fighting against a head rush to stand up. "So much so that, well... you know." He gestures towards the toilet. "I actually get sick."

"Why didn't you explain this earlier? I could've tried a little bit harder to help you avoid this," Bernard tells him, frustrated that he's finally figuring out why Tim was so insistent days after it mattered.

"You said it yourself, I was going to get sick no matter what. It was merely a question of when." Tim pauses to struggle to his feet, waving off the hand Bernard holds out to help him. "I'm sorry I was such an ass, though. You didn't— don't —deserve that."

He sways a second later, and Bernard ends up draping one of his arms around his shoulders anyway. "Hey, don't worry about it, dude. Just, let's go back to the room and you can try to rest for a little while longer, okay?"

"I actually feel fine," Tim tells him, ignoring the way Bernard's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "I mean, aside from the fact that I'm still a bit nauseous and the room's spinning around and it feels like someone's poking at my lungs, I'm good."

"...You just described the exact opposite of good, Tim."

Tim turns on the faucet to one of the sinks, stepping out from under Bernard's arm so that he can put his mouth under, swish some water around, and spit it back into the sink. "Did you forget we have finals today? And that there's literally no way to reschedule them now?"

He slips back under his arm, and Bernard pulls him a bit closer as they exit the bathroom, making sure to speak more quietly at the risk of waking anyone else up. "You're sick, though."

"Doesn't matter. I've passed finals before with nothing more than a crayon, Cheetos, and rage." The last part is whispered, almost to himself, and Bernard chooses not to address it since Tim looks like he's about to pass out. He definitely isn't fully aware of what he's saying.

They make it back to their dorm without further incident, and Bernard lets Tim down onto his bed, suspended for a second to make sure he doesn't collapse or anything. "You okay?"

"I'll be fine," Tim says, teeth glinting in the dark, exposed by a rueful smile. "Just wait until Friday."

There's no way to tell if that's supposed to be good or bad, a threat or a promise, and Bernard just says, "Get some sleep," before following his own instructions and crawling into his own bed.

He can't sleep, though. Tim's breathing eventually evens out on the other side of the room, a distinct high note carrying through, signs of the onsetting cold. If he'd just been warned that Tim had anxiety over being ill, he would've tried harder to help him avoid it. If he'd just been a bit more understanding of the situation. If, if, if.

Bernard rolls over to his side, trying to comfort himself by watching the rhythm of Tim's breaths, hoping it'll help him the same way counting sheep does for other people. However, he's still awake ten minutes into the cycle, stuck in a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions all centered around Tim that he doesn't have time to focus on. He has two finals once the sun rises, and three more left for the rest of the week. He needs his brain in other places.

And so, it's at six in the morning when Bernard officially gets up, unfortunately sleepless and ultimately feeling nothing but worry.

Bernard looks up from his calculus textbook on Thursday afternoon to watch Tim quite literally stagger through the doorway, backpack falling off his shoulder and onto the floor barely three seconds later. "Woah, hey," he comments, watching his roommate flop onto his bed and curl up into a miserable ball. "What happened? You weren't great, but you were at least okay this morning..."

The only response he gets is a grunt from Tim, muffled by his pillow. He makes no effort to get up, to move back to his desk and study for his last two finals tomorrow, and that's when Bernard knows it's bad.

Since Wednesday, Tim's been pushing through everything his cold's been throwing at him; the cough, the congestion, the fatigue, the headaches, all of it, and he hasn't slowed down for a moment. It's commendable, really, if a bit concerning, but Bernard hasn't seen him even give a hint of surrendering to it. He came back yesterday with a tissue pressed fiercely against his nose and managed to get in two hours of studying amidst the steady progression of symptoms and a handful of fierce coughing fits, but it seems like today might have been the straw that broke the camel's back.

"Tim?" he asks hesitantly, peering at the pile of blankets he's shoved himself behind, face still pressed into his pillow. "Do you need anything? Water, tissues?"

"Jus' wanna sleep..." Tim mumbles, glancing towards Bernard for a split second before putting his head down again. "Lights off?"

Bernard has to stifle his surprise at Tim's appearance, doing his best to just nod and go along with him. He looks like he's dying, and Bernard's certain he doesn't feel much better. Dark rings hang under his eyes, skin pale and flushed, eyes glazed over with exhaustion. He was okay this morning, he swears, lethargic and sniffly but nowhere close to where he is now. Whatever happened in the five hours since he left for his chemistry final and came back, Bernard almost doesn't want to know.

"Sure, Tim, whatever you want," he whispers, standing and flicking off the lights. There's still enough coming through the windows that he'll be fine to study for another few hours, if he needs that long.

If he can focus for that long.

He spares Tim's prone form another glance, wishing there was more he could do for his roommate, but there's nothing else he knows that would help. All Bernard can do is wait, it seems, for him to recover.

"Just wait until Friday," Tim's voice echoes, bouncing around his mind.

The pit of worry in Bernard's chest gets a little bit deeper, but seeing as that’s the only reassurance he currently has, he tucks it into the pit, gaining back the ground he's lost. He just needs to hold onto it for a little bit longer.

"Keep that in your mouth until it beeps," Bernard instructs, never more thankful for Tim's eccentricities in his life. As it turns out, his roommate keeps a fully stocked first-aid kit in his closet, complete with band-aids, gauze pads, what looked like a stitching kit, and, most importantly, a thermometer. When it does beep, only about ten seconds later, Bernard's there in an instant to check the reading. "Shit, Tim."

Tim croaks, his throat thoroughly shredded by the events of last night, "'S fine. Two more finals, and then I'm Gucci. Like that one pasta shape…"

"Gnocci?" Bernard asks, before shaking his head and refocusing. "Tim, you have a fever of 102.4 degrees. You're literally boiling."

"That's water. 'M a person," he corrects, pushing his hair out of his face. How he's even standing right now, Bernard doesn't know because Tim's small. Like, a good three inches shorter than Bernard and at least twenty-five pounds lighter kind of small; a fever that high would have Bernard hiding in bed.

Tim sways dangerously, regaining his balance at the last possible second while Bernard panics at his side. "Tim. Dude. There's no way you're going to be able to take a final like this, much less pass it," he says, gripping Tim's shoulders to steady him.

"Done a lot more while feeling a lot worse," Tim tells him, like that statement isn’t concerning at all. "I've got this, Bernard. Seriously. 'S only two more, and then 'm done."

And as much as Bernard wants to stop him, Tim has that look in his eye, hazy and exhausted as they are, that means he's not going to stop until he gets his way. Bernard knows this is an awful idea, knows he should at least try to stop Tim, but at the same time, it's not like he's Tim's mother. They're both legally adults; if Tim wants to ignore the fact that he's obviously sick, it's not up to Bernard to stop him. He's done what he can in warning Tim and telling him to go back to bed, and if Tim's not going to listen, then, in his words, so be it.

"Alright, dude," he says, taking his hands off the kid and backing away, testing to see if he can even stand on his own. Miracles upon miracles, Tim stays upright and actually manages to take a couple steps forward without losing any more color, not that he has much left to lose in the first place, and starts rifling through the kit. "If you're sure."

Tim nods determinedly, grabbing a bottle and popping two Aspirin. "Don't worry about me. I'll be fine. 'S just a cold, right?"

"Right," Bernard whispers, and his heart sinks. "Let me walk you to your first final, at least, so that you don't pass out in the middle of the hallway."

He breathes out his amusement at that, humming assent as he gathers his stuff together. Bernard follows suit, albeit moving a bit slower so that he can keep an eye on Tim. Anxiety is thrumming through his veins, and he knows how badly this can go, the ways that this can end, but he still has one more final to take before they're done and he's trying to fill a role he doesn't have time for. Bernard's...

Bernard's not sure if he can do this.

"Hey," Tim says, tone suddenly soft and sounding almost sympathetic, like he understands exactly how everything he's choosing to do is affecting Bernard. "I'll be done with my last final before you, so I'll be back at the dorm when you come back. You can yell at me then for being irresponsible, okay?"

Bernard laughs, the sound a little wet and choked with the tears clogging his throat. Finals week is nothing if not stressful, and the emotions of the past week and a half haven't done much to help him. "Alright," Bernard concedes, meeting Tim's eyes. "I'll hold you to that."

The corner of Tim's lips angle upward in a smirk. "Why would I expect anything else?"

"911, what's your emergency?"

This is really happening. Bernard can feel his heart pounding and pumping blood down to his very fingertips, where they hover nervously over Tim's body. The edges of his phone case are biting into the side of his face, pressed between his cheek and shoulder. "My— my roommate, he's unconscious."

"Okay, sir, I need the name of both you, your roommate, and the address you are currently at. Then I need you to describe the situation. Can you do that for me?"

"Yeah, uh, I'm Bernard Dowd, my roommate is Tim Drake. We're at—" he scans his brain desperately, trying to remember their address and dorm number, finally coming up with it. There's static in his mind, sheeting over his thoughts, and he almost misses the operator's next words. He has to hang on, though, since Tim is burning up on the floor and Bernard has no idea what he's doing.

"Alright, you're doing great, Bernard. Can you tell me what happened?"

"I'm not totally sure, he's been— he's sick, I thought it was just a cold, but he must've collapsed. I just got back to our dorm. I don't... I don't know how long he's been here," Bernard admits, pressing two of his fingers to Tim's neck and feeling for his pulse. "He had a fever earlier, insisted he could take his finals, but. Fuck." It's there, he thinks, pounding against his fingers, but it feels fast and faint.

"Take a deep breath, sir; help is on the way. Did he go to his finals?"

Bernard breathes out wetly, trying to stay calm. "He, yeah, he went. I walked him to his first one, was worried, but he took some Aspirin and insisted he was fine. Seemed okay by the time we got there, too, but he's just... on the floor now, unconscious. I think he came back after his second final and— Oh, god."

"Can you check for his breathing and pulse, if you know how to?"

"Pulse is there, but it feels fast. A bit weak. He's definitely breathing, though it's shallow."

"Excellent work, Bernard. I need you to stay on the line with me until the paramedics arrive, okay?"

"Okay." He takes another deep breath, trying to clear the fog. "Is there anything else I can do?"

"Can you tell me, does your roommate have a medical bracelet or any preexisting conditions you're aware of?"

"I— I don't know, let me check." Bernard reaches for Tim's skinny wrist, lifting it like it could break in his hand. There's nothing there, but when he takes the other, the silver glint he saw the other day suddenly makes sense. TIM DRAKE is engraved into the metal bracelet in capital letters, with the word ASPLENIA right below it. "Uh, he has a medical bracelet; it says asp— asplenia?"

"Do you know what happened to his spleen?"

His throat goes dry, and when he tries to talk, all that comes out is a wheeze of air. He's spiraling. The implications of that sentence cannot mean anything else than what he's assuming, but Bernard still has to ask. "Are you saying that— that my roommate is missing his spleen?"

"Were you uninformed of that fact?" For the first time, the operator actually sounds a little bit surprised. Which makes sense; Bernard's pretty sure knowing that your roommate is missing his goddamn spleen is pretty essential information to have.

"He hadn't told me, no," he whispers, clearing his throat. He can hear sirens approaching. "I think the ambulance might be here."

"Okay. Stay on the line until you can see them, and if you're in a position where you can, alert your dormmates so that they aren't panicking or in the way."

Bernard is still reeling from the information he's just been afforded, and moves on numb legs to the door. Opening it reveals someone standing outside, turning when he hears Bernard. "Hey, dude!" he says, grinning at him. "Me and a couple of the other freshmen were planning on— hey, wait, what's wrong?"

"There're, uh, paramedics coming," Bernard tells him, ignoring the look of shock that passes over his face. "My roommate's unconscious, they're coming for him. Can you—?"

"'Course," he says, and it hits Bernard that he doesn't even know the person he's talking to right now. God. Fuck. "Get back with him, do whatever you need to do. I'll keep people out of the way."

Bernard gives him a sharp nod. "Thank you," he manages, leaving the door open as he retreats back inside. The phone is still presses against his cheek, his shoulder cramping slightly, but pain means absolutely nothing to him right now. "I..."

"You did a great job," the operator assures. "Just hang on, kid."

A sob tears its way out of his chest as he hears the entrance to the dorms open, sirens becoming louder for split second. "They're here."

"Alright. Do you feel comfortable hanging up now?"

"I— yeah, I think so. They're here," he repeats.

"Whenever you're ready. You can wait as long as you need."

"Thank you," Bernard whispers, jumping when one of the paramedics enters his dorm, eyes wide. He can see the situation being assessed, the paramedic unflinching as he scans the two of them, and then he says something to be met with a flood of people joining him, crowding into the tiny dorm room. Bernard is swept up in it, one paramedic asking him questions about Tim's age and the specifics of his asplenia as not revealed on the medical bracelet while another says things like "Seventeen-year-old white male," and "stable blood pressure" and "weakening pulse" before they're all outside and Tim's being loaded into the ambulance on a gurney.

"Can I ride with him?" he asks desperately, and the paramedic nods at him, her eyes sympathetic. Bernard wastes no time climbing in and getting out of the way, one of his hands clutching Tim's like he's dying. Which he isn't. He'll be fine.

"Bernard?"

It's the operator. She's still there, on the phone line, waiting for Bernard's word. A rush of exhaustion pulses through his entire body and Bernard buckles from the crouch he's currently in, the adrenaline fading just as quickly as it kicked in. "I'm here," he whispers. "We're on our way to the hospital."

"Good. Are you okay?"

He hangs up without another word.

"Where is he?"

Bernard looks up from the tiled floor of the hospital waiting room and into the eyes of someone who has to be related to Tim; he has the same blue eyes and black hair, although his skin tone is a bit darker. Mostly, though, he has the same determination in his gait and the set of his shoulders that Tim has while working on assignments.

"My brother, Tim," the man stresses. "Where is he?"

"They're not letting visitors in yet," Bernard tells him. "I'm Bernard. His roommate."

The man slumps into the chair next to Bernard, eyes scanning the mostly-empty room before he turns to look at him barely a second later. "You're the one who called the ambulance for him, right?"

"Yeah." Bernard bobs his head a bit in a nod, taking note of the sympathetic wince Tim's brother gives him. "He was, uh. He was unconscious on the floor, when I walked into the dorm." There's a wobble in his voice as he talks, and he clears his throat to try to excuse it as well as dislodge the lump stuck there.

"I'm sorry," he says, leaning slightly over the chair arms between them and sticking out his hand. "I'm Dick, by the way. Tim's older brother."

"He was talking to you the other day," Bernard realizes, and Dick nods. "Was he okay? He sounded… upset. In part because of me, I think."

Dick's quick to reassure him, holding out his hands and shaking his head. "No, no, you're totally fine, Bernard. Thank you for trying to check on him in the first place; I know Tim's a bit difficult to deal with. But no, he was just frustrated. Overwhelmed. It's not your fault at all."

"Good to know," Bernard responds. Before he can say anything else, however, a nurse walks into the waiting room.

"Family of Tim Drake?" she asks, eyes landing on him and Dick. "He can see you now," she tells them, and Dick all but shoots up from his seat to get to her. Bernard follows behind, of course, but lets Dick go farther ahead. He hasn't seen Tim in three months; while Bernard doesn't have any siblings, he can understand his eagerness.

She brings them down the hall and to a door, where she pauses before opening it. "He's asleep, still, so try not to disturb him," she instructs, and Dick gives a firm nod before stepping inside, Bernard doing the same before going in as well.

Tim looks absolutely tiny in the hospital bed, legs covered with a blanket that's halfway to the floor and wearing a medical gown that's just a little bit too big for him. His position exposes the scars on his back yet again, given that he's curled in on himself with an IV tube sticking out of his right arm, and as the nurse said, he's fast asleep. Dick lets out a soft noise as they walk in, immediately moving to his side and carding his hands through his brother's hair. He whispers something Bernard can't quite make out, then places a palm on Tim's forehead despite the fact that there's a monitor right next to the bed with his body temperature.

Bernard can't help but let his attention be drawn to the scars on Tim's back. He didn't really get a good look the other day, and upon closer inspection, he can see it's even worse than his initial glance determined. Almost none of them are solitary, constantly overlapping and blending into each other. He's not an expert on scar tissue or anything, but most of them don't even look like they're from his childhood, only a couple years old at most. Even the one that's definitely from a bullet looks relatively new, and the stab wound can only be from a handful of months ago; it's still pink and raised.

He catches Dick's eye as the other turns slightly towards him. "I'm sorry. I just, I saw them the other day and—"

"It's alright," he says, quiet, bringing his gaze back down to Tim and continues stroking his head gently, as if he was a cat. "I get it. It's scary, seeing them for the first time." Dick sounds like he's speaking from experience there, and he really doesn't want to know how that conversation went.

"If you don't mind me asking…" Bernard trails off, biting his lip as Dick looks back to him with piqued interest. "Why does he have so many scars? Was he, like… Tim wasn't abused, right?"

"We're from Gotham," Dick says, smiling ruefully yet sounding fond as his eyes trace down Tim's form. Whether it's from seeing his brother for the first time in three months or the memories of growing up in Gotham, Bernard can't tell, but he's willing to bet on the former. "It's left it's mark."

That… actually makes a lot of sense. Bernard's never been to Gotham, but he did live in Blüdhaven for a couple years in his teens, right around when Nightwing was starting out, maybe a bit earlier. They didn't have anyone as insane as Two-Face or the Joker, but it wasn't like people moved to Blüdhaven because it seemed promising. His parents only went for work, and had left the second his mom's contract had ended.

"Shit, man," Bernard breathes. Somehow, in the span of seven minutes, he's learned more about his roommate than he has in their three months together, and it's taking him some time to process all of the information that’s just been dumped on him. "I mean, shit. Gotham's…"

Dick nods, one of the corners of his mouth quirking up slightly in a mockery of a smile. "Yeah. It's pretty fucked up. We've all been threatened, mugged, kidnapped; you name it, we've been through it."

Bernard blanches. "I'm sorry, kidnapped?"

He waves it off casually, as if it's not a big deal. "Yeah. Held for ransom, and all that jazz. It's probably happened to Tim more than any of us, to be honest, considering who his parents were even before he got adopted."

"I don't even want to begin dissecting that, but what do you mean," he asks, making air quotes, "'any of us?' Does Tim have more siblings?"

"He hasn't told you about us?" Dick asks, looking partially offended and partially concerned. At Bernard's following head shake, he just sighs and looks back to his brother. Well, that's not entirely accurate. Dick's been looking at Tim the entire time, he's just refocusing on him now. "What has he told you?"

Bernard shrugs. "Not much. Introduced himself as Tim Drake, but he's said almost nothing else about himself besides that. We've mostly just talked about classes and assignments. He'll follow me to my study groups a lot, but most of his time otherwise is spent in the library or at lectures. He's… impersonal, for lack of a better term. I want to know him, though."

Dick has a pained look on his face. "He introduced himself as Tim Drake?" he repeats, tone soft in a different way than it was before when he was talking about Tim. This sounds less comforting, more hurt. More raw.

"Is that not his name?" Bernard asks, confused.

"It is, but…" Dick trails off, shaking his head after a beat and blinking. "It's a long story. Short side of it is that Tim's adopted, as are most of our siblings, including myself, but he was legally emancipated last year before he turned eighteen and changed his name to Tim Drake-Wayne, instead of going back to Tim Drake or remaining Tim Wayne."

"And you were adopted by…?"

Dick positively beams, his excitement practically lighting up the room and Bernard feels like he may have asked the wrong question. "We're Bruce Wayne's kids. As in, the billionaire."

"As in, the guy who tripped on the steps to that one gala in California and had a bunch of raw shrimp spill out of his pockets?"

"That's the one," Dick confirms, laughing. "I forgot we did that to him." He's interrupted by his phone buzzing, and picks it up. "Speak of the devil. I'll be back in a couple minutes. Keep an eye on him?" His head tilts towards Tim, as though it wasn't obvious who he meant.

"Of course," Bernard promises, nodding. Dick shoots him a smile before answering his phone and leaving the room, leaving Bernard alone in the room with no one else but an unconscious Tim.

When he looks back over at the hospital bed, his roommate's twitching, limbs jerking slightly and fingers curling into loose fists as tiny, near-inaudible whimpers escape from his throat. Clearly, he and Dick were overlapping him with their conversation earlier, but now that Bernard can hear Tim, it's impossible to tune him back out, so he stands and walks over to the side of the bed. Dick was carding his fingers through Tim's hair earlier; is it really so different if Bernard does it as well?

They're barely friends, if Bernard's being honest. Tim's been nothing but avoidant and aloof the entire time Bernard's known him, and while three and a half months really isn't a lot of time, it's enough for almost any other pair of roommates to, at the very least, become acquaintances. He doesn't even outright hate Tim, he's just frustrated with him. He wants to be friends with him, wants to know him beyond his name and behavioral patterns.

Bernard's never heard Tim laugh.

With careful deliberation, he places his fingers in Tim's hair and gently pushes back. It's sweaty, of course, but surprisingly soft. Kind of like a baby's hair, to tell the truth. Definitely not as thin, but the resemblance is there. It's tangled, too, and he keeps carding his fingers through until it becomes a pattern and he stops processing the action, moving on autopilot as he examines Tim's face.

It's still full of tension, but underneath it, Tim actually looks relaxed, which is nothing short of a miracle for him. Bernard's never seen him with anything other than the weight of the world on his shoulders and bags under his eyes, so seeing his face slack and unregulated is a bit of a shock. While he can't say that Tim looks innocent, per se, there's a new type of youth to his features, one that looks like it actually belongs on him rather than the borrowed stresses of other people. He's not sure if he can add this to the number of times he's seen Tim asleep, considering he started out unconscious and is now on sedatives, but Bernard would like to because it finally looks real.

"He's a good person, I promise," Dick whispers at his side, and Bernard startles. "Sorry. But he is, really. It's just, he needs some time to get close to people. Tim's lost a lot. It makes you wary."

Before Bernard can figure out how to respond to that, Dick’s changing the subject. "I'm going to give you both mine and my brother Jason's numbers, in case you need help dealing with Tim, or just want to talk." He smiles at Bernard, soft and genuine. "Jason's my immediate younger brother, and Tim's other older brother. We know how to wrangle him."

Bernard finds himself smiling back as Dick takes his phone. "Thanks. Could you, uh, also put Tim's number in there?"

"He didn't give it to you?"

"No, not really," Bernard says, and Dick uses his free hand to pinch the bridge of his nose in a very parent-like gesture. Which is weird, seeing as Bernard is eighteen and nothing more than Dick's brother's roommate and Dick looks to be only in his mid-twenties.

"I'm going to throw that kid out a window when he wakes up," he mutters, handing Bernard’s phone back to him a second later. "Here, we're all saved under the surname 'Wayne', whether or not Timmy likes it." That last part is accompanied by a glance back at the hospital bed, and Dick’s gaze slips into something heartbroken for a second before he covers it back up again.

He'd probably benefit from some time alone with his little brother, Bernard realizes, and he puts his phone back into his pocket. "I'm going to get some coffee, if you want anything."

Dick's smile, for the fist time, is tight, likely with anticipation. "I'm okay, but thank you, Bernard. For helping him, and for staying."

He nods once, trying to swallow around the sudden lump in his throat, and slips out of the room into the hallway. The air is cooler and somehow harder to breathe, and Bernard takes in a ragged gasp as a tear slips down his cheek.

It doesn't mean anything.

Bernard's quietly debating with Dick over the number of Robins Batman's had— Bernard's convinced that there's more than eight, whereas Dick is insistent that it's five —when Tim's voice cuts through the tension in the room like his evidence through Dick's argument. Let it be known that the conspiracy theorist in him never backs down. "Dick?"

"I'm here," he says, at his brother's side in less than an instant. "What do you need, baby bird?"

Tim stares at him, pupils dilated, like he's hung all the stars in the sky and the moon for good measure, then practically flings himself into his older brother's arms, gripping tightly enough that his fingers turn white with the force. "Dick," he whispers, the name spoken reverently. It seems like more than just the typical sibling relationship, from what Bernard's seen in his classmates, but Tim is unlike anyone else he's ever met. Maybe this is just how it is, or maybe it's because they're adopted. Or maybe Tim's just high on medication. Either way, he's not in a position to judge.

"You scared me," Dick whispers back, speaking into his hair. One hand is wrapped around Tim's small frame while the other clutches at the back of his head, bringing him even closer to Dick's chest. "Why didn't you...?"

"I should've." Tim sniffles. "But Bernard was there the whole time, and he didn't know—"

Dick suddenly pulls back, looking Tim directly in the eyes and holding his hands up, as if he's surrendering. "Hang on, Timbo, did you just say that Bernard didn't know?"

"Well, yeah, but—"

"After I told you to tell him that you're missing your spleen? You could have died, Tim, does that not mean anything to you?"

He shrugs. "I mean, I've almost died over twenty times, it starts losing its shine after the seventh instance. Stop worrying so much." The last bit is accompanied with a lazy wave of his hand, the IV sticking out of the crook of his elbow preventing him from bending it too much. Dick splutters next to him, and Bernard decides it's the perfect time to make his presence known.

"Wow, Gotham sounds like hell," he says, almost completely nonchalant. He manages to fight back the grin that threatens to spread when Tim finally looks over at him, shock written on his features before it relaxes into a loopy grin. Now that he's actually looking at Bernard, it's so much easier to see how out of it he still is. He doesn't look stressed yet, and the bags under his eyes have started fading slightly.

"Heyyy," he slurs, leaning into the hand Dick places on his shoulder, his moods changing quicker than the Flash can run. "It really is; I was hanging out in my office this one time and some immortal dude kicked me out a window once. It was pretty cool. Aside from the fact that I almost splatted on the sidewalk like a flesh pancake."

There's... there's so much to unpack from that sentence, more than Bernard had previously thought was possible. He doesn't realize his jaw is dropped until his tongue goes dry and stiff in his mouth, while Dick just sighs, disappointment pushing through his breath. "Where do I even start with that?" he mutters.

"Don't even try," Dick advises, turning back to his little brother. "Kiddo, could you try to tone back the chaos? Just a bit?"

Of course, Tim shakes his head, the same loopy grin etched onto his face. "Can't, Dick. I need it to survive. I'm like a succulent, except my power's drawn from chaos instead of sex."

Dick turns to look at Bernard, a completely dead expression on his face. "He means succubus. I apologize for everything you already have and will proceed to witness."

"Hey, I'm entertained," Bernard says, shrugging. "Finals week is hell."

"Oh my god," Dick mutters, immediately looking back at Tim. "You... you took finals like this. Holy— Jason is going to kill you when we get back home, you know that?"

"He's tried before, and he's failed before." Tim pulls his legs up to his chest, still covered by the hospital blanket, in a complete contradiction of his next statement. "'M not scared of him."

"Alright, then Bruce is going to kill you," he's informed, Dick's tone completely matter-of-fact.

Tim scoffs. "Emancipated minor. He can't tell me what to do."

"Yeah, uh, I'm just going to—" Bernard makes finger guns at the door, slowly backing away, "—leave, if you're okay with that." He doesn't wait for an answer before heading out, shaking his head in disbelief.

At what point, he wonders, did he piss off some unholy deity to bring him to this exact moment in his life, where it's revealed that his roommate is actually made of nothing but chaos and spite and all Bernard can do it bear witness to it?

(Somewhere, not too far back in his mind, he is deeply, painfully aware that Tim is only acting like this because he's actually comfortable for once. Because he feels safe. Because Dick is there as a calming, grounding presence for him, being something that Bernard can barely even dream of acting as. Still, he knows that it's his endgame, that if he wants to be friends with Tim, he has to make him feel secure. He has to be trustworthy.

If there was something he could have done earlier to bring this side of Tim out, he would have, this is a gift, but...)

"Jesus fucking Christ," he whispers to himself.

Well.

The second semester just got a lot more interesting.

#d/c sickfic #sickfic #d/c #t/im d/rake #b/ernard d/owd #d/ick g/rayson #t/imber college au #swts fic

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enniewritesathing · 7 months

Text

memory management (🔪3)

⏮️Previous || (📚Previous Stories) || ▶️Beginning

⚠️Contains the following: blood cw, knife cw, torture cw, open wound cw, stabbing cw⚠️

Charles: "I'll be honest, I wasn't expecting him to heal that quickly and therefore, my plans has changed."

Bernard: "...what do you have in mind?"

(Charles smiles to himself.) "Simple really."

(He grazes his finger on John's heaving chest. A soft groan escapes him.) "It's been said that werewolves are very hardy creatures no matter what form they take. Nigh invincible. I am going to find what Johnathan is made of. What makes him tick. How fast he can heal and recover."

(Charles gently presses his hand in a shallow attempt to calm The Werewolf.) "What are his limits when a weapon is brought against him? When it goes through his skin, muscle... perhaps an organ? His lungs?"

"His heart?

(Bernard doesn't answer. The glee spreading across Charles' face says it all; he shifts uncomfortably.) "You don't plan on cuttin' it out, do you? That seems excessive. He may be a werewolf an' all, but that's really pushing it considering, y'know, need that to live."

Charles: "You worry too much."

(His hand trails down his stomach, meandering around his abs. Charles laughs to himself as The Werewolf shudders from his touch.) "What would happen if I split him wide open for the world to see? What does he have inside that we don't? What will he do? Will he fight?"

Charles: (wistfully) "Or will he break? I wonder. Don't you, Bernard?"

(Bernard stares at Charles in disgust. What a sick fuck.) "Can't say I feel the same way you do, Char."

Charles: "That's too bad."

Bernard: "You're going to kill him one of these days. Better yet, you should hope he doesn't wake completely because he will kill you and then me, and I sure as shit ain't about that. Ha, you'd probably like it for all I know."

Charles: "Oh, please. You think little of me. Now be a dear and hold him down."

(Charles hovers the tip of the knife over The Werewolf. He knows he can sense the inevitable, feeling the tendons in his forearm tighten and his breath trembling and quickening.)

"On my mark."

"One."

John: "No."

"Two."

The Werewolf: "Yes."

Charles smirks. "Three."

(He plunges the knife deep into The Werewolf's chest, piercing flesh and bone. Hot blood pools and spills up his neck. The Werewolf's scream is trapped in his throat. Anger opens it back up with a guttural roar. Anger that his body can't move under his command, rendering him helpless.)

Charles: (tsks) "Oh, Johnathan. You're disappointing me; you have to do better than that."

(A strangled cry escapes his mouth. The fingers of Death are closing their fingers around his throat. No. That's not what that is. Anger. No. He won't give him the satisfaction.)

Charles: " Stubborn beast! You're not giving me what I want. That's okay; I will get it."

(He tilts the knife down, sinking further in. It's well into The Werewolf's heart. Oh, to imagine tissue racing to reconstruct itself and arranging to its original state while being destroyed!)

(The Werewolf writhes under their grip. Each beat of his lacerated heart sends white hot agony through his body. No. It's Anger again.)

(The knife splits him wide open. He is bared to the world as his guts spill out of his body, for all to see. Something's wrong. The Werewolf is weakening. He is dying.

No. Anger will not allow him to give in.

No. Wrath will not allow him to die.

No. Rage burns through his veins. Rage gives him hope. Hope that one day, he will get his vengeance. But for now, he will survive.

The Werewolf roars in Rage.)

// Next⏩

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cd-head · 2 years

Note

OHOHOHO so im prob gonna send a lot of asks so i dont type too much in one ask anyway

so fuckin . okay . im tryin to think ab albums i didnt mention in ocmics inbox bc i feel likr that would b too repetitive . OH OKAY REMEMBERED ONE I THINK

a constant state of ohio by lincoln . okay . i love EVERY SONG OFF THIS ALBUM (or is it an ep i cant remmeber anyway) !!!

saint bernard licherally gives me shivers . i dont care much for the lyrics but the vocal delivery + intense feelin durin the chorus drives me BONKERS !!! solid song am happy its the most popular off the album

SMOKEY EYES okay smokey eyes is one that i REALLY like the lyrics . idk whyyy it jus kinda hooks me ?? SO HELP ME MAKES AMENDS WITH ALL MY FRIENDS MOST OTHER PEOPLE ARE DEAD ENDS THERES NOTHING WORSE THAN MAKING FRIENDS !!! <- drives me insane i love the chorus so much

banks !! i think banks goes on for a little long but the chorus of that one also drives me mad . i think i like the guitar on this one a little too much but it sounds so nice w the beat n vocals ??? OH N THERES A SPECIFIC PART OF THIS SONG I REALLY LIKE but i cant remember the lyrics n im too lazy to look it up but jus trust me it fucks

HOW I SURVIVED BOBBY MACKEYS PERSONAL HELL !!! easy fave i love it so much. you left some holes in the plotline i left some holes in your clothes . LIKE FUCKIN ????? nothing says i miss you quite like i'm running out of time nothing says i hate you now like getting sweat stains on a knife . LITERALLY HOW COULD YOU NOT LOVE THIS SONG

downhill makes me cry n ive been typin this ask for so long king i dont even wanna talk ab it . anyway .

ive had so many breakdowns listening to downhill bro. also i love your thoughts never shut up pls

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homosexuality-at-its-finest · 3 years

Text

RK800 (Connor) x reader head cannons

Plot: Dating Connor Headcannons

Warnings: Fluff, smexy mentions

· First of all, you two met before the revolution, you were an officer, and he was absolutely smitten with you.

· He always got software instabilities around you, long before he became a deviant and understood his feelings properly

· That being said he followed you around like a lost puppy even though he had no idea why

· You were the one held at gunpoint by the imposter, and Connor had never been so afraid in his short life.

· He was beyond relieved when you knew which Connor is your Connor, simply for the fact of secrets you’d told him.

· Before you left the tower, he kissed you, memorizing every little detail, as if it was his last time to do so. He didn’t know if he’d ever see you again, so he’d like one of his last memories to be your lovely face.

· When the androids won, his first thought was you, and when you two reunited he held onto you for dear life, never wanting to let go.

· You two started dating after that, the romance blossoming beautifully.

· He was surprisingly touchy, always having to touch you, whether it be a hand on your back or holding your smaller hand in his own.

· Your coworkers found it weird at first but grew accustomed to your odd but loving relationship.

· You two work amazingly on cases together, which often led you two being paired together, along with Hank.

· When he sees you on cases, especially after you’ve made an arrest, he can’t help but think you look hot.

· Hank takes some time getting used to the two of you dating, it wasn’t odd for him to come home and see you two curled up on the couch.

· Connor loves taking you on dates, whether that be going to restaurant or walking around the park.

· His favorite date by far is when you took him to the aquarium, he had a deep love for fishes that he couldn’t explain and rambled off facts the entire time.

· The first time he stayed the night at your place he observed EVERYTHING, he just wanted to know everything about you. It was rather endearing.

· He loves being the small spoon, he feels so safe in your arms, letting out soft laughter or hums when you pressed kisses to his neck and cheek.

· First of all lets be real here, Connors a damn bottom.

· The first time you two had sex he was beyond nervous and had so many software instabilities you guys had to stop.

· He was really embarrassed but you just comforted him and told him it was okay (which he really appreciated)

· You guys took it slower from there, testing what things Connor could handle and what he couldn’t.

· Eventually you two figured it out and when you finally were able to have sex it was so good that Connor actually had a system reset.

· You were freaking out but after he told you what happened you were laughing so hard you ended up falling off the bed.

· He’s very protective, especially on the field and one time when a perp shot you it took Hank, Reed and RK900 holding him back so he wouldn’t kill the bastard.

· He babies you a lot, always trying to take care of you.

· He calls you “my human” or “my detective” on the regular, many find it weird, but you know its just his way of pet names.

· He moves in with you after a year of dating, he cries about not seeing sumo every day, and your solution to that is adopting a saint Bernard.

· Connor names him Auggy and sometimes he acts like he loves the dog more than you.

· After two years of dating her proposes once human/android marriage is legalized, you both end up crying.

· Hank walks Connor down the aisle, it’s a small wedding, only close friends and family were invited.

· Both of you cry a lot during the vows, and once the wedding is done you two take 2 weeks from work for the honeymoon.

· Connor takes your last name and is rather proud of introducing himself as your husband.

· You two overall have a very loving relationship that not many understand, but that’s okay because you love each other and that’s all that matters.

#detroid become human #Detroit become human x reader #rk800 x reader #detroit become human x male reader #rk800 x male reader #Connor x reader #Connor x male reader #dbh x male reader #dbh x reader

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just-like-playing-tag · 3 years

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Personal highlights from the fourth chapter of the fanbook!!! You can read the entire chapter translation here :)

Thank you so much @/1000sunnygo for the translation!!!!!!

According to Shirai, one of the reasons why Emma needed to be a girl is because of her so called "soft idealism" in not wanting to kill demons, which (somehow????) could come off as "uncool" or "naïve" to readers if coming from a guy (?????????????). However Shirai also says that “he wished Emma's words were acknowledged even if it came from a male protagonist instead of having the stereotypical expectations of what a man should be like”, which is nice in its own way.

The idea of a demon with no face under the mask, which was used both in chapter 103 and later in chapter 155 for Legravalima's transformation, was inspired by an old note Demizu left on a early draft where she commented on how it would be “creepy if a demon is actually faceless if you remove their mask”.

Sugita comments that Shirai often used to say "I wanna draw another jailbreak!", like dude same 😔😔

Shirai says that the escape from the bunker felt close enough to a new jailbreak, but the sadness of knowing that Yuugo and Lucas would have had to die “overshadowed the joy of being able to draw an escape again.” (╥﹏╥)

Sugita thinks that since most of the adults of the story are selfish and filled with hatred, it was nice having Yuugo and Lucas as adults who were loving and caring towards the kids. I never thought about it that way, but it's actually a very sweet fact. Yuugo, Lucas and grandpa Alex for the best adults awards!!!

Shirai speds time complimenting Sandy's good heart and ability with the younger kids which has me (◍•ᴗ•◍)

Shirai actually addresses the matter of Lucas not having recognized that Minerva's voice in chapter 110 was too young to belong to an adult: he says that there was too much noise for Lucas to suspect the difference.

While Sugita had repeatedly asked Shirai and Demizu to make the series darker, he jokingly says that Andrew's face was overdoing it- Shirai remembers Sugita saying “It's too scary! The children will cry!” pffttttt

Sugita actually had Andrew's face at the end of chapter 110 censored because the original illustration was too gorish (the mangled half of Andrew's face was blurred)

Andrew survived the explosion by doing the opposite of what Yugo and Lucas did: using his subordinates as a shield.

This is such a cool fact yet I feel like I didn't want to know ಥ_ಥ

The initial plan was to have one of the children shoot (and supposedly kill?) Andrew, but “it was more satisfying to let him be eaten after he called the children "food" ”; I actually really like this detail. Shirai also says that thanks to the stray demon, Ray didn't have to become a murderer. Thank goodness! For once Shirai chose the non-traumatic way for Ray XD

The wild demon saying “uh” after eating Andrew is indicative of it gaining human intelligence. Said demon was supposed to reappear in his human form, but that plotline was ~once again~ discarded.

Shirai regrets not having named Andrew Bernard or Bell had him been female, both references to Tinkerbell. I love this!! Wish you had thought about it sooner @Shirai ahah

Vincent calling Norman "James" instead of "boss" in chapter 112 was him just being playful

Hayato "looks as a protagonist", since his design was taken from a resistance leader from a discarded plotline. Shirai's initial intention was to make him cool and serious, but Sugita suggested to make him kind of a fanboy of Emma's group to reflect how amazing they had become.

Sugita (jokingly) says he “used his absolute authority as the editor to make Anna and Ray interact”, since he likes them as a couple

During the serialization, Shirai used to calculate the timing of information release of both the SJ serialization and volume release so that magazine and volume readers could enjoy similar revelation simultaneously. Following that logic, he synchronized Norman's riapparence in the manga and the volume 12 “merry Christmas Vincent” to happen around the same time, which was also when anime season 1 started airing.

THIS Q&A:

Q: Why do Peter’s men wear sunglasses?

A: Because Peter-sama is too dazzling.

Shirai says the symbol on the back of Norman's Minerva cape is the crest of the demons who lived at the hideout. Though I'm not completely sure it was intentional, the choice of having Norman wear the robes of a demon while planning the eradication of demons is... Peculiar, and also kinda ironic.

Peter and Andrew are related!! Andrew too was born from a branch of the Ratri family.

Okay this matter is tricky, but I think it was actually explained how there's demons like Musica and Sonju's horse and the demon pigeons that won't eat human meat. Apparently as of this panel of chapter 103 (which is also one of the few things included in the anime, ahah)-

There's five different species of demons, one of which - fourth column - may have gone extinct. Out of these five species, only one includes humanoid demons, who thus are the only ones who need to eat humans in order to maintain their form.

Also the Demizu note at the end of the chapter is such an highlight:

How he [Shirai] never gives up. Till the last minutes, he keeps adding corrections. I really admire his belief, “I'll surely bring a better result than the last time”. This “I'll bring something better than last time” mentality is a huge thing. Usually, when I make corrections, I feel like maybe it was better the last time. So I always used to think it's best not to mess with my arts too much. But I changed my mind after seeing Shirai sensei. There were times I'd be surprised to receive a text message at 4 am (laughs) It made me worry if he was resting properly.

You have my heart Demizu-san 🥺🥺🥺

#tpn #the promised neverland #I swear one day I'm rereading the whole fanbook and noting down everytime Shirai says something in the lines of #“I had already in mind a way to develop this but I discarded it not to make the story too complicated” because he says it all. the. time.#tpn emma #tpn legravalima #tpn yuugo #tpn lucas #tpn andrew #tpn sandy #tpn vincent #tpn peter ratri #tpn manga spoilers #tpn fanbook #Thank you again Sunny for your job 🥺🥺🥺#mine #Do you think... The Andrew-demon would maintain their hatred for the kids? It's something interesting to think about 🤔#Edit: Wait more notes: I've been wanting to continue doing these fanbook sums for a long time-#but unfortunately couldn't work on them until recently ಥ_ಥ #I'm already halfway through correcting rereading the following chapter post so please look forward to it if you'd like to!#If everything goes smoothly I plan to post the remaining two chapters on the next Sundays #And Sunny if you're reading this: I'm too shy for directly tagging you ahah #But thank you for your hard work I hope you enjoy reading this and I wish you have a wonderful day / night!!!! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*.✧

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goggles-mcgee · 3 years

Text

Too Late: Tom & Sabine (Commission for miner249er)

This is a sequel to Revolt of the Akuma, also a commission from @miner249er this will be multichaptered!

Summary: Sequel to Revolt of the Akuma. How Paris and everyone there deals with Marinette’s akumatization and the many things born from it.

Previous Work Next Chapter

Business was slow but that somehow became the normal for Tom and Sabine, at first they resented it, they truly were busy bodies and they loved to work, needed to work, but then Marinette was akumatized and disappeared. Their baby girl was gone and it felt like there truly was nothing they could do about it. The worst part was they hadn’t even realized she was the akuma at first, they didn’t know things at school had been so bad that Hawkmoth was able to take advantage of their little Baguette’s emotions, and they hadn’t been there to help her through it. Their days seemed routine now, they would wake up at 3 AM instead of their regular 4 AM because of the guilt and the nightmares, they would prep the kitchen then Tom would start on the bread with his father Roland helping out since everything had taken its toll on Tom and he started to become forgetful in things to do with the bakery, even his timing was off. Meanwhile Sabine would attempt to do her morning meditation. The meditation was never successful nowadays because she truly could not clear her mind or calm her heart and memories of Marinette both good and bad would surface and she would be thrown into a fit of sobs that Gina tried her best to help calm.

Roland learned the hard way that he no longer could hum his and his son’s song while making bread as it had reminded his son too much of Marinette and the larger man would break down in tears if he even heard the slightest bit of the song. He would call out for his daughter while hugging whatever he had in his hands close to his chest. Roland had never been the most affectionate of father’s, he wasn’t even affectionate with his wife, but when he broke down like that, Roland felt the urge to just hold his boy and comfort him. It pained him to see his son in so much pain, but Tom and Sabine were strong people and they picked themselves up in order to get through the day.

Well, they tried their best and really that’s all anyone expected of the grieving parents. The day Marinette was akumatized and disappeared had been a normal day for them and maybe that’s what filled them with so much guilt. Their bakery was always busy and that was something they took pride in, before Marinette was born, the bakery had been their baby. They made it, helped and watched it grow, and they got to see it flourish. It was a lot of work and sometimes they would just get into this work zone where nothing else could grab their attention. Working with so many ovens and having to prepare so many things, there was only so much you could multitask before your brain felt full. Though those were only excuses, they had been neglecting their daughter and hadn’t realized it. Marinette knew how much they loved their bakery and how busy it could get and she always seemed to understand but now looking back on it maybe she had just pretended to be fine with it all. They tried their best to always ask how her day was when they would all have dinner together, but Tom would be the first to admit that sometimes even that just became routine rather than actual curiosity about their daughter’s day.

They had deluded themselves into believing that Marinette’s world was rose tinted, and they had taken comfort in the lie. Maybe they truly just wanted to believe that Marinette was their always smiling baby girl and she had no problems to worry about because it would be easier to deal with than the reality. When Marinette had become fascinated with fashion and that fascination grew, Sabine and Tom had been happy and supportive of their daughter, yes their hearts hurt a bit since they had hoped that maybe she would take over the bakery for them, but then they noticed how much time her designing took up. It hurt to think about now but Sabine could remember thinking that it was a blessing that Marinette was distracted and busy because it meant they had more time for the bakery. The more they remembered their shortcomings, the more they felt. They felt too much now after not being able to for so long because of Hawkmoth.

After having to shut down any and all negative emotions, finally being able to express them was like breaking a dam. Crying was never just a little tears, it was always these heart wrenching sobs and it could be for the littlest of things like a broken toy or missing a bus. Anger, now anger was the scariest in everyone's opinion, once someone started yelling it was like they couldn’t stop, they would break things, maybe hoping to see a butterfly, then there was the crying. Everything ended in tears. Anger came quickly nowadays, more so than sadness, though maybe they worked hand in hand now. Tom had found himself more on the depressed side of things, everything made him miss his little Baguette, sometimes he still expected to hear her footsteps racing down from her room and out the door with a shout because she was running late. Sabine on the other hand, everything just made her angry, every little thing. She would even snap at Tom but she would immediately apologize because she knew it wasn’t his fault. If anything she was angry at herself, angry at the school, at Hawkmoth, Hell, even at their bakery.

Some days she hated waking up to the work and the mingling, there were times where she was so close to just begging her husband to closing the shop for a while and taking a break or maybe closing it permanently. She hadn’t decided yet, but she just told herself to hold on, just hold on till their closing period or ‘vacation time’ as Marinette would say. Perhaps that was the reason why she wasn’t really giving it a serious thought, the whole giving up their boulangerie idea. It held memories, both good and heart-aching, of Marinette. Sabine would never talk about those memories with anyone but family now, but everytime she was working she couldn’t help but look over at their ‘Artisan Boulanger’ sticker at their storefront that was slightly crooked because Tom had been putting it on when Sabine had told him she was pregnant and he had slipped in shock and the sticker was forever a bit crooked. She couldn’t help the way her hands would clench over a box or bag when giving a customer their things, Marinette had designed them and each time she handed them over it felt like she was giving away a little piece of her daughter each time.

“Have a wonderful day.” Sabine muttered to the latest customer of the day not even caring that her voice came out monotone.

“You as well! Merci Madame.” The young boy who had come in thanked her but Sabine just watched impassively as he hurried over to his friend. “Dude can you believe it? We get to eat pastries that the Protector ate!”

“Correction, we get to eat pastries that Ladybug ate.” His friend responded.

“That hasn’t been proven yet. That’s all just speculation man.” The first boy laughed as they made their way to the door and Sabine had to take in a deep breath or else she might have thrown something. How dare they come into their shop and talk about their daughter as though she wasn’t a person. How dare they treat her akumatization as some spectacle for them to worship and admire. How dare them all.

“Speculation? You are sorely mistaken bro, look at all the evidence! I’ll send you all the links then you’ll see.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Sabine just stared at the young men even after they had left until she no longer could make them out. This. This was why she no longer wanted the bakery, it no longer held the same joy it had when Marinette was there and Sabine and Tom hadn’t even known it until she was gone.

“Bonjour Madame.” Sabine was ripped from her musings by another customer walking in, a regular in fact, Mlle Josephine Bernard. She had been coming to their boulangerie since they first opened and had always been very kind to Marinette. In fact, she commissioned Marinette a few times as well.

“Bonjour Joséphine." Sabine greeted with a small smile, the most she could manage.

“One rhubarb tart please and a pain de campagne. I’m making stew tonight and my fiance loves when I pair it with your bread.” Joséphine said with a kind smile as she took out her money and change and placed it on the saucer on the counter.

Sabine couldn’t help the soft chuckle that escaped, Joséphine always had exact change and honestly it was a welcome habit to Sabine. “Are you going to share the tart for dessert? It is small, are you certain you would like just one?”

“Oh no, that’s just for me. Our little secret okay?”

“Your secret is safe with me.” Sabine promised as she swiftly gathered Joséphine’s order, once she made her back to the counter to hand everything to the woman she was caught off guard when said woman placed her hand on top of Sabine’s.

“How are you holding up Sabine?”

First instincts were yelling at her to lie, to say everything was fine despite everyone knowing it was not, but another part of her was yearning for reassurance that wasn’t from her husband or his parents. “I...I’m trying. But it’s hard. It’s hard when people come in and talk about my daughter as if she’s this thing that is more than human, more than just a teenager. They don’t even say her name anymore. Tom and I have had to move and lock away her things because...because people have broken in and stolen her belongings in order to steal or collect them. The police have been no help on that front. They told us to just get better locks. As if it is our fault that people are breaking in.” Sabine took in a shaky breath before continuing, “We get people who leave “gifts” instead. They are letters to Tom and I, accusing us of abusing Marinette...of neglecting our baby. They seem to think we don’t care about what happened to her Joséphine. We’ve had to replace some windows after one incident with a rock and some spray paint.”

“Oh my goodness Sabine! I’m so sorry. You and Tom don’t deserve any of that.” Joséphine gasped out, but Sabine wanted to argue that maybe they did. “That is just cruel and disgusting. If you two ever need anything please don’t hesitate to ask, or if you just need to talk or get out of the house for awhile, call me okay? Things...things will get better.”

“Merci Joséphine...maybe I’ll take you up on that. Enjoy your treats and tell me how Stephan likes everything okay?” Sabine responded after a while.

“I will...I will keep you and Tom and Marinette in my prayers. Merci Madame.” Joséphine said before leaving.

Sabine’s movements felt robotic as she walked over to the door, locked it, and flipped the sign letting everyone know they would be closing for lunch. It was a small mercy that they were already at the middle of their day. Thankfully Roland and Gina would have lunch ready for them, they had been so helpful through everything but sometimes Sabine couldn’t help but feel like even they blamed Tom and Sabine for what happened to Marinette. Sabine knew how much Gina adored Marinette and she could see how much getting to know Marinette had meant to Roland, to have their granddaughter gone so all of a sudden, they too were grieving in the way they best knew how. They parented and distracted themselves with helping out Tom and Sabine as much as they could, that would be why they were staying with them. She knew how Roland was about them being late to lunch so Sabine made her way to the kitchen to see Tom baking but it looked like he was doing everything on autopilot, she wouldn’t be surprised if he hadn’t even heard Joséphine come in.

“Tom. Sweetheart. It’s lunchtime, let’s go eat with your parents.” She mumbled as she placed a soft hand on Tom’s shoulder stopping him from decorating the last of the cupcakes he had made.

“Oh...Lunchtime already?”

“Yeah. Here let me put those on display then we’ll head on up.” She took the tray of cupcakes gently from him and went out to the front again to put them on display where she saw several people looking in their shop. She decided to just ignore them...and the camera flashes, though maybe it wouldn’t be a bad idea to pull the security gates down just while they were upstairs for lunch. In fact that’s exactly what she did. “Ready to head up dear?”

“Hmm? Oh yeah, ready. Let’s go eat. It’s been a long morning.” Tom said with a small smile. She felt like it was more for her benefit but she still appreciated it all the same. Once they went upstairs they went through the motions of eating lunch and if someone asked Tom and Sabine what they had eaten, they wouldn’t have been able to answer, but they gave the obligatory remarks of, “This is so good thank you,” and,” So good. Maybe you can make it again sometime.” Maybe Roland and Gina saw through them, they probably had and the fact they made no comment about it truly was a blessing. As a way to avoid conversation if they needed to Sabine turned on the television and it just so happened to be the news.

“And as promised viewers video footage of The Protector in action. This footage was donated to us by an anonymous source who had happened upon The Protector out in the open when she was akumatized. I want to warn everybody, the footage may be shocking to some viewers. Roll the clip please.” Nobody spoke. How could they? Sure they knew people still had some weird fascination with their daughter and granddaughter’s akumatization but the news stations had stopped reporting on it or at least they thought they had. Nadja certainly hadn’t given them a heads up about this little ‘special’ of theirs like she had done previously, and yet here they were watching her and Alec talking about their daughter and they wouldn’t even say her name. She has a name. Sabine robotically pressed on the remote to see more info on the program and had to swallow back bile, ‘The Protector Really Paris’s Protector?’ that was the title and already Sabine could feel her anger rising. She didn’t bother reading the summary, she already knew what this special was about.

She watched as her daughter, her baby girl, bent down in a patch of butterfly bushes crying her eyes out, sobbing out her hurt for anyone and everyone to hear. Her baby, even in the distance of the camera, looked so angry, so torn, she should never had to have felt like that. The video continued on with this person slowly zooming in on Marinette and Sabine had to wonder why this person was recording at all. She could never understand people’s obsessions with filming akumas, at least many filmed from a distance other than Alya and sometimes Nadja but it was always after the fact the person was akumatized. Maybe that’s why this particular video was bothering her so much, this person, whoever they were, they were filming her daughter breaking down because they knew at any moment she would be akumatized or, and the idea made her sick to her stomach, they were hoping she would be akumatized. They were hoping for a chance to have a video go viral, maybe they weren’t but that’s the only thing that Sabine could rationalize why they would be filming her teenage daughter in the first place.

The video was a bit shaky as it seemed like the person filming didn’t want to be seen even though there was no one else there. Sabine hadn’t realized she started crying until she felt the tears hit her hand. She hated seeing Marinette in pain and her not being able to comfort her. She, her husband, and his parents watched with bated breath as they saw an akuma finally fly into frame and slowly make its way towards Marinette. Sabine wanted to shout out a warning, do something, but she knew it was pointless and that just made the tears fall more. Everyone watching could tell that Marinette hadn’t noticed the akuma at all as she was still sobbing and wailing, Sabine could feel Tom squeeze her hand and she squeezed his right back. Then the akuma landed and merged but that wasn’t the shocking part, they had to watch their daughter stare at nothing with too-wide eyes and the familiar symbol of Hawkmoth over her face sit there as dozens...no, maybe hundreds of butterflies, white butterflies surrounded Marinette and landed on her body.

Then a bright light flashed, it was so unlike any akumatization anyone had seen, the butterflies were gone but if you looked closely at the fading light surrounding Marinette you could see the faint flutter of wings. Then she stood up, the Protector stood up. Sabine sobbed and not for the first time cursed at her daughters classmates, they had been around Marinette the most, they knew her daughter, she did everything for them and yet they treated her like that. To the point of akumatization. Sabine prayed that her little girl wasn’t actually Ladybug like it was speculated, even if it made sense, because that would mean her daughter had been suffering through more than just everything going on at school and really, Sabine wasn’t ready to face all of that just yet.

“Now before we discuss everything in that video I will say we do have many more to share so stay tuned Paris!”

Next Chapter

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ssadumba55 · 3 years

Text

You (Bernard the Elf x Reader)

Request: Oh my goodness oh my goodness okay I have a cute idea for a Bernard fic! So you know how Bernard wasn't in the third movie? Let's say he was doing some work somewhere else and couldn't see his S/O for so long. How about a little fic when he comes back, maybe surprising his S/O? And everyone is in on it and nobody tells his S/O until they see him! Of course you don't have to write this if you don't want to!

A/N: First one of the season so I’m a bit rusty and this might be highly OOC. Oh well. Enjoy it either way!

Living at the North Pole had kind of started to lose its excitement for you.

Once upon a time, it had been everything you’d hoped for and more.

You used to wake up every morning just raring to go for the day, every day was a new adventure and you had been ready to tackle it. But now, walking through the North Pole was just a cold reminder that you couldn’t be with him.

It had been almost a year and a half now since your boyfriend, Bernard had departed from the Pole, leaving Curtis as his temporary replacement and promising to be back as soon as his work was finished.

What was the work? You had never really found out, Curtis didn’t know, and Santa refused to tell you, it’s not like you were very high up in the elf ranks to demand an answer.

Your job was literally to scoop reindeer poop. Well, you had other jobs, you were a reindeer handler not a personal pooper scooper but that was mostly what the job seemed to entail, unfortunately.

Without Bernard around to force you away from your work for breaks, you spent one hundred percent of your time in the stables tending to the reindeers every whim. Sometimes, the other elves would even arrive in the morning to find you’d fallen asleep on the job, nestled in a pile of hay.

Everyone was worried about you, of course they were. The longer you and Bernard were separated, the less you seemed to care about your own personal wellbeing. The other elves had tried to convince you to take breaks, but you ignored them. Even Santa himself couldn’t drag you away from work (and he’d tried; several times).

After a while, everybody had stopped trying. You don’t exactly know what had changed their opinions on your workaholic behavior, but one day everybody seemed to simultaneously agree with each other to leave you to your own devices. Maybe they finally realized there was nothing on this planet that would get you out of those stables.

You wiped your forehead, tossing your rake to the side and leaning against the side of the stall. For some reason, none of your fellow worker elves had decided to join you in the stables that day. The whole way to your job you’d received odd looks and whispers, but you figured they were just making fun of your workaholic habits.

“I heard you moved in here,” a familiar voice said from behind you, just as you started getting back into the groove of your work after your short break. You didn’t even turn around, there was no point. You knew it was just some elf trying to get you to take a break.

“Yeah, I sleep in the hayloft,” you snorted sarcastically. There was a sort of laugh in response and you straightened up, fully intending on telling whoever this was to scram. You needed to focus on work, not be chit chatting.

“Look I’d love to talk but-“You turned around, cutting yourself off before you’d even finished the sentence. The last person you’d ever expected to see standing there before you was there.

He looked a little different (maybe a lot). His hair was shorter than last time you’d seen him, and he was definitely just a little bit taller (much to your dismay, he loved to tease you about being slightly taller than you). His usual attire, the clothes he typically wore around the North Pole, had been switched for something more casual, but it looked out of place.

There was no doubt. This was your boyfriend.

As soon as you realized who you’d been talking to, your rake fell back out of your hands, clanging to the floor loudly.

“I’m back?” he grinned sheepishly, “Surprise?”

There was a moment, just a moment where anger flashed through you. It was definitely justified, he disappears with no explanation for a year and a half, then has the nerve to just show up, acting like nothing had changed over that timespan.

As quick as that emotion flashed through you, it left as well. There was no denying that was a silly way to react to your boyfriend coming home.

You realized you’d been standing there staring for far too long to be considered normal and before you could stop yourself, you ran the short distance wrapping your arms around his neck. Without warning, you began to sob into his shirt.

You hadn’t allowed yourself to cry once since he’d left and now here you were, finally, able to let it all out. He didn’t even seem to mind this, rubbing your back gently as he wrapped his arms around you.

“I missed you so much,” you sounded pathetic, you mentally cringed at the tremor in your voice.

“I know. I missed you too, but come on, (Y/n), you promised me you wouldn’t stay in the stable the whole time I was gone,” he slid his finger under your chin, gently guiding your face to look up at him.

“How’d you know?” You asked, guiltily.

“Scott and Curtis. They wrote me in a panic a few weeks ago and said I need to get back here as soon as possible. You were driving them nuts,” he admitted, moving his arm to your waist and gently beginning to coax you out of the stables.

You didn’t even try to fight against him, he was right. You needed a break, you could feel aches all over your body, some in places you didn’t even know it was possible to ache.

“They’ve known you were coming home for weeks and didn’t tell me?”

“I told them not to, I needed to see for myself just how bad you were…”

“And?”

Bernard stopped suddenly in the middle of the main square, meeting your eyes. There was a hint of humour in his eyes, but his voice sounded dead serious: “I’m never leaving you again.”

You pulled him into a kiss ignoring the shouts of relief and happiness from around you. You relaxed as Bernard pulled away to grab your hand and take you somewhere more private.

“I’m sorry for ruining your new job.”

“That job was missing something special anyway.”

You tilted your head as he opened the door to his long unoccupied home, turning to face you in the doorway.

“What was that?”

“You.”

#Bernard the Elf #bernard imagine #bernard the elf x reader #the santa clause imagine #The Santa Clause #scott calvin #curtis the elf

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gumnut-logic · 3 years

Photo

Scott had a cat.

He had no idea how he had a cat. It just appeared one day under his pilot’s chair in One.

He had been returning from Egypt where he had had to locate and yank yet another lost tourist out of the Sahara. After dropping the dehydrated man off at the local hospital, he had quite gratefully plotted a flight plan for Tracy Island.

Halfway home he nearly fell out of his chair when something started chewing on his left boot.

The innocence in the green eyes looking up at him came across as anything but.

He would have returned it to Egypt, but Virgil found out about the spotted monstrosity before he could and would have killed him if he left it in the desert.

So, he had a cat.

And cats needed veterinary care.

So, this was how he found himself standing at the reception desk of a vet surgery in England. It was highly recommended by Penelope, apparently Sherbet approved.

Virgil had hounded him into it, of course. The big softy had been completely enamoured by the feral ball of fluff from the moment he laid eyes on her. Scott would have let him have the little varmit, but the cat - who was still simply called ‘The Cat’ despite his brother’s protests - had decided to sleep on his face every night, no matter how many locked doors lay between him and the feline.

Apparently, she was His Cat.

Gordon, of course, tried to lure her away with nibbles and treats...until she discovered his fish tanks and several of his prize pets went missing.

There was yelling after that.

Scott was forced to keep The Cat away from Gordon. There was mention of a cat skin hat and Scott was only half sure the aquanaut was kidding.

Virgil played with her and The Cat appeared to tolerate the engineer.

She hated Alan.

No-one knew why The Cat had such a dislike for the youngest Tracy. The moment she set eyes on him, it was all spiky fur fluffed out to make her appear twice her size, claws deployed, and hissing and snarling enough to melt the paintwork off the walls.

Suffice it to say that Alan was rarely in her presence.

But regardless of who liked The Cat, apparently, she was Scott’s and according to Virgil, that meant he had to look after her.

As he approached the reception desk, The Cat eyed him through the cat box Virgil had jimmied together. Green eyes challenged him.

But he had been challenged by green eyes before so he was used to it. His own eyes must have communicated something back, because she meowed at him.

Somewhat pitifully.

“Can I help you, sir?”

He glanced up, embarrassed to have been caught communing with the devil. The young nurse behind the counter smiled up at him. Her badge had the name Mia written on it. “Uh, hi. I have an appointment under the name ‘Tracy’.”

The nurse smiled at him again before turning to the computer and pulling up a file. “Yes, Mr Tracy. The vet will be ready for you shortly. Please take a seat.” She gestured to the waiting room.

Unfortunately, the room was half full...of both people and animals.

He nodded in her direction. “Thank you, ma’am.” And turned to face his fellow pet owners.

As with all waiting rooms several people looked up as he entered, cat cage in hand. He could see their assessments in their eyes. The woman on the right with a lap dog wrapped in a pink cardigan eyed The Cat with distaste. Probably because The Cat could inhale her dog by accident.

The older man two seats over smiled a toothless smile at Scott and patted the ferret sitting on his shoulder.

A little girl with her mother was holding a wire cage with a green budgerigar inside. The bird appeared to be having a nervous breakdown. Most likely caused by the St Bernard sitting next to it, eyeing it with a great deal of interest.

Scott found a spot between two empty chairs and folded himself into it. It wasn’t that he wasn’t a people person. Far from it, he enjoyed conversation and gatherings. It wasn’t that he wasn’t an animal person. He grew up on a farm, for crying out loud.

It was just…

Well…he hadn’t had any say in this and The Cat was bossing him around.

There. He admitted it.

He could hear Virgil laughing from here.

“That’s a pretty cat you’ve got yourself there.”

“Huh?” Oh, just classy, Mr Commander President Sir. “Oh, uh, yes, thank you.”

The woman smiled a set of glossy red lips at him, dipping her eyelashes just a little.

Scott blinked and a little heat headed both north and south as he realised that she was wearing little more than a jacket over a leopard print bikini.

And the view was…extensive.

“Have you had him long?”

“Her. No. This is our first visit.” As if to punctuate that statement The Cat hissed at the woman.

Surprisingly, she didn’t flinch or edge away. “Oh, you just have some spark, little one, don’t you.” And to Scott’s surprise, she dared to wave a finger within reach of The Cat.

“I wouldn’t do that.”

But long, pink nails slipped through the wire mesh and tickled The Cat under the chin.

The Cat, the little shit, started purring.

Until a reptilian head slid out from underneath the woman’s jacket and flicked its tongue at her.

The Cat let out a very undignified squawk and flung itself to the far side of its box and nearly tipped it off Scott’s lap. It was a fortunate accident that hid Scott’s reaction to the large snake now uncurling and extending its snout curiously in his direction.

“You have a snake.” Scott had a sudden and profound empathy for Gordon’s uncomfortable relationship with reptiles.

“Oh, that’s Jerry.” She patted the snake. “He’s feeling a bit off today. Aren’t you, sweetie? That’s why we’re here.” A wet, red kiss was dealt to the scales on the back of the snake’s head.

“He’s...uh...respectable.”

“Yes, he’s a big boy. Aren’t you, Jez. Such a big boy.” The woman was nuzzling the snake with her nose.

The snake did not appear impressed.

Scott did his best not to edge away from her. Fortunately, she was called in by the nurse a moment later.

Scott did not miss the amused smirk on the young nurse’s face.

Hmm, so snake lady was a regular who provided entertainment. Scott straightened in his seat.

The Cat chirped at him.

“You shut up.”

The Cat snickered. It could only be called that. He glared down at the box and the spotted menace gazed innocently back up at him before meowing.

This was all Virgil’s fault. “Should have dumped you in the desert.”

“Sir, how could you possibly consider that?! He’s adorable.” And again, Scott found his cat box the subject of attention via fingers, these ones with pink fingernails considerably shorter than the last set.

He looked up to find a middle-aged woman gazing adorably at The Cat. The difference this time was as she sat down, a cat box appeared on her lap too.

The Cat immediately became more interested and the eye lasers between the two boxes was almost physical.

“Uh, she’s a she.”

“And a beautiful girl, too. Just look at those spots. Did you go to Egypt for the breed? I hear they are very rare.”

Scott blinked. “Excuse me?” How did she know the cat was from Egypt? Lady Penelope had had to pull quite a few strings to get The Cat into England. Scott’s usual haunts of Australia and New Zealand took one look and gave him a firm ‘no’. One of the downsides of his sudden pet parenthood was the lack of a vet on their island. Crossing borders with an animal was a little bit different from crossing borders with a Thunderbird. Fortunately, Penelope had her ways and here he was.

But how was it obvious The Cat had come from Egypt?

“Oh, but she’s an Egyptian Mau, isn’t she? Those spots are absolutely gorgeous.”

Scott peered at The Cat. The smugness on the denizen of evil had to be a coincidence. But yes, she was a spotty cat. “Honestly, I’m not sure.”

“Really? My Dora is only a Russian Blue, but I adore her anyway. You should find out. You might have an expensive cat.” She frowned. “You didn’t get her from one of those black market types, did you?”

A blink. “Uh, no.”

“I should hope not. There are some people on this planet who do not deserve the honour of life.”

Scott didn’t comment on that.

“Mr Tracy?” Mia the nurse was smiling at him from across the room. “The Vet will see you now.”

Oh, thank god.

He stood up a little faster than necessary and the nurse raised an eyebrow. “Are you okay, sir?”

“Yes, yes, I’m fine.”

The Cat snorted.

How the hell did a cat snort? He restrained himself from a retort and followed the young woman from the room.

A corridor and a couple of doors later, she ushered him into an examination room. She pointed to a chair. Please take a seat. The vet will be in shortly.”

He did as he was told, sitting on one of two seats in the corner. At the centre sat a metal table obviously for examination.

The nurse set herself up at a computer station on the far side of the small room. He did not fail to notice that she kept eyeing him from time to time.

He was about to say something when a ball of bustling energy burst into the room. Short, compact with a craze of dark curls, the white coated woman hurried up to him. “Mr Tracy, oh my god, it is such a privilege to meet you!” She grabbed his hand before he was even halfway out of his seat. Oh god, a fan.

“Nice to meet you, Doctor…?”

“Oh, I’m Dr Sal Virgilio.” She gazed up at him in only what could be called adoration before apparently snapping herself out of it and diverting to the cat box. “And who do we have today?”

Scott blinked at her name. “Uh, my cat needs a check-up.” He held the box so the small woman could see inside.

The hiss that erupted from its depths wasn’t encouraging.

“Well, you are a spritely one. Let’s get you out on the examination table.” She looked up at him. “What’s the name?”

“Scott.”

She grinned. “The cat’s name, Mr Tracy.”

“Oh, um, Cat?”

The woman had brown eyes very similar to Virgil’s and they seemed to sprout a similar exasperation to his brother’s. To the nurse across the room. “Mia, open a file for Cat Tracy.”

Scott lifted the cat box onto the examination table as directed and cautiously opened the door.

The Cat peered out at him for a moment before stalking out slowly and regally, green eyes taking in the entire room before latching onto the vet.

Laser eyes zapped the poor woman dead where she stood.

But apparently, the vet was used to that kind of weapon because she ignored it. “Okay, little one, let’s check you out.”

The meow The Cat let out could only be described as a threat.

“Really?”

Scott found himself with a gentle hand on The Cat’s back, her fur soft under his fingers as her body twitched. “Uh, she can be touchy.” He hoped he didn’t have to save the vet from his own cat.

“That’s okay, we just need to get to know each other a little better.”

She took a step back and held out a hand, murmuring soft words. The Cat continued to eye her as a threat, but her twitching stilled somewhat.

The vet waited for The Cat to respond.

She waited a while.

A long while.

But eventually, The Cat leant over to sniff her fingers. The vet smiled. “That’s right, honey.”

The Cat opened her mouth and bit the closest finger.

Dr Virgilio jumped back with a squawk. The Cat growled and every hair on her body stuck out at right angles.

“Oi! Stop that!” It was Scott’s turn to growl.

She turned her head and glared up at him. Her entire body dared him to follow through and try to stop her.

His hand was still on her back, so he began stroking hair down. “The doctor is just here to help you.”

Said doctor was rifling through medical supplies looking for a plaster.

“It’s okay, Mr Tracy. Some pets can be difficult during examination.” She swabbed her finger with alcohol and wrapped it up. “She just needs time to acclimate.”

“Can I try?” The nurse on the other side of the room actually had her hand up.

“Sure, Mia. Have at it.”

Mia smiled at Scott again. That smile bugged Scott. It was like she knew something he didn’t.

And apparently she did, because one minute later, she had The Cat purring under her touch. “You are a beautiful girl, aren’t you.” Fingers rubbed The Cat under her chin and she closed her eyes in pleasure.

Scott just stared. Virgil was the only other person to have managed that. She was Scott’s cat, but she was very clear with her boundaries as to what he was allowed to do with her.

Dr Virgilio frowned. “Well, Mia, I think this one is yours. She appears to accept you.”

The Cat hissed at the vet.

“Hey, lovely, that’s just Sal. She’s a teddy bear, don’t you worry.”

The Cat glared up Mia in challenge before snarling at Sal again.

The vet just shrugged. “She knows who she likes. Mia, start a general exam while I fire up the scanner.”

“Yes, Dr Virgilio.”

It was weird hearing that name used on someone else. ‘Virgil’ wasn’t that common. It rarely happened that they came across someone with the same name, and this was only a surname.

Still weird.

The Cat eyed Mia as she began methodically checking her over starting from her nose and working over her body in the direction of her tail. The nurse continued to mutter nonsense comfort words, interspersed with medical reportage to the doctor fiddling with settings on a scanner built into the table top.

Scott recognised the equipment, having used similar in their infirmary, but this one was likely the reverse of why Virgil claimed he couldn’t play vet with their equipment. Sure, his brother had checked The Cat over, even read up on medical procedure for cats, but he had made it very clear he was not a vet.

“She looks healthy, Mr Tracy. Good coat, good muscle tone. Ooh, we have one chipped claw.” The nurse peeled back the fur between The Cat’s left front foot. The tip of one claw could be clearly seen to be missing.

Scott frowned. “How could that have happened?”

Dr Virgilio leaned over to look and The Cat snarled, backing away into Scott.

“Hold still, lovely.” Mia held onto her paw. “Looks to be an old injury.” The nurse looked up at Scott. “You don’t remember this happening?”

“I’ve only had her a short time.” Though it felt much longer.

“Well, it appears to have healed well. Just keep an eye on it.” Dr Virgilio was keeping her distance and attempting to eye the issue at hand.

The Issue at Hand glared at her and snarled.

“Stop that!”

To Scott’s surprise, The Cat actually jumped before turning to look up at him, her eyes narrow.

“Come now, lovely, let’s finish this exam. Then you can snuggle up in your Dad’s lap.”

It was Scott’s turn to be startled. It wasn’t the first time he had been referred to as a parent. Hell, he’d given up correcting Alan’s friends when they were younger. But it had been a while and ‘dad’ would always be a trigger word.

The Cat looked at him again, but this time there was no challenge, just puzzlement.

What was The Cat thinking? She was harder to understand than Alan on a sugar high. Harder than Virgil lost in engineerese or Gordon babbling about fish.

Even harder than John coming home from school and refusing to talk.

The closest comparison was Kayo glaring at him in anger, black eye and all, that time she had gotten into a fight at school defending Alan. It had taken Scott a long time to realise that Kayo used anger as a defence when in truth she was terrified, be it for herself or another.

They both had green eyes.

Great, his sister was a cat.

Nurse Mia finished up the exam while he sat pondering the concepts of pet parenthood versus caring for his family.

The Cat continued to glance up at him and poke at his soul.

She only swiped at the vet one more time and Scott caught her paw. “No, Cat.”

She glared at him, but the paw in his hand relaxed and he let it go.

“She definitely has a connection with you, Mr Tracy. How long have you had her?” The vet frowned up at him.

“Er, a couple of weeks.”

“How are you managing to care for her around your occupation?”

He straightened. “My occupation?”

“You are Scott Tracy, Commander of International Rescue, President of Tracy Industries, are you not? I’m thinking your time is at a premium.”

“We operate as a family, Dr Virgilio. There is always someone available to care for all family members.” Okay, so he had just declared the spawn of evil a family member, but then Alan and Gordon were part of the same family so it was nothing new.

And besides, The Cat tolerated Grandma almost as much as she did Virgil. It was a wise move. Grandma couldn’t burn cat food, after all, and she was often the only one available to feed her.

The vet switched on the scanner and The Cat jumped again as a hologram appeared above her head. The hologram immediately became the enemy and The Cat attacked. Fortunately or unfortunately, the hologram moved as she did, so each time she reached up, so did the hologram.

Mia the nurse was glared at as she tried to hold her still. “C’mon, lovely, you are doing so well.”

The Cat merrowed in protest.

“Yes, well, it has to be done to make sure you are well.”

Dr Virgilio was eyeing the read outs. “She looks well. Body systems appear healthy. She is an entire female, so you will have to consider sterilisation.” She ran her fingers over the controls and the hologram changed, shifting scan. She noted a few things.

Scott, more used to the human form, frowned at the display. It looked like he should be able to understand it, but couldn’t. Nothing was quite in the right place.

“She’s not microchipped. Are you aware of any vaccination history?”

Scott’s shoulders dropped just a little, shaking his head. “I have no knowledge of her medical history.”

“Then we will prep the full spectrum. Mia, could you prepare?”

“Yes, Sal.”

And Scott suddenly found his arms full of pissed off feline as Mia gently let her go. She climbed up his shirt and stabbed him with her claws through the thin material. Her face was suddenly in his and those green eyes pleading.

Time froze for a moment, his memory taking him back to a young Kayo so angry, so scared, clinging to her father’s pants as his Dad introduced her to him and his brothers.

The Cat had that same expression and his heart lurched. He found his arms around her. “It’s okay.” He drew her close.

“Mr Tracy, I have to warn you that she is unlikely to react well to the procedure.”

“Needles?” He sighed when she nodded. “I have four younger brothers, doctor. It won’t be the first time.”

Alan had been the hardest. He was responsible for his youngest brother at the age of eleven. There had been enough inoculations and blood tests to tackle that he had become experienced. Didn’t make it any easier to see his littlest brother hurting.

Gordon was a whole different kettle of fish. Gordon had already been to hell and back several times so needles were disregarded as nothing. At least that was what he wanted everyone else to believe. Scott knew better. Every medical procedure risked triggering unpleasant memories so all needles were treated warily.

John hid, but once persuaded, took it all stoically and logically and why would I neglect such an important medical procedure, Scott?

Ironically, it was Virgil who was the worst. For a man who literally practised medicine, the most pedantic in chasing up everyone else, the bear was a wuss when it came to needles.

Scott was the one who had to hunt him down and it often took Gordon’s muscles as well as his own to wrestle the man into a tetanus shot. Grandma frowned every time and shook her head. It was like the medic had two brains, one logical and the other manic.

Kayo, on the other hand, would walk up, roll up her sleeve and take the shot without a problem, and then spend the rest of the day in a foul mood. There had been both furniture and Tracy casualties in the past.

The Cat snuggled against his chest, the odd pitiful sound emitting against the cotton of his shirt.

As for himself, he had never been a fan of needles, but he was the eldest. He looked after himself.

The Virgil at the back of his head scoffed at that statement.

Shut up, you can’t talk.

So, yeah, needles, not a Tracy favourite. Cat Tracy would likely be no different. Gotta keep the family tradition.

Nurse Mia brought a tray over to the table. An array of hypodermics were laid out ready for use. Scott’s eyes widened at the size of one of them. He felt like asking why they were going to stick his cat with the prong of a pitchfork, but he was the Commander of International Rescue, he could do this.

Sorry, Cat.

It was like saying sorry to Virgil as he held him down and Grandma stabbed him in the arm.

Necessary evil.

There were a lot of those in his life.

“Did you want to hold her?” Dr Virgilio’s expression was understanding. When he nodded, she directed him to a chair. “It is likely she won’t react well. Try to keep her calm. I will try to be as gentle as possible.”

Scott found himself stroking The Cat and murmuring the same litany he might try for an injured child in the field.

She looked up at him, those green eyes again catching him in their depths.

He had no idea why she had attached to him. Other than the country involved, he had no idea how she had found him, how she had managed to get aboard his ‘bird – Brains was still trying to work it out; the best guess being that she had jumped onto the back of his chair as he retracted it back into One, but why was definitely still a mystery.

Mia reached in and snagged The Cat’s rear left leg. The vet swooped in before she could react and The Cat cried out. She struggled, claws digging again into his chest enough to cause him to grit his teeth. But again, the pair dove in, grabbed another leg and his heart hurt as she cried again.

He stroked her, muttering quietly.

The nurse held this leg a moment longer and the vet reached in with an empty hypodermic.

Scott clutched Cat to him as the Vet drew blood.

Cat was shaking.

“It’s okay, it’s okay.” He wasn’t sure who he was trying to reassure, Cat or himself.

Fingers reached in and caught her scruff. A spray of something that smelt chemical and she flinched away, meowing.

He saw the needle coming and held her tight. It was huge! He fought the urge to back away himself.

“Nearly done, Mr Tracy.”

A hand touched his shoulder and his peripheral senses registered the nurse holding him still.

Cat cried out and drew blood through his shirt. This one took longer and Scott cringed.

Then it was over.

Cat continued to shake in his arms and, as the vet turned away and the nurse gathered the remains on the tray, Scott found himself clinging to The Cat as much as she was to him. His hand stroked her head gently, he was quietly muttering down to her.

His heart was beating a mile a minute.

The Commander of International Rescue he was not.

Stupid Cat.

He only held her tighter.

“Mr Tracy? Are you okay?”

He looked up at the nurse and realised he was rocking on the spot. “I’m fine.”

“She really trusts you.”

A blink. “Huh?”

“Cats usually try to escape. She is clinging to you.” She frowned at his shirt. “You should swab them with alcohol. Cat scratches can get nasty if not attended to.”

He looked down. There were specks of blood soaking through his shirt. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Okay, Mr Tracy. Her microchip is responding. I will email you a copy of what we have done today and send you her blood results when they come through. I’ll include her microchip details and who you need to contact should you change address. Keep an eye on the injection sites. Watch for any persistent swelling. Don’t hesitate to contact us if you have any questions.”

He was still sitting with His Cat cradled in his arms.

He needed to move.

He rose to his feet and Cat responded by pulling out one set of claws and jabbing him in a new spot.

He didn’t care.

“Did you want to return her to her carrier?” The nurse was frowning up at him.

“No, no, she’s good where she is.” He didn’t want to let go.

“Are you sure? The waiting room contains dogs.”

Cat was curled up under his chin. “We’ll be fine.”

Nurse Mia stared at him a moment. “You will want to hold on to her tightly. We can’t be held responsible if she gets loose.”

Commander voice. “We’ll be fine.”

She held his gaze a moment longer. He had to give her credit for that. Most would have fled by now. She picked up the cat carrier and held open the door.

“Mr Tracy?”

He turned to find the tiny vet staring up at him. “You did good. I can see why you are so good at what you do.”

He blinked and cleared his throat. “Thank you.”

She smiled just a little. “Stay safe, Mr Tracy, and let us know if you need any help with Cat.”

Cat hissed in her direction.

“FAB.”

Her eyes widened and her smile spread.

Definitely a fan.

Despite everything, he found himself smiling in return.

Nurse Mia led him back to reception. He found a familiar figure leaning against the desk. Dressed in his usual casual red flannel, Virgil appeared to be having an energetic discussion with another nurse. The moment he caught sight of Scott, however, he straightened and narrowed in on his brother.

“Hey, you look beat.” His eyes tracked over bloodstains and Cat who was still curled up in his arms. “Aww, rough time.”

“Immunization.”

Virgil winced.

“Blood test.”

Virgil grimaced.

“Microchip.”

“Oh god, honey.” His hand hovered over Cat but didn’t quite touch her. “Well, I guess some treats are due tonight and a little pampering.”

“Could you grab my credit card.”

Virgil arched an eyebrow and reaching around,pulled Scott’s wallet out of his back pocket. “We talking the black one?”

“Yeah. Whatever it costs.” Nurse Mia’s eyes were bouncing between the two of them.

Scott stroked Cat’s head.

Virgil finished up the bill and grabbed the cat box. Scott wasn’t paying much attention. He found himself out the front of the vet surgery, Virgil loading the box into a Tracy fleet car.

“I have Two at the airfield.” He eyed Cat. “Want me to drive?”

Distracted, staring down at Cat who had finally stopped shaking and was now hesitantly peering out at the world around her. “Sure.”

There was an eyebrow raised at that. So, he was usually a control freak, big deal.

He climbed carefully into the passenger side of the car while Virgil hopped behind the steering wheel.

“So, I guess I have a new sister.”

“What?” Scott looked up as Virgil pulled the car away from the curb.

“You have that same expression when any of us are hurt. I’ve seen you hold Allie like that.”

Scott glared. “She’s a cat.”

Virgil shrugged. “Sure. But she’s also family.” It was said daring him to deny it.

His shoulders dropped and he looked down at the spotted furball in his arms.

Green, mischievous eyes peered back up at him.

Quietly. “Yeah, she is.”

-o-o-o-

FIN.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds fanfiction #thunderbirds #Scott Tracy #Virgil Tracy #cat tracy #nuttyfic reblog

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ectonurites · 3 years

Note

I am a little worried that dc is gonna reveal Tim as not-straight and into Bernard and then kill Bernard off :/ I'm not super attached to the idea of Barnard as a love interest for Tim anyway but it would be shitty from a possible bury your gays/fridging standpoint. but I dunno, the writer is a lady from supernatural, right? they didn't seem to have a great track record with that stuff so it's a concern I have at the back of my mind if they are actually planning to make tim queer (which is still very questionable anyway)

Okay so she worked as like an executive assistant on Supernatural and only wrote like 2 episodes, I joke abt her working on the show as a reason to maybe worry but in general I think she seems pretty chill from the interviews i've read and from following her on twitter the last several months (since she first got announced to write Robin Eternal i've been lookin into stuff w/ her) so like I don't think she'd do something like that

But I mean it's definitely possible, and the choice to use a character like Bernard who most people probably had forgotten about means he's kinda... someone she could kill off without DC really giving a shit. But him as a choice aside from that just in general means he's a character she could do pretty much anything with in a lot of directions, not just in a 'kill off' way.

In general I'm just trying to remain cautiously open and maybe even a little hopeful with things, because really truly i have no idea what direction all this is going to go in but I'm at least invested and do want to know what's going on. If they made Tim canonically queer in some way i'd fucking cry tears of joy, but I just can not let myself get my hopes up. Hoping that they make him queer and also handle everything around it well without any bad tropes almost feels like asking for too much, bc I feel like any time i get a thing i want in a comic its in a monkey's paw way where something bad also happens.

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joyhigh · 3 years

Text

Had ideas floating around involving delving more into his backstory with the uncles as well as past interactions with Dusty, but then I ended up having this more Lisa-related concept pop up that emotionally hit me over the head, stomped me into the curb and took my wallet, so...this is the result.

A few notes, as Buddy obvs isn’t raised by Brad in this AU I decided she would go by a different name here(Sunny). Apologies if it’s as weird to read as it was to write, haha. She’s about 7 here, this is some time before the events of Painful.

Content warnings(getting dark here so please do take care): Descriptions of abuse, suicide, addiction and relapse

“You know the drill, right?”

“Wait and be quiet until you wave.” Sunny’s small hand pokes out from underneath her ill-fitting poncho to demonstrate, her motions quick and jittery. The pale mask obscuring her face does nothing to hide the way her shoulders bounce in excitement as the two sit against the wall of the hut, the way her feet drum against the rust-colored earth below.

“Mhm.” Bernard grunts in affirmation. “And until then stay out of sight while I’m out there, if I can see you—“

“The bad guys can too, I know.” There’s a bite of impatience to Sunny’s voice followed by a dramatic huff, the girl crossing her arms decisively. Nearly a mirror image of Jaxon, much to Bernard’s irritation. Out of all the ‘uncles’ for her to take after...

In response Bernard merely settles on a sigh and a warning look before finally standing. Today wasn’t a day for trying to play the parent and lecture on respect—his already protesting muscles and the persistent pulse of pain beneath his skull saw to that. Damn Joy. Or lack of it, for that matter.

Stepping over threadbare blankets and supply bags strewn about the meager space, Bernard feels Sunny’s eyes on him all the while as he exits the makeshift hut. What greets him outside is nothing new—the same drab hills and looming cliffs from yesterday. He can’t understand what makes the child so excited to go out and see it all again, especially since there’s been a few other times he’s relented to her pleas. Surely she has to see eventually that there’s nothing out there of any worth.

Bernard’s gaze drags across the horizon, searching and scanning and then double checking for any signs of movement as he treads further from the hut. They live a ways away from the closest settlement but he can never rest easy knowing of all the freaks and scavengers about. At the moment however, there is nothing but rocks and trees in deathlike stillness. The dawn is only beginning to break yet the heavy weight of humid air is already present, accompanied by a grey cover of clouds likely to be later burned away by the sun. The uncomfortable stickiness makes Bernard’s expression sour further as he turns to check back.

Immediately a small spot of white catches his eye—Sunny’s mask, peeking out of a large hole in the clay walls of the hut that can be only charitably called a window. Bernard stares a moment, does one more double take around him, then lifts his hand in a small wave. In a flash she’s already left the hut, dashing forward with faded pink poncho billowing behind her.

“Hey. Hey,” He barely manages to catch the girl’s wrist, stopping her from speeding right past him. Antonio once joked that Sunny knew how to run before she could walk and honestly, Bernard could believe it. “Stay close, remember?”

Sunny stares at the point of contact for a moment as if contemplating resistance, but seems to decide against it as her small hand slides into his. She’s quiet for a while but her gaze is constantly moving—to the sky, the ground, the hills, until finally it locks onto something and Sunny jolts.

“What’s that?” She gasps, already starting to tug Bernard forward as she tries to move closer. At first he’s puzzled, seeing the object of her interest is nothing more than a dead tree, but then a spot of darkness perched on the gnarled branches catches his eye.

“A crow. Type of bird.” Bernard allows her to lead him forward until they arrive at the base of the tree. The crow just watches, a slight sheen of blue glimmering over its feathers in the faint morning light.

“Like an owl?”

“Yep. Like an owl, but more annoying-“ The sentence is soon followed by a harsh cry on part of the bird, making Sunny jump. Bernard just snickers. “Like so.”

“No he isn’t!!” Sunny sounds personally offended by this, as if she wasn’t just startled by it a moment ago. “He’s just saying good morning.”

“Sure…so what else does he have to say? Since you’re such an expert.” As if on cue the crow caws again.

“Hm.” She hums contemplatively, crossing her arms. “He says you’re stinky. And dumb.”

Bernard sharply glances sideways at her, lifting a brow. “Is that so? Well that’s rude.” Sunny just shrugs, failing miserably at stifling a giggle. “I could throw a rock at him for that, you know.” He adds, and immediately the child’s mirth disintegrates.

“No! You can’t!” She gasps, looking anxiously between him and the bird. Bernard’s smirk widens slightly as he decides to keep this going. Maybe it’s because kids are always easy to mess with. Maybe the withdrawal’s put him in a bit of a nasty mood.

“I dunno...there’s a lot of ‘em around, you know.” Bernard saunters about scanning the ground intently, kneeling to pick up a random piece of stone and inspecting it to fully sell the charade.

He expects another protest on part of Sunny but all that follows is silence. Bernard’s smile fades as he looks up, presented with the sight of the girl pulling herself up onto one of the tree branches.

“Sunshine, no-“ He quickly discards the stone and returns to the base of the tree, unsure if he should prepare to catch her if she falls or just try and pull her back down. “Get back here, now.”

“If you’re gonna be mean to him, I won’t let you.” She calls back, casting only a brief glance in his direction before continuing to climb up towards the crow. The branches seem to be able to hold her small body just fine but Bernard’s form is strung with tension as he watches Sunny move further out of reach.

“Kid, I was joking.” Whether it was from the abrupt motion or the overall noise, it feels like someone’s taking a jackhammer to his skull.

“Wasn't funny,” She huffs, pausing for a moment in her ascent as she and the bird regard each other. “Hi…” Bernard can hear her whisper, and Sunny slowly reaches forward. “Hi birdie. C‘ mere, it’s okay. It’s okay,” It’s a similar tone to one he and the others would use whenever Sunny got a scrape or bruise, however this time it doesn’t have any calming effect. As she gets closer the bird caws and with a rustle of feathers, it leaps off the branch and takes to the air. “Aw…”

“There,” Bernard winces, rubbing his temple with one hand as he watches the dark shape quickly become a small splotch in the sky. “See? There wasn’t any point to that, they don’t like people.” If Sunny’s paying attention to him he can’t tell with the mask, but even so it seems her focus is on the horizon as she surveys her surroundings.

“...I’m really high up.”

“Oh no, really?” He drawls, rolling his eyes. “Great observation, kiddo.” It’s a surprise to see the child not responding with her usual indignation, but Sunny’s mind seems elsewhere entirely.

“I can see more things,” She points further off in the distance. “Are those other huts over there? Are they like us?” Not waiting for an answer, Sunny lifts her mask and beams down at Bernard. “Come up! You can come see too!” The shrill excitement in her voice only makes his head throb further and he can’t even bring himself to remind her of the mask.

“Just—-give me a...ugh.” Bernard finds himself leaning against the tree for support, even that small motion making his muscles twinge in protest. He’d thought he would be able to fight it off but the withdrawal was only getting worse. A headache he could handle, but when the pain spread...

Just try and breathe. In and out. He shuts his eyes and tries to remind himself he has to be here for Sunny right now, that’s why he’s going through this in the first place. Is she talking to him right now? The most he can hear is the blood roaring in his ears, a harsh ringing—

Then quiet. The pain halts, though there’s still a faint echo of the sensation through his body. Bernard lifts his head to find he’s somewhere else.

Nighttime. Standing in overgrown grass surrounding a run-down house seemingly banished to the far out edge of the suburbs. Her house.

“Lisa?” The boy didn’t dare bring his voice above a hushed whisper, as always fearful breaking the silence would catch unwanted attention. The cold light of a television below her room was a nigh-constant reminder of the risk. Bernard tried not to let it distract him, eyes glued to the higher window where Lisa would appear many times before. He prayed for the creak of a window as it opened, the rustle of leaves as she would clamber down the nearby oak tree to get to him. But right now, it all was quiet.

Something was wrong. It had been wrong the day before, when Lisa stared at him through the fresh bandages on her face, hands loosely clasped around wrists with bruises that were even more recent. The plan didn’t work. At first Bernard thought she’d be furious with him—really he would’ve preferred that. Instead as he profusely apologized Lisa just watched him with hollow eyes. That look of tired resignation terrified him even more than her anger.

Bernard shifted uneasily from foot to foot. It was a school night for him and not their usual time to meet, but he had to check on her. Even if he didn’t Bernard was sure he’d be kept up by the worry anyway. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been waiting but enough was enough.

Motions slowed by apprehension, he stood at the base of the oak and grasped the sturdiest branch he could reach. The rough bark bit Bernard’s hands as he clumsily hoisted his stout figure up, sneakers scraping against the trunk of the tree in an attempt to get more leverage. Once he regained his bearings he reached for another branch, then another. By the end of his climb he was out of breath but his lips twisted in grim triumph. Lisa’s window was right within reach.

Past the glass-smudged glass Bernard finally saw her. She stood on the other side of the room, a shape distinguished only by the faint light filtering in from the outside. Besides that he couldn’t make much else out—had she noticed him yet? Was she ignoring him?

As he shifted closer, timidly reaching to tap on the window, it was then he noticed two important things.

Lisa’s feet didn’t touch the floor. A rope was tied to the ceiling.

No. That couldn’t be it. Something in Bernard’s gut twisted as he leaned in, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. That couldn’t be it. The shadows were playing tricks on him—he’d seen people die like that before on television, people who did horrible things and terrified people too weak to go on, but Lisa couldn’t. His Lisa was the strongest person he knew, even if she didn’t think it. With a trembling hand he knocked on the window—once, twice. But she didn’t look at him. Just gently swayed there, her slight form limp and, and…

Lifeless.

“Lisa.” His voice broke. “Lisa.” Fist now clenched, Bernard hit it against the window with a dull thud. He didn’t care about the noise anymore, he just wanted to make her move. To make her look at him again with those soft dark eyes. But Lisa was still.

Didn’t she tell him before? How there was another option, one that’d take her away from all of this. Bernard had felt tears well up in his eyes as he took her hands in his own, telling Lisa it would never come to that, they would find a better way. Lisa just sighed, calling him a crybaby, but she had gently squeezed his hands nonetheless. He had clung to that moment through everything.

Now...it felt like the world was spinning around him, about to fall apart. As Bernard hunched over, unable to look anymore, his body wracked with sobs so powerful he couldn’t even make a sound beside ragged breaths. It would’ve been so easy to let go of that tree branch, let himself fall—

“—-dy! Dad!” A voice pierces Bernard’s ears, a sudden brightness combined with the returning headache making him squint. All at once his real surroundings come back.

“Fuck.” Is all he manages to gasp out at first, blindly grasping for a steady hold onto something, anything, before his balance falters. His hands find a branch, bark pale and dead beneath his palms, his eyes lowering to see the dusty ground further below his feet.

“...Dad? What happened?” Sunny sits across from him on another branch. The fear in her small voice, the trust given by that title, it all makes something ache in Bernard’s chest besides the withdrawal. He can’t stand it.

“I told you not to call me that,” Bernard mutters , not making eye contact as he unsteadily clambers down from the branches. “We’re going home.” He can’t stand being in that tree another second, not after seeing that.

“But—but why can’t I stay longer?” Sunny sniffs, only reluctantly starting to follow and Bernard tries not to notice how she sounds on the verge of tears.

“Because I said so, now move.” Before the girl can even properly respond the last shreds of his patience dissipate and Bernard reaches up, pulling her out of the tree with not as much care as he probably should’ve taken. As they march across the dirt and grit Sunny makes a frustrated sound, attempting to wiggle her hand out of his grip. Soon the futility of that becomes apparent and she eventually falls in line, albeit still sniffling and dragging her feet. It’s only when the hut is a few paces away that she speaks again, voice fragile.

“...who’s Lisa?”

Bernard falters in his tracks, that name bringing back a rush of memories he’s been trying to keep at bay every step from that tree. His pace slows as his brain makes a weak attempt at forming an explanation, but fortunately before he can speak there’s movement in the doorway of the hut.

Antonio squints at them through the morning sun, no doubt adjusting from the dim candlelight of the dug out level underground where the others sleep. Bernard just watches sullenly as the man lifts a hand in greeting, already anticipating how he’ll soon detect the change in mood. All it takes is a few glances between the two and Antonio’s expression darkens with a frown. He doesn’t bother with further pleasantries. “What happened?” It’s like an accusation, but Bernard doesn’t even have the energy to get defensive.

“Just...take her.” Bernard can’t meet the other’s scrutinizing gaze as he nudges Sunny forward in Antonio’s direction. He only catches a glimpse of the girl rushing to her uncle’s side before he turns away.

“Bernard-“

“Relax, she’s just sulking cause she wanted to stay out some more,” He tries to sound as relaxed as he can to avoid suspicion, waving a hand dismissively as he begins to head around the back of the hut. It’s easier when Antonio can’t see his face. “I’ll be back.”

If Antonio replies, Bernard is already too far away to hear. Some of his tension eases with the knowledge that the others will be too preoccupied by Sunny to try and follow him. No judgement, no pity. None of them can understand this. None of them can understand why a small, pale figure with raven-dark hair stares at him as he clambers down a craggy cliff edge. Bernard shuts his eyes, the bite of the rope keeping him grounded as he falls into the rhythm of his descent.

When at last his feet touch ground again the realization of what he’s doing kicks in, and with it rises a sharp hunger in his core. It’s been so long since Bernard had dared go near this spot with the knowledge of what he’d left there long ago. But he needs it now, needs to forget for at least a little while. Bernard turns, eyes opening eagerly to see that familiar blue dotting the earth.

The pills are there waiting for him, right where he left them.

#role swap au #buzzo #buddy armstrong #lisa armstrong #lisa rpg #lisa the painful #drugs tw #abuse tw #suicide tw

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vicctm · 3 years

Text

hey look, it’s victor donavon! they’re thirty eight years old, they’ve lived in shrike heights for 2 years, and they’re currently working as the hr director. i heard they’re pretty uncompromising, but i think they’re so passionate at the same time. can they make it out alive?

Biography

{TW: Violence, parental death, alcoholism, marijuana}

Victor Donavon, born in 1949, date unknown, in California. Adopted first son of Bernard and Carol Donavon, a wealthy couple in love. For the first 12 years of his life, Victor was the apple of his parents eyes. A genius when it came to academics and numbers, he received praise both in school and from family for his intellect. He got anything he wanted, and every summer was a trip somewhere new. Was he spoiled? Perhaps a bit, but who wouldn’t spoil their only child if they could

Everything came crashing down with the birth of his brother Jerimiah when he was 12 years old. Suddenly he wasn’t his parents pride and joy anymore, he felt more like an after thought than anything else after a few years. Nothing he did seemed to phase them, whether it was good or bad, he’d get a wave of the hand and some cash to solve his troubles. He was obsolete, an old model they didn’t need anymore. He graduated top of his class, and the only person that was their was his grandmother. Jeremiah did give him an adorable macaroni art piece of the two of them though, which he still has.

He moves to New York for college, business and management classes, anything to get away from a house where he felt like an outsider with everyone but a kid. He learns about himself, and falls in love with a boy he meets in a street. His name is Hugh and he convinces Victor to start writing like he’s always wanted to. Victor is close to confessing his love for him nearing his 20th birthday when he gets a call that changes his life. His short lived freedom is just that, short lived, as he receives news of his parents death. Parents he hasn’t talked to or heard from in almost two years.

He returns home hollow, and sorts out the affairs of his parents estate in a daze. He puts half of it in a trust for Jerimiah. He doesn’t even touch his half for over a decade. He doesn’t return to New York, he’s a different person now and he’s got Jerimiah to take care of. They settle down in Seattle, and develop a new normal. All Victor does is work and raise Jerimiah, dreams of writing gone and repressed along with memories of Hugh. But it’s okay with him because Jerimiah needs to him more than Victor needs a break. He starts to spiral due to stress, and gets meaner due to it. Him and Jerimiah are constantly at each others throats. It takes Jerimiah crying and shoving him into a table, only 17 years old, threatening to leave and never come back for him to get the help he needs, to deal with what happened to their family.

Jerimiah moves to go to medical school, it’s hard for both of them, having relied on each other for so long. Victor is 35 years old and has no friends and no life and hasn’t ever done anything for himself in over 15 years, and he stands at the airport where Jerimiah just left for Massachusetts. He remembers standing at the airport in New York in the middle of the night, and then he remembers Hugh and the two years they spent creating together. He realizes he could write now, if it wasn’t too late then it couldn’t be too late now.

He’s in Shrike Height’s half a year later, an apartment just for himself in a quiet town that can give him solace to write. He still works, wouldn’t be able to function without the ritual of it. At first for a warehouse and distribution center, but he only makes one friend there, who hates it as much as he does. Through them, he learns that Shrike Mall is hiring for their own HR department soon, and decides that a mall would be much more interesting than a paper company. He’s got 13 years of experience, and lands the job easily.

Personality:

Victor is very rigid with most people, though that's really because he’s never taken the time to socialize before. He always took his job in HR so seriously he wouldn’t even mention he had a brother to coworkers in the past. However, he’s since mellowed out and has been attempting to be better about this. He’s a great conversationalist once he becomes comfortable with someone.

Once you get to know him he’s very caring, and his love language is physical touch. He doesn’t care about people he isn’t close to, at all. Though he’s a bit touch starved because the only person he’s been close with recently was his brother, and a few short lived flings back in Seattle. He also has a tendency towards buying things for people he likes, and passing it off as though he just had to get rid of it.

Once he decides something it’s very rare that he changes his mind. He never thought twice about taking in his brother, and he trusts in his own judgement more than he cares to consider anyone else’s opinion on his life, or things he has control over.

Has a well hidden sweet tooth, but would deny it to his grave.

Likes to smoke weed on occasion, especially if he’s having writers block or just wants to relax and wine isn’t cutting it.

Victors all time favorite genre to both read and write is horror, and while he came to Shrike Heights to get inspiration to write his first book, he never expected this. He’s an observer at heart, and is more intrigued by the reason and motive of the killers and why it’s all happening at once at the moment, than he is with the deadly consequences.

Wants to fall in love and is a romantic deep down, but doesn’t know if he should open himself up like that in Shrike Heights because he isn’t sure he’ll remain living here longer than a few years. He is still on the fence, and deciding how much he likes Shrike Heights and its antics.

Is becoming more and more susceptible to peer pressure because he is in fact very lonely

Connections!

Apartment neighbors/floormates

Fwb: Someone he would’ve met before getting the HR job, at a bar within his first few months of coming into town. This is so we could maybe have some drama of the fact that he’s in the HR dept for the mall now and they also work there, which is something he wouldve written someone else up a few years ago

Smoke buddies

down to spit ball as well :)

#shrikeintro #this is way too long i am so sorry jkdfvdj #feel free to message on discord to plot!

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winchesterbrotherstan · 3 years

Text

Kong: Skull Island- Waffles

Pairing: Reg Slivko x Irene Brown (OC), James Conrad x sister!OC, Jack Chapman x sister!OC, sibling OC pair

Summary: Irene finds her long lost brother.

Warnings: mentions of child abuse, cursing, probably some crying

Word Count: 2807

The flight to Omaha, Nebraska took eleven hours without connecting flights. I now understood why Reles and Mills had kissed the ground. I tried to sleep, curling up against James and shutting my eyes, but it evaded me.

I felt sick to my stomach. Was I really about to see Stephen, after five years? Silvie, Cole’s widow, had said that Stephen still talked about me. The thought made me even more anxious. What if I was nothing like he remembered?

James and I were now in a taxicab, only ten minutes from our motel. The rest of the group would meet us there in two days. I was excited to see them again. I looked over at James, who had bags under his eyes. The jet lag was catching up to him, and I would surely be next.

“Hey.” James tugged on my shoulder, and I looked up. “Let’s go.”

I shuffled out of the car, helping James by grabbing my own bag from the trunk. He circled back around to the driver and paid him. I followed his lead as he walked into the motel, checking us in. He took the keys and gave me a soft smile, holding a hand out for me to grab.

We settled into our room in silence. It was decorated brightly, two beds, and a sunshine yellow on every surface I could see. I sat on the bed further away from the door and sighed. James looked my way.

“What’s wrong, Bitsy?”

“I’m nervous.”

“To see Stephen?”

I nodded. “So much has changed in the last five years. What if he doesn’t even recognize me?”

James chuckled. “Your face hasn’t changed that much.”

I sighed again. “That’s true.”

“It’ll be okay. I’ll be around. If anything goes wrong, I’ll come get you.” He shrugged.

“You think something’s gonna go wrong?”

He sat next to me on the bed and wrapped an arm around my shoulder. “No, Ire. Absolutely not, no. But I know that you like to think about worst case scenarios. So, if anything does happen to go wrong, I’ll just get you out.”

“Okay, but what about Cole’s funeral?”

“We won’t go.”

I snorted. “Like hell I’m gonna let Reg, or any of the boys for that matter, sit through that funeral alone.”

James grinned. “They won’t be alone, they’ve got each other.”

I deadpanned, and his teasing grin eased into a reassuring smile. “I promise things will go okay.”

“You’re making a lot of promises, Jay.”

He rolled his eyes. “Okay, moment’s over. Go get changed, we’re leaving in ten minutes.”

I gigged as he began to rummage through his own bag. I followed suit, and we kept our backs to each other as we changed.

“Don’t get me wrong, as excited as I am at the prospect of having Stephen back in my life, I sure as hell miss the others.”

James huffed. “I know. If I can be honest with you, I miss Mason.”

“Ohh, Jay has a crush!”

“Shove it!” He tossed a pillow toward my head.

**********************************************************************

I rang the doorbell, feeling like I was going to faint. Inside, I heard the bark of what was most likely a big dog. A small smile broke onto my face. Stephen had wanted a dog for as long as I could remember.

The white door opened, and an older woman with greying hair and a polite smile stood there. “Can I help you, dear?”

I swallowed, eyeing her through the screen door. “I uh… My name’s Irene. I was on the expedition with your husband, I-”

“Oh, you’re here to see Stephen!” She whispered. “Come in, come in.” She pushed the screen door open and ushered me inside.

“I’m really sorry for your loss.” I shuffled inside.

She shook her head. “Thank you. Here, you can get comfortable, I’ll call him.”

A St. Bernard came my way, tail wagging. I giggled as the dog licked my hand, then butted its head into my torso.

“Oh, Presley, leave her alone.” Silvie pulled on the dog’s collar. “Sorry about that, he just gets excited.”

“His name’s Presley?”

“Yeah,” Silvie nodded, “as in-”

“Elvis Presley. I named him myself, actually. Who is this, mom?”

I looked up, and it felt like looking into the mirror of an alternate universe. He was here, looking healthy and happy. If we would’ve had normal childhoods, this is what we would both look like right now.

Silvie spoke up, gesturing between us. “Stephen, this is-”

“Reen?”

“Hi, Stevie.” I gave the boy standing in front of me a soft smile.

I tried as hard as I could, but I couldn’t help the tears that began to brew in my eyes. Silvie excused herself, saying that we would be in the kitchen if either of us needed her. She pulled Presley along with her. Stephen looked at me, his eyes sad, but the smile on his face wide.

“What happened to your arm?” He pointed, voice weak.

I laughed through my own tears. “There was a tiger. No biggie.”

“What were you doing around a tiger?”

The smile dropped from my face and I looked down, sniffing. “I… I was on the expedition… with your dad.” I looked up at him. “I’m sorry, Stephen.”

He gave a soft shrug. “Thanks.”

There was silence, and then he pointed to my arm again. “You gonna be okay?”

I nodded. “Yeah, it’ll heal soon.”

“I really missed you, Reen.”

I nodded. “I’m sorry we couldn’t find you.”

He shook his head. “It’s not your fault. Dad just kinda dropped off the face of the earth, ya know.”

I felt sick to my stomach once more. “Stevie, I…” I sighed. “Dad… dad’s dead. He died a few months after he sent you away.”

A look of shock spread over his face, and he took a step forward. “Shit.”

“I’m sorry you didn’t get to say goodbye.”

He snorted. “I’m not.”

It was my turn to be shocked, and I felt my eyebrows furrow. “What?”

“God, Irene, after all he put us through? I’m glad he’s gone.”

A weight seemed to come off my chest, like a curse lifted. I looked at Stephen, crying again, and opened my arms wide. He grinned at me and pulled me in for a hug, resting his head on top of mine.

“I’m so glad you’re here, Reen.”

**********************************************************************

“Oh, it is pretty up here.” I huffed as I settled on the tree branch.

“Good for sunsets.” Stephen let out a burp from beside me, and I leaned away, laughing.

“You’re gross.”

He shrugged, a smile on his face. He had led me out to the backyard, where there was a huge tree that he loved. He had convinced me to climb up it, telling me that the view was one he knew I would appreciate.

“I used to spend a lotta time up here.” He sighed, leaning against the trunk of the tree.

“Why? You’ve always been scared of heights.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, I know. Still am. If I fall from here, I could break my neck. That’s scary.”

“You’re not gonna fall, don’t worry.”

“Promise?” He looked over at me with raised eyebrows.

I nodded. “Promise. So why did you spend so much time up here?”

“It was when they first adopted me. I felt so out of place, and so lonely.” There was a long pause, and I looked down at my feet, swinging in the air.

“How old were you? I mean, I know we had just turned thirteen when Dad sent you away, but…”

“Fifteen.”

I sucked in air through my teeth. That age was tough for me, but at least I had the comfort and security of James by my side. I couldn’t imagine what it was like for him.

“I just wanted to go home, man.” He shook his head, as if clearing his thoughts. “Fuck, not even home. I just missed you. I mean, our whole lives, we got shuffled around from place to place…” He sighed. “It was always you and me. I didn’t even miss Dad. I just didn’t wanna be alone.” He was looking down now, face sad and shoulders dropped.

“Stephen… how did you even end up here?”

He furrowed his eyebrows. “Um… I mean, I walked for a while. Jumped on some buses. I got on trains when I could afford it. I didn’t really know where I was going. Just away.”

I squinted. “Wait, what?”

“What?”

“How did you end up in the states?”

“Irene, Dad sent me here.” Stephen looked down at me, confused.

“No, he…” I trailed off.

“What’re you talking about, Reen?”

“He told us that he sent you to boarding school.”

“Us?” Stephen repeated, eyebrows still furrowed.

“James and I. He told us that you… that you were at a boarding school. But he wouldn’t tell us where.”

Stephen shook his head. “He lied to you.”

“Yeah, no shit.”

“He put me on a plane to Brooklyn, New York. Said that I was gonna go live with his cousin. Only, nobody showed up for me.”

“Wait, Brooklyn?”

“Yeah!” He grinned. “Apparently we’re from Brooklyn.”

Reality set in again and I rubbed my forehead. “This doesn’t make sense.”

“I did my best on the streets for as long as I could, but… I ended up in foster care within the year.”

My shoulders dropped even further. “He just wanted to split us up.”

Stephen frowned. “Why?”

“Cause he knew we would both hate him when we grew up. And since James and I were close, he just decided to get rid of you.” Tears came again.

“God, fuck him.” He spat, angry.

I sighed, watching as Stephen’s young adopted siblings ran around in the yard below us.

“I’m sorry, Stevie. I’m sorry I let him, I’m sorry I couldn’t find you.”

“Hey, no, it’s not your fault.” He inched closer, throwing an arm around my shoulders lazily. “It’s not your fault, Reen. We were kids. You couldn’t have done anything.”

“All of this time, I just, I thought that we couldn’t find you. I thought that… that we didn’t do enough.”

“No, Irene.” He shook his head. “I’m sure you did everything you could.”

I sighed. “I don’t get it…”

“Don’t get what?”

“Why he did any of it.” I shook my head. “Why did he do any of it? Who the fuck gives six years olds weapons? Who sets them loose in the wo-” I cut myself off mid-word, looking the other way. “I just don’t get it. I’ve spent the last eight years trying to figure it out. And I still can’t.”

His arm tightened around me. “I don’t think we’ll ever understand, Boo Boo.”

I chuckled, wiping my tears away. We had grown up on Yogi Bear, and at age three, still struggling to speak, Stephen could only call me Boo Boo until we were five.

“Hey, do you still like waffles?”

He looked up at me, making a face. “I fucking love waffles.”

“You have a dirty ass mouth, kid.”

He grinned. “Had to make up for you not being here.”

I rolled my eyes with a goofy smile on my face. “You wanna go get waffles? My treat.”

“I know a good diner, actually.” He perked up. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure. It’s just gonna take me a minute to get down.”

“Hey, who’s Slivko?” He leaned closer, reading the name off of Reg’s army jacket.

I had been wearing it non-stop, like a security blanket. I hugged myself, and the smell of Reg hit me. I grinned.

“He’s my boyfriend.”

“Oh?” He raised an eyebrow.

“It’s been an eventful five years, Stevie.” I winked.

*********************************************************************

“This is my favorite place. Oh, and their pancakes are pretty good if you still like them.” Stephen grinned as we looked over the menus in front of us.

I smiled. “I do still love pancakes. British pancakes suck.”

“Yeah, wait, so you’re still with James?” Stephen cocked his head.

I nodded. “Yeah. Um, after Dad died, I just kinda stayed.” I shrugged. “There was no one to pick me up and move me to the next place.”

“So then how did you end up on the expedition that…” He trailed off, and I watched as his eyes glazed over.

It was like he kept forgetting, and then kept remembering. I knew the feeling all too well, and it was one that made my insides churn.

“Uh, James became a tracker. I-I mean, he fought in the war obviously, but… the people who hired your dad’s squadron, they hired James too. And we don’t leave without each other, so…”

He looked at me with a knowing look. “It wasn’t a tiger, was it? I know, you could take a tiger out from a hundred feet away. How did it get that close?”

I looked around, making sure that we hadn’t caught anyone’s attention. I leaned in and shook my head. “Not right now.”

He scowled. “Irene, how-”

“Not here.” I repeated, clearing my throat as the waitress came to our table.

“What can I get for y’all?” She was an older woman, and she seemed to recognize Stephen.

“Uh, can I just get my usual?” He smiled smoothly.

She nodded. “Of course you can, Stephen. And for you?” She turned my way with a smile.

“Could I please get an order of chocolate chip pancakes?”

“Of course! We’ll have everything right out for you two.” She gave Stephen a knowing smile, and his eyes went wide.

“Oh, uh. No, actually, uh, Miss Betty, this is my sister. Irene.”

Miss Betty’s eyes went wide, and a smile came onto her face. “The famous Irene?”

I chuckled awkwardly, looking back at Stephen. “I guess so?”

“He talks about you all the time, honey. I’ll have your things right out for you, alright. Very happy for you, dear.” She patted Stephen’s shoulder as she made her way to another table.

“You talk about me?”

“Yeah. All shit, though.” He broke into a huge smile.

“Good. I don’t talk about you at all.” I gave him a playful scowl.

“I know you don’t. As if you would tell anybody about your past.”

I scoffed. “Hey!”

The family at the booth next to us turned and shot us a look. I turned back to Stephen and lowered my voice.

“That was uncalled for.”

He stuck his tongue out at me, and I repeated the motion, taunting him as if we were both children.

“Put your tongue back in your mouth, Stephen.”

I looked up to see James sliding into the booth, next to Stephen. I grinned.

“What’re you doing here?”

“Brought you a surprise.”

I tilted my head. “What?”

“Close your eyes, Bitsy.”

I sighed and did as told, hearing Stephen and James whisper between the two of them. Someone sat down next to me, tossing their arm over my shoulder. I was hit with the smell of pine wood and oranges. My heart fluttered as I realized it was Reg. I melted into his side, my eyes still closed.

“Hi, doll.” He pressed a kiss to the top of my forehead.

“So, who are you?”

“Stephen.” I hissed, opening my eyes to shoot him a look.

“My name’s Reg.”

Stephen squinted, holding a hand out across the table. Reg shook it, and I looked back up at him with a goofy smile on my face.

“Hi.” I whispered.

“Hi, doll.” He repeated, grinning right back. “Nice to meet you.” He spoke to Stephen, who was still staring.

I kicked him under the table, and his facade broke. He choked, presumably on air, and began to laugh.

“I’m just messing with you, man. Nice to meet you too. James.” He turned. “Long time, no see.”

“You’ve grown.” James chuckled, and from there, the two seemed engulfed in their own conversation.

I was sure that James felt as much relief as I did, now knowing that Stephen did not, in fact, hate us. Reg’s arm tightened around me, and I looked back at him, the stupid smile on my face once more.

“What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to surprise you.” He smiled softly. “I missed you.”

I felt myself melt even more into his hold. “I missed you, too. You look weird in normal clothes.”

He chuckled. “You look beautiful in my jacket.”

A blush rose on my cheeks, and he winked. I snuggled up to him as close as I could, and he kissed the top of my head once more.

“I’ve got your pancakes and your waffles. Are you guys gonna need some more menus?” Miss Betty asked, putting our plates down in front of us.

Stephen and I looked at each other, and he broke into a snort. I looked back at her.

“Yes please, Miss Betty.”

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