I updated some infos and rules but prices are the same; i also deleted the old commission post, so please refer to this one from now on! If you’re interested please send a note! If not, please, just spread this post! It would be helpful :)
Everyday walking home you see a mannequin staring down at you from a house window. One day it’s holding a sign that says ‘help me’ and the next day PLEASE. The owner of the home drives up and you look up to see the mannequin gone. You decide to investigate.
This is one of my Upbeat Horror pieces, so trigger warnings for all the usual things - sex-related creepiness, violence, bad magic, monsters and murder. Child harm and murder, too, but only mentioned, not shown.
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The Mannequins In The Windows
It takes a lot, around here, to make anyone question the weird behaviour of their neighbours. It’s one of those places… a once-nice area that’s going downhill, with a mix of die-hard respectables holding on, and students, and people looking for low rent, and… well, the usual things. Nobody cares about how things look much, anymore. Nobody questions what flag you put up, or if you’ve got a caravan semi-permanently parked in your driveway, or an art installation made of car parts, or a car doing duty as an art installation.
Around here, weird isn’t noticed much.
But the mannequins were reallyweird.
It was a house, not apartments or town-houses, with a little yard and all. And it was nicer than most of them, these days. Old, but still looked after. The guy still mows the lawn on the weekends and even hoses down the driveway now and then. He lives alone, which I get – if you can afford to, who wouldn’t? But the mannequins were so weird.
The first one had showed up a few months ago – a young blonde woman. It was a really nice one… vintage, with a carefully modelled and painted face, real eyelashes and hair, the works. Almost uncanny valley quality. I saw it sometimes through the windows, standing in a graceful pose, looking down and off to one side in that demure way they used to use a lot. He changed its clothes pretty regularly, and I wondered a little why. Mr Nine-To-Five didn’t look like the type, somehow, to play dolly dress up in his off hours.
The next one was a kid, a girl. One of those apple-cheeked, twinkly cherubs, with golden curls and inset blue eyes that’s just that tiny bit too cute. It started showing up, too, usually in the same room as the woman, like he was setting up little dioramas every morning before work. Mom watching the kid play, or sitting on the couch with it, or whatever. That’s when I started really paying attention. I had no idea what was going on with this guy, but I could appreciate the quality of the performance, if you know what I mean. The scenarios started to get more elaborate, and I looked in at the windows every time I went past.
About two weeks ago, a third mannequin showed up – a cute curly-haired brunette in a maid’s uniform. I’d see her posed with a vacuum cleaner, or a duster, or ‘talking’ to the Mom mannequin. I was starting to wonder if this guy was having a nervous breakdown or something, but I was invested in the plotline at this point, so I kept looking.
Then three days ago, when I was walking past on my way home from work, I looked in the windows as usual. It was late afternoon, the sun shining right in those front windows, so I got a good view. Maid mannequin was dusting in an upstairs room that I think was a bedroom. Kid mannequin was sitting on the sofa holding a book. And Mom mannequin was standing in the window of the dining room, one hand on the curtain, and for once her head wasn’t turned away. She was looking out into the street.
Just for a moment, I could have sworn we made eye contact. You can’t make eye contact with a mannequin or a mask, not really. You can tell there’s nothing looking back. But for a second, I got that feeling of looking someone in the eye. It creeped me out in a way I couldn’t explain.
On my way to work the next morning, I looked in the windows. I wasn’t expecting anything that early – bakers go to work before dawn – but Mom mannequin was standing in an upstairs window. And she was holding up a sign. “Help me” it said, in strange, awkward letters that looked exactly like a mannequin hand might have written them.
What the fuck? That’s what I was thinking, when I stood up and stared at her, when I realized I was about to miss my bus and had to run, when I got to the bakery and started work..
Miriam is my partner, both in the bakery and romantically, and the third time she caught me staring into space instead of kneading dough she grabbed my ear and tugged gently. “Hey. Ellie. What’s going on? Someone throw holy water on you again?”
“Huh?” It took me a second, then I grinned. “Oh, come on, it’s been ages since anyone around here even gave a crap. No, it’s the guy with the mannequins at Number 56. Shit’s getting weird, Miri.”
“Weirder than staging fifties family dioramas with mannequins? What, did you see him making out with Mombot?”
“Weirder than that, even.” I put down the roll I’d been shaping. “I swear Mom mannequin made eye contact with me yesterday. And this morning she was in the window upstairs, which she never is this early, and she was holding up a sign saying ‘help me’. I nearly had a heart attack. I mean, metaphorically.”
Miri thought about that, frowning. “… yeah, that’s a long way past weird. I’ll check the windows when I go home and text you if I see anything else creepy.” She starts at the bakery at about three, and goes home to rest at about nine. She’s never liked being awake during the day, which was why we started the bakery. She’s good at artisanal breads, and this way she can work the hours she likes.
When she got home, I got a text saying ‘Mom and the maid are “talking” in the dining room. The kid is in the bedroom. Swear the little creeper was watching me. No signs.’
But when I went home in the late afternoon, Mom was in the dining room, holding up a sign. It said ‘PLEASE’.
I stood there a while, wondering whether to just kick the door down or sneak over later, but it was still daylight. I didn’t want to get seen. And while I was still thinking, the guy’s car pulled into the driveway. And when I looked back at the window, all three mannequins were gone. Just gone. Like they’d never been there.
I got moving fast enough that, I hoped, he didn’t notice me. When I got home, I woke Miri up. “There was another sign. And she’s trying to get my attention, specifically. I guess because I always look at them. And the guy came home and when I looked at the windows, they were all gone.”
Miri sat up, rubbing her eyes. “That is SO creepy. Should we go over tonight?”
“I don’t think we should go while he’s there.” I shook my head slowly. “I say we go over when he goes to work. I put up a sign at the bakery that we’d be closed tomorrow. I don’t feel good about this.”
“Neither do I.” Miri yawned, and lay back down. “If I have to be awake in daytime tomorrow, I’m going to sleep now. Can you pick up dinner?”
“Sure thing. We’ll go in ready.”
We waited until the car had been gone for ten minutes before we sneaked in the back way, cutting through from the apartment-block next door. The door was locked, but Miri’s always had a knack with locks. It wasn’t hard to get in.
The house smelled bad. Most people wouldn’t have noticed it, but I know the smell of something decaying, however well it’s buried under layers of air-deodorizers and disinfectant. “There’s something dead in this house,” I whispered.
“I know.” Miri whispered back. “Come on.”
All three mannequins were standing in the hall, when we left the kitchen. Standing in a row near the front door, as if they’d… ugh… been doing the fifties-TV style Have A Good Day At Work Dear farewell.
I didn’t yelp when all three heads turned to look at us, but Miri did, and I admit I took a step back. “Please,” Mom said in a dry, scraping voice. “Help us.”
They didn’t know how the man had done what he’d done, but they knew where he’d done it. Miri went around closing all the curtains, and I pulled back the rug in the living room. It was cleverly done. The carpet was pristine, and the upper side of the rug was too, but between the carpet and the rug there was a layer of clear plastic, with a full necromantic circle with signs and sigils painted onto it. At least half of them had to be in human blood to work, but sandwiched between the plastic and the rug, he wouldn’t leave a trace behind him when he moved. “This is so fucked up,” I whispered, looking at it, then up at the mannequins. I’d been hoping for transformation. Transformation is so much easier to handle. But they weren’t people who’d been turned into mannequins. “He killed you, didn’t he?” I said quietly. “All three of you. And he put your souls into the mannequins.”
Mom nodded jerkily. The kid had to struggle to move while being seen, and the maid couldn’t seem to do it at all, but Mom had had this body for a while and she’d been working on getting more and more control of it. “He can make us… seem more real. When he wants to,” she got out. When I made a disgusted face, because I had no doubt why he was doing that, she nodded again. Ugh.
“I can’t undo this,” I told her, honestly. “I’m not a sorcerer, and necromancy is… it’s major. I know some people who probably know some people, but it’s going to take some time for me to track down – “
Miri came through the door, backwards, writhing in the grip of what looked like a rope of purple light. I’m fast, but not so fast that he didn’t get me the same way in the next moment, even as I jumped to my feet. I went down again hard, grunting as the impact pushed the air out of me. “Wards, huh?”
“I was prepared for intruders.” He grinned down at me, with the intense, smug arrogance of all necromancers. The ones who just try to bring back a dead loved one and stop there, maybe not, but anyone who kills for it is a special kind of bad guy. Everyone hates those guys, even the dead. Maybe especially the dead. “So unfortunate for you. What you thought you were doing, I don’t know, but you won’t be leaving this house.”
Miri had gotten some air back into her. “These are Synsele’s Restraints, right?” she gritted out. “Well-done, too.”
“Ah, you recognise them! Yes, it’s a very useful spell. Not everyone can cast it.” He looked smugger than ever.
“All the best… wizards use them,” I managed. The tight bonds were making getting enough air to speak pretty difficult. “Effective on… magic-users as well as ordinary people. Even lycanthropes. Didn’t realize you… were this powerful.”
“Most people don’t, until it’s too late. And really, why did you have to come and intrude? My little family and I aren’t bothering anyone. We just want to be happy, don’t we?”
“Yes,” all three mannequins said in unison, but the looks on their faces made me want to vomit, if I was still capable of it. Even if I hadn’t had a certain fellow-feeling for them, I’d have wanted to help.
“There’s a major problem with Synsele’s Restraints, though,” Miri said, looking up at the ceiling thoughtfully. He was fast. We’d have to move together on this one, which was why we were talking to him first. We’d been together a long time, we knew how to signal each other without the mark knowing about it.
“Indeed? And what might that be?” he said, clearly sceptical as he looked down at us, at his feet and at his mercy.
We looked at each other, and grinned with all our teeth. Showtime.
“They only work on the living,” I spat, and Miri and I leaped on him, fangs out.
We’d fed well last night. But a vampire can always eat.
Miri got a little too into it, though, and I pulled her off. “Don’t kill him.”
“Why not? If anyone ever deserved – “
“Yeah, but… them. Killing him might trap them.” I gestured the mannequins. “You know how chancy it is killing the spellcaster.”
“Fuck. Yeah, you’re right.” She wiped her mouth, putting away the fangs and the glowing eyes and other accoutrements of the feeding vampire. “So what’ll we do with him?”
I looked around, pulled my sleeve down to cover my hand, picked up a sturdy-looking lamp, and hit him over the head with it. He’d already been unconscious, but this was a good excuse for it. “You get those three back out of here. I’m going to be a good neighbour and call the cops.”
Miri looked at the mannequins, then back at me, and grinned. “And they’re gonna look around?”
“I’ll make sure.”
“Our bodies,” Mom managed. “He kept them.”
“Yeah, we smelled it as soon as we got here. That’ll be you, right?” I made eye-contact with Maid Mannequin, who nodded very slightly. Mom said she couldn’t talk yet, or move much without orders. Mom had been the one posing her, and the kid before her, trying to draw someone’s attention. Maid was… fresh. “I’m guessing basement. I’ll make sure the door’s open.”
We’ve done this before, too. I opened the front door, when I was sure there was no-one watching, then made the call. A neighbour goes past, sees the front door open, comes in and finds a head injury, immediately calls ambulance and police. It was a plausible story, and no-one would have seen anything. They probably wouldn’t have even if I’d kicked the door down. And when I pointed out the bad smell, and one of them went down into the basement, they lost all interest in me. I just gave my statement, left my number and address, and went home to tell my poor, worried girlfriend that I was okay. One of the cops even walked me back, all friendly, like she really was making sure I got home okay and not checking my address.
Vampires don’t do magic, as a rule. But we know people who do. We’ll get the mannequins to the right people. They’re sisters, of a sort – murdered by a disgusting man who wanted to keep them like pets, just like we were. If they can be freed, we’ll make sure it happens. If they can’t… well, we’ll figure something out. There’s a transmutationist a couple of blocks over who owes us for all the free bread we give him, and some lycanthropes who might know the kind of person who’s so shitty that removing their soul from their body and replacing it with the soul of a wronged innocent is practically justice.
See, it’s like I said.
Around here, weird doesn’t get noticed much.
When the necromancer settled here, he should have given more thought to whether he was the only freak who’d thought of that.
title: holding on letting go wc:4k pairing: knj x reader (gn) summary: this is not a lovestory, don’t be fooled. but then again, maybe it is. because love is like a kaleidoskope. not everything is the way you see it. and not everything that is broken needs to be put together again. genre:angst, lovers2exes, no happy ending (but this is up for discussion),hopefully a litte bit of hurt/comfort as well rating: 18+ nsfw warnings:profanity, themes of grief and coming to terms, feelings of grief and anxiety, broken heartedness, sad smut [i cried while writing this fic, does this need a warning?]
a/n:this wouldn’t be here without the lovely @madseok , @miscelunaaa and @hobi-gif. thank you so much for being the most wonderful betareaders there are.
a/n2:Dear reader, I hope you enjoy this kind of unconventional story. It’s not friends2lovers it’s not exes2lovers. it’s breaking up, it’s hurting, it’s grief. but i hope it’s also comfort and healing.
“How are you and Namjoon?” your friend asks with an open smile and honest eyes, as she fills your glass with a crisp and cold white wine that is supposed to carry sweet notes of summer and apricots, and it’s then your heart gives a small uncomfortable squeeze.
Fred was too drunk to drive, and Finn wasn’t allowed his licence, so they had to call a taxi while Fao travelled with the ambulance. Finn had quickly packed a bag, just some clean clothes and snacks, out of habit more than anything. He grabbed his Lion and Fao’s eeyore as a just in case.
They met Fao and Sheila at the hospital, She looking a lot worse for wear. Fao had his arm around her, letting her lean into him as she complained quietly. It was slightly amusing to him, after the many hours they’d spent with the roles reversed.
Fao looked up at the two of them as they appeared. “Hey. All okay?”
Finn rolled his eyes as he sat next to Fao. “Dad’s pissed, what do you think?”
“Bet that was a fun taxi ride. The ambulance wasn’t much better.”
“You didn’t have to have a history lesson.” He grumbled. “How long is the wait?”
“Long enough.”
Fred leaned over. “It’s a shame we’re not in Germany.”
“I dunno, my German is shocking.” Fao muttered. “Probably best we’re in London.”
“Maybe, but we could have had beer in Germany. Do you know what beer is in German? Bier.”
“Think we’ve had enough beer, Dad.”
“That’s what got you into this mess.” Finn added.
“I’m not drinking again.” Sheila groaned. “So definitely no beer.”
“Mum’s got the right idea.” Fao pointed out. “Hopefully we’re not waiting too much longer, you’re probably going to need a head CT.”
“I didn’t even pass out.”
“Maybe so, but you took a decent whack to the head and the alcohol makes it hard to see what’s drunk you and what’s head injury you.”
“But I was drunk before I hit my head.”
“I know. But it makes it difficult to tell if anything new comes up.”
She sighed, reaching a hand to touch the bandage again. “Is it still bleeding?”
“Looks it. Try not to touch.” Fao said, taking her hand.
“But I can’t see it otherwise.”
“You don’t need to see it.”
“I do.”
“No, you don’t, mum.”
“Just leave it be.” Fao said gently.
Soon enough they called her through, leaving Fao and Finn to coral both drunk parents. It wasn’t exactly easy, and it was safe to say Fao understood quite how they’d met, now. Drunk Fred would definitely throw up in a plant and end up marrying the person the plant belonged to.
Sheila’s scans were clear, and they were satisfied it was just a simple head injury. They’d left the family waiting in a cubicle while they checked over the scans, and so the nurse returned with an apology.
“Sheila Daniels? I’m just going to do a quick set of observations and then we’ll get started on stitching you back up.”
“Does it really need stitches?” Fred asked from the corner, feeling rather worse for wear and just wanting to be anywhere but hospital. “Can’t you just glue it? Get it done.”
The nurse smiled. “Stitches are better for this one, I’m afraid. Won’t take long.”
“Quickly, then.” Fred said to the floor.
“We’ll get you all home soon. It’s late, isn’t it?”
“We were all ready for bed, I think.” Fao said, rubbing Sheila’s arm.
“I’m definitely ready for bed.” Sheila agreed.
“Just a few stitches, and we’ll be sorted.” Fao told her.
The nurse was quick with the obs, and then set out her stuff to stitch. “Alright Sheila, just a sharp scratch, okay?”
She nodded. “Sorry. Meant to be still, aren’t I? I’m ready.”
“That’s alright, it’s instinct to nod, isn’t it?” She reassured, and once she was still and settled, she set about giving the local. “That’s it, well done.”
Fred had only been growing more pale with the discussion of stitches, but as soon as she started injecting the local, it was too much. His legs gave out and he dropped to the floor, Finn desperately trying to keep him from smacking his head.
“Dad?”
Fao looked up just to see Fred hit the floor, Finn doing his best to stop him. “Oh, shit.” He muttered, rushing over. “Nothing’s ever simple with this family.”
More doctors quickly swarmed the room, checking Fred over. He wasn’t entirely sure what had happened, but a quick glance at Sheila made things clear. The sight of the needle made his stomach flip and he passed out again.
Fao gave a hand where he couldn’t, murmuring that he was a registrar up in Birmingham. There wasn’t a lot they could do, but he urged the nurse to get Sheila sorted quickly.
“I’ll stay with dad.” Finn promised as they were separated, shooting his mum a small smile. “Won’t be long.”
“It’ll be alright.” Fao reassured.
Fred came to with a sore head and Finn staring down at him rather disapprovingly. “Is there something you want to say?”
“I’m not the biggest fan of needles.” He admitted quietly.
Fao’s hands burned across his skin, barely conscious but unfortunately aware enough to feel the pain. His breath hitched, a quiet gasp of pain. The fog was too thick to fight through, unable to force his eyes open.
Fao took a step back, looking Harrison over as he called Steve. Harrison’s clothes were ripped and torn, drenched in blood. His face was swollen, his cheek obviously disfigured. His left arm was pointed in all different directions, and his hand, bloody and bruised, was tucked to his chest. With each breath his ribs shifted in different directions, grating and rubbing against each other. His legs were even worse; while his prosthesis was nowhere to be found, his other leg was so obviously broken, the bone sticking through the skin. There was too much blood, far too much blood.
Steve answered, on a break from theatres. “Fao, morning. What’s up?”
“I’ve found Hars.”
“Is he alright?” Something in Fao’s tone had already given him the answer.
Fao took a breath. “No, he's… He’s a state. He’s got a compound fracture to his left leg, his left arm is broken too. Ribs are… Well, ribs are fucked, and his prosthetic is gone.”
“Shit. Where are you? I’ll get Trauma out to you.”
“On the edge of our land. North edge.”
“Conscious?” Steve asked, turning to gesture at the receptionist as he scrawled instructions down. “Get as many obs as you can.”
“I’ve got no kit.”
“You’ve got your phone.”
“Hang on, then.”
Steve was worried beyond belief. With the trauma team alerted and starting to prepare, he had no choice but to head out to find Fao. He didn’t have all the equipment the team had, but he could do something. The car tyres spun as he rushed out, and he swore quietly, trying to keep the worry from overwhelming him.
On his knees next to Harrison, Fao carefully took as many obs as he could. It wasn’t a lot, and the numbers he was getting weren’t exactly comforting. The younger man was in a bad way, and there wasn’t much he could do about it either. He’d seen patients like this at work, overseas, but not without a kit, or a senior, or someone else. He was all alone, and there was nothing he could do other than try and stop the bleeding. He tugged his shirt off, the only thing he had to put pressure on, and the cool air made him shudder. He just had to hope Trauma found them soon.
Steve found them before the team did, lugging his bag as he ran. He could smell the blood a mile off, and it made his stomach turn. It didn’t smell good at all.
“Steve!” Fao called, catching sight of the other man.
“Fao. Thank God I’ve found you. North edge is a lot of land.” He gave the other man a forced smile as he knelt to assess Harrison. “Fucking hell.”
“Sorry. Was out running, wasn’t exactly keeping track of where I was.” He murmured. “He’s not good, tachy and his resps are shocking. Think he’s just conscious, but he slips in and out. I’ve done my best with the bleeding, but…”
Steve nodded. “Did a good job. Grab some kit and keep going.” He rested a gentle hand on Harrison’s cheek. “Stay with us, okay? We’ve got you. Just hold on.”
Wiping his bloody hands on his shorts, Fao reached for the kit. “How far out is trauma?”
“Too far.” He leaned back on his haunches. “Do as much as you can. I’ll bring the truck, we’ll get him back to the clinic. It’s not enough, but it’ll have to do.” Steve didn’t have much of a choice. They either tried to get him to the clinic, or he’d die in the dirt. At least they’d know they’d done their best.
“Redirect trauma there? They can meet us.” Fao muttered. “To think I thought Afghanistan was bad. Fucking hell.”
“Exactly. It’s the same distance for them.”
“Saves them wasting time looking for us.”
He nodded as he stood. “I’ll be five minutes. Just keep doing what you’re doing. Keep him…” He trailed off, gave Fao a nod and ran off again.
“Yeah, got it.” Fao replied, not even looking up.
As Fao pressed hard against a wound, Harrison let out a quiet groan, struggling to breathe against the pain.
“I know, Tomcat, I know. We’ve got you.”
Steve returned as quick as he could, backing the truck as close as he could get. He jumped out and lowered the back. “We okay?”
“Well, that depends on your definition of ‘okay’.” Fao muttered. “We’re the same.”
“I’ll take that as okay. Help me get him in?”
“Yeah. Ready?”
“As careful as we can.”
Despite their soft hands, the movement jolted Harrison. He screamed in pain, trying to pull away from them.
They didn’t stop as Harrison screamed, quickly getting him in the back of the truck. Fao kept the kit close by, and then hopped up next to him. “You drive, yeah? I can try and keep him stable back here.”
“Thanks. Just shout if you need anything.” Steve told him, before he started the car and sped off. He kept glancing in the rearview, praying to a god he no longer believed in. He couldn’t lose Harrison again.
It was a job to stay upright as Steve sped through the territory, and Fao tried his best to keep Harrison stable. He just had to make it to the clinic, they had more there, he’d have a better shot at helping him there.
Steve had managed to source a couple of people to help out, some staff already working and others called in for the emergency. They met him at the clinic entrance, trauma board ready.
It was a smooth and practiced transition, getting Harrison into the theatre and everything connected. He barely made a noise, the pain finally too distant to hurt him. As Fao had found, his reps were through the roof, as was his heart rate. His sats were awful, and the blood pressure kept cycling, refusing to give a number.
It was impossible to find a vein through the swelling and bruising, their limited options quickly exhausted. They weren’t left with much else of a choice when Steve grabbed the kit, turned Harrison’s head to the side and apologised to the younger wolf. It was luck, pure luck that he managed it, the cannula flushing back and ready.
“Let’s get him out.”
Fao had been turning the room upside down, looking for meds and kit that they’d need. Induction drugs were already laid out, and he handed them to Steve. They didn’t have a massive stock of human meds, but they kept enough.
“Have we got blood to transfuse?”
“We’re getting it. Has to be wolf.”
“He needs it now.”
“Fluids are up.”
“Fluids won’t be enough.” Fao said. “I can donate, right?”
“I need you treating, Fao.”
“I can do both. Bloods out, fluids in, I can treat.”
“No.”
“How long will bloods take at this rate?”
“Fao, I need a chest drain in.”
“I’m on it.” He muttered, though it was hard. His landmarks were fucked, ribs shifting under his touch, bone grating on bone. Muttering under his breath in a mix of English and Gaelic, he made his incision and hurriedly passed the tube in. It was more blood for him to lose, Fao all too aware he’d need more, and soon.
Steve glanced over at Fao’s work, mentally ticking it off. He gave it a moment to work, blood pouring through the tube, but it didn’t help. Harrison had reached his limit, his body had started to give up and was starting to decompensate.
“Right, fuck it. Fao, blood.”
“I can’t cannulate myself.” He muttered. “I’ve tried.”
One of he techs grabbed him, steering him to a chair. Fao’s veins were shit, everyone knew that, but Harrison’s life was on the line. No time for niceties, they cannulated as quick as they could.
Fao didn’t fuss, and he was glad when everything was in. It was made easier by his run, the way he was completely on edge, still so hot and strsssed. Better warm than freezing cold. He’d managed to throw on a scrub top now, and they set up to transfuse.
Steve wasn’t happy with the set-up, but it was dirty medicine. Not everything could be perfect all the time. As long as it worked, it didn’t matter.
Fao didn’t like it either, but he didn’t have a choice. If it would stabilise Harrison, it would buy them time.
Their hail Mary worked. Finally they got a blood pressure from Harrison. It was terrible, of course, and ready to bottom out again, but it was there. Slowly things started to stabilise again, allowing Steve to take a breath.
More blood was pushed, as was the sedation, and they gradually clawed back some control. Blood was still pouring from the chest drains, and Steve was sure there were more internal bleeds. It wasn’t something he was happy opening on his table, so he just hoped Trauma would hurry up.
With Harrison out, they also put his leg back in place. It was a struggle, and they weren’t sure how long it had been out. He was already at high risk for infection, and that just made it a million times worse. They knew if he made it through all this, it was going to be a long recovery. Nerve damage, chronic pain, and poor mobility threatened his recovery. Steve wasn’t sure he’d make it through it. He wasn’t convinced there wasn’t going to be another amputation.
1. What is a rumor people tell about them? 2. How long would they last in the zombie apocalypse? 3. If they’re about to get in a fight, what song plays in their head as their ‘hype song’? 4. How important is family to them? 5. If they had a theme song, what would it be? 6. What’s a movie they can quote from start to finish? 7. Are they more of a leader or a follower? 8. If they were given 1000 acres of land with no strings attached, what would they do with it? 9. If they had to flee their home country, where would they live? 10. Do they think psychic abilities exist? Which one would they like to have? 11. What was their favourite fairy tale growing up? 12. What’s a skill or craft they would like to master, but haven’t? 13. How did they find out Santa isn’t real? 14. What’s a personality trait they wish they had? 15. Do they believe in getting revenge on those who wrong them? If so, how do they go about it? 16. If they were arrested with no explanation, what would their friends and family think they had done? 17. In 40 years, what will they be the most nostalgic about? 18. How would they describe their family? 19. If they could shop for free at one store, what would it be? 20. Do they have any pets? If so, what are they? 21. If they had to bury treasure, how would they hide it? 22. If they were given a one minute ad slot during the Super Bowl that they couldn’t sell, what would they fill it with? 23. What’s the most important object they own? 24. What event in their life would make a good movie? 25. If there was a day held in their honor, what would people have to do on that day? 26. If they could dedicate their life to solving one problem, what would it be? 27. What makes a person beautiful to them? 28. If they turned into their crush/significant other for a day, what would they do? 29. What do they do/act like when they’re angry? 30. What would be their perfect day? 31. How would they conquer the Earth? 32. If they could swim in any liquid what would it be and why? 33. Where do they find meaning in their life? 34. What percentage of their life have they felt truly alive? 35. What job were they born to do? 36. Do they believe things happen for a reason? 37. What do they think is a conspiracy? 38. Do they believe in magic? 39. Do they believe in the afterlife? How do they picture it? 40. What’s a superstition they believe in? 41. What is the dumbest way they’ve ever been injured? 42. Do they drink/smoke/do drugs? 43. What’s the best and worst purchase they’ve ever made? 44. Can they cook? What’s their favourite dish to make? 45. Do they mind conflict? 46. What is something silly they’ve been tricked into believing? 47. If they could start a charity what would it be for? 48. If they were a cryptid (bigfoot, mothman, ect.) what would they be? 49. What’s their ideal temperature and weather? 50. What topic could they give a 20 minute presentation on with no preparation?
Mother’s Request - New Oneshot [a bit angsty and mild trigger warnings but nothing graphic or so bad, imo]
A very confused school owl hovered slowly over the Slytherin table carrying a letter that had clearly been sent by Muggle post, in a plain envelope stamped “urgent”. Severus felt all eyes on him - the other Slytherins rarely encountered letters tucked in envelopes rather than in rolls of parchment. In fact, the owl had to hold it in its beak, as its claws could not grasp the flat square. It dropped the letter with relief, and Severus put it in his pocket. Curiosity tinged with worry nearly overcame him, but he preferred to open his envelope in solitude.
“Doesn’t your mom know how to send a letter?” Rosier sneered across the table. “I thought you said she was a witch.”
“We don’t have an owl,” Severus apologized. “The mug… the filth sends mail through the post.”
This seemed to placate Rosier, even if Severus secretly thought the Muggle system was better. It required less cleaning, for one, and presented only minor risk of being clawed or pecked at by the postal workers. Still, he wished whoever had sent it could think to be more discreet. His Hufflepuff mother had probably seen Muggle-borns get letters every day, and had no idea how much he stuck out.
Breakfast was followed by electives, where the stream of students from different houses split into separate classrooms. He and Lily and several others who could handle ancient runes entered a small, circular room, and Lily squeezed between him and a Ravenclaw, and glared at the Slytherin who recoiled from her. Severus did not notice the silent exchange: the letter distracted him.
“Did you figure out what ‘mot’ means?” She asked him.
“I think these ones are right to left, and if they are, it means ‘end’ or ‘innocence’, but if you are right, it means ‘death’ or ‘death of’”.
“Great, so if I were to carve this on something, it would make it either innocent or dead?”
“Better than alive and guilty,” Severus muttered, and the professor came in to put an end to their exchange - and to the ambiguity. Both were correct, depending on context, making this rune a highly risky one to misread or carve on the wrong thing.
Severus lagged behind in the corridor, to open his letter in peace.
“Severus dear, I’m sick with a witch’s disease and I need your help. I don’t want anyone else to know, especially not your father. I know it will be difficult, but I wouldn’t have asked if it wasn’t important. Please, brew this for me and send it as soon as you can, it’s essential.”
His eyes travelled down the list of ingredients and instructions above the “Love, mum”, copied out by hand and streaked with tear marks. Many of them were toxic, and the others were agents to mitigate the formers’ toxicity.
What the fuck? Severus asked himself. What sort of illness did you cure with this - and where in Cokeworth might his mother have contracted a magical illness? He left the classroom more distracted than before, wondering where he might get his hands on all these things.
“Accio Snivelly’s letter,” a voice rang, and Severus’s insides froze cold. The three flunkies soon appeared behind James, and Severus protested, “That’s private, you piece of shit!”
“Even your own mother only writes you for potions,” Black jeered. His own mother only ever sent him howlers, but he seemed to delight in trying to guess which of his many violations they might be about, and imitating his mother as they went off.
“How about she stays ill for a bit longer,” James said. “She deserves it.”
“Tear it,” Pettigrew suggested, and Severus had had enough. As James tore at his letter, Severus mended it and made it stronger, and Severus’s charm rendered Potter powerless even against a piece of paper. Furious, they left, muttering a string of curses in their wake. Severus worried more about the letter, though: his mending efforts left it even less clear than before. He skipped lunch to try and solve the world’s worst puzzle with multiple rounds of Reparo, but some pieces were missing and others still made no sense, and he knew he now had no choice but to ask Professor Slughorn for help.
Finally, the day had come to an end, and rather than go to the library to work on his assignments, he crossed to Slughorn’s office.
“How may I help you, my boy?”
Severus wondered if Slughorn had learned his name yet. “My mother sent me this, Sir, but I don’t understand it and Pot - er - Someone’s torn it.”
Slughorn straightened the letter out on his desk and began to read, and Severus watched his jovial features twist in sour concern.
“I will make this for you. Properly, indeed. If you had followed this recipe… I shudder to think of what might have happened.”
“Thank you, sir, but I want to – “
“My boy, I should not be the one to tell you this, but better you heard from me than tried to make this yourself, and better I tell you than you found out from a book what it is you’re making, as I trust that you would.”
Slughorn sighed and Severus’s breath caught in his throat. “Your mother is pregnant, and she wants to get rid of it.”
The ceiling started to spin.
“Don’t think badly of her. Better to do this than to have more babies than you can afford.”
She already had a baby she couldn’t afford, Severus found himself thinking.
“The Muggle methods won’t work on a magical baby, I’m afraid, and if she ingests a poorly-made termination potion she might produce –“ his voice dropped to a whisper – “a Squib!”
Tobias already hated magic, had already made it plain that only his faith kept him married. If he finds out mum had an abortion, he would do her in. Severus turned white.
“And Mungo’s aren’t liberal with their care these days. When you’ve seen as much of the world as I have, you would not judge her so harshly.”
Severus felt no judgment, exactly. He had no idea what he felt. Abortion suggested too many things he did not care to think about, and Slughorn’s words came to him as through spoken through a line with a lag.
“It would have been easier - and cheaper – to use contraception, if you know you don’t want a baby, but you know how these things are!” Slughorn said, forgetting all about his reserve.
“I’m thirteen, Sir,” Severus reminded him, and Slughorn collected himself immediately and sent Severus on his way, assuring him that “I would take care of it, and you can count on me, my boy!”
Severus did not count on Slughorn’s discretion in the least, but he trusted his skills and hoped that if ever Slughorn let slip anything, his inability to remember the name “Snape” would protect Severus. Severus believed himself capable of brewing it, but he knew this was not the time to argue: it would be too hard to focus on the complicated potion while knowing why she needed it to begin with, and if it had to be misbrewed, Severus figured it would be best if the responsibility lay with Slughorn.
Severus could handle things going wrong, but not things going wrong because of him.
He walked absently out of the office and toward the Slytherin common room, his thoughts colliding in his mind. This was the closest thing to independence Eileen had done in a very long time and Severus had no idea what it had meant. Worse, even when attempting independence, she couldn’t actually accomplish it on her own. He hated Tobias, but for the first time, he felt utter contempt for Eileen. He knew for a fact that Eileen could not afford another baby indeed, not least because Severus’s own academic performance would suffer if he had to worry about a brother or sister growing up like he had, and all at once it struck him that none of it was right, and that none of it had been set in stone. Had Eileen thought to do it fourteen years ago… but her decisions left her son with only one dear ambition: Escape, however you can.
The next morning at Charms, Lily passed him a note, using one of her clever tricks. Flitwick was always so impressed with her, he forgot to punish her even when he caught her. “What’s wrong?” It said. He did not like being so transparent.
“Mom’s sick,” he wrote. Lily grew concerned and wrote to him to meet her in the courtyard.
“So?” She asked without preamble. “What’s wrong with her? Is she going to be okay?”
“Slughorn is helping me brew a potion for her. She’s pregnant.” He hoped he sounded matter-of-factly, but Lily’s cheer made her forget all her worries. She covered her mouth and then hugged him.
“A baby! That’s so adorable! I love -”
“She en’t keeping it.”
Lily was crestfallen “Oh. Well, it’s very nice of Slughorn to help!”
“Suppose.” Severus kicked at the ground. “I don’t want a brother or a sister anyway. Enough fighting with just the three of us.”
“Maybe a baby would make them turn things around,” Lily suggested quietly.
“She is turning things around, she en’t keeping it! And you can’t tell anyone either.”
“I won’t,” she promised, and he believed her.
They spent a while in idle chatter (Lily congratulated him on beating Potter and said his head was full of hot air), and suddenly, Severus blurted out: “I hate being a half-blood. Imagine your mother going to you with this.”
“Don’t say that, Sev. The pure bloods are all idiots, and the Muggle-borns have parents too, asking them to divine the lottery numbers. I told dad a thousand times divination isn’t real, but he’s such a Muggle, he doesn’t understand. And no one calls you a mudblood, either, so you should be proud of being a half blood!”
He smiled despite himself. Lily had a good point. Sometimes she knew just what to say… he felt strong and unique and capable when she talked to him. “She’ll be alright, Sev,” Lily promised. “And so will you.”
He thought that Lily would make a good mother one day, and it made him blush profusely, but she didn’t seem to notice.
“Are you going to meet me at Honeydukes next week?” She asked next, and Severus wished he could stop time, because they were growing up, and soon they would be too old for sweet shops. And then, he also couldn’t wait for next week, and for a moment he felt a rush of gratitude that his mother hadn’t thought to get rid of him, or had failed to, and that he was a half-blood and not a Squib, and that he came from Cokeworth.
