#[throttles both of them with love and care and anguish and rage]

[the-last-kenobi]

How about “Disowned by Family” for bad things happen bingo?

Hello! 🤍 Thanks for the request for @badthingshappenbingo

Ooh, the angst potential is through the roof. Tried to choose the focus based off of what I remember you writing and reading on ao3 (or maybe I just went hmmmm evil)

“Good job, Obi-Wan!” a woman cried, her voice warm with joy. “Very well done!”

Obi-Wan found himself grinning even as he launched himself from one difficult landing into another gravity-defying leap, sweat dripping from his skin.

“Don’t coddle him,” laughed a male’s voice, but he sounded fond. “Keep at it, Padawan, retain your focus.”

Obi-Wan did not waste breath on a reply, whirling through the air, springing from one part of the training room to the other, swinging from posts and tumbling under moving obstacles, listening to the cues the Force gave him when he concentrated.

At last he landed on the mat in the center of the room, and the droids and obstacles ceased their moving, and the fifteen-year-old Jedi dropped to his knees, gasping for breath but triumphant.

“That was beautifully done, Obi-Wan!” Tahl cried, ignoring Qui-Gon’s protests. She rushed toward the boy and clasped his shoulders in congratulations. “I haven’t seen a junior Padawan that skilled in Ataru since your Master.”

“You’re too kind to both of us,” Qui-Gon shook his head as he joined them, standing tall above his kneeling friend and apprentice. Then he smiled. “But she’s not wrong — that was beautifully done, my Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan laughed and bowed his head, happy to be humble before them.

A strange gift, for a Jedi — to have two people so very like parents.

~

Obi-Wan kept his head low, terrified to look upwards, terrified of what he would see, what he would feel.

There was a heavily wrapped split over one leg, stained with grime and blood. More red liquid was slowly seeping from beneath its edges, gleaming wetly. Shadows lapped at his feet like predators playing with their food before the eating. The Darkness was closing in. But he knew this was mere fanciful thought, and not an actual omen, that his fears were outpacing his reality.

Which was already cast in shadow.

The flickering lights were caused by the flames burning in front of him, and the flames were burning Tahl. Who was dead.

Because of him. The cast around his leg, barely holding up after a day of running, days in hyperspace, and then three days in the Temple, hiding in his room and speaking to nobody, which concealed beneath it an injury that had delayed him and his Master.

And Tahl had died, and now she burned.

Obi-Wan kept his eyes low. He did not deserve to say goodbye, he could not bear to see.

Slowly the flames died, and the shadows consumed. The other Jedi watching departed in silence, murmuring only soft benedictions and farewells.

Obi-Wan kept his eyes on his feet.

Something shifted in the shadows, and from the other side of the empty pyre emerged a familiar figure. Qui-Gon walked quietly around the place where his love had burned and crossed to his Padawan.

A large hand settled on Obi-Wan’s shoulder.

“Listen to me,” Qui-Gon said in a low voice. “By my word and by the expectation of the Council, I am obligated to see you to Knighthood.”

Obi-Wan watched as tears blurred the boot tips he had been staring at for so long. Blackness swam in front of his eyes.

“But I no longer care,” Qui-Gon said. There was no wrath in his voice, no hissing, no venom. He simply spoke. “I will seek the Council out at dawn and you will be formally repudiated for negligence that cost the life of another Jedi.”

Obi-Wan’s tears escaped his eyes. They trembled for a moment against his lashes before they fell, striking the stones with a soft noise.

Qui-Gon sighed. “I told you that you were not capable of living the life of a Jedi, Obi-Wan Kenobi. Your persistence cost the life of a better.”

And then he walked away.

And Obi-Wan was alone.

~

“Good job, Anakin!” Obi-Wan cried, clapping his hands sharply. At his signal, the young Padawan stopped his kata demonstration and turned to grin at him, bowing with bravado.

Even after two years of training, Anakin managed to surprise him daily.

The first surprise had been when Anakin, all of nine, had announced to the Council that Qui-Gon Jinn had requested before his death that Obi-Wan Kenobi, trained to Knighthood by Mace Windu, would step in if Anakin should ever need a teacher. While Obi-Wan was still reeling, blindsided and drowning in memories of disgrace and ashes, Anakin had also presented another surprise: he had attached himself to Obi-Wan’s leg and refused to let go. Almost literally, mostly metaphorically.

They bonded immediately.

“Come here, Padawan,” he called.

Anakin came running, his braid flapping against his cheek, still beaming. “I told you I could do it! I told you so, Master!”

“So you did,” Obi-Wan agreed, and he reached out as the boy slid to a stop before him and tugged gently on the blonde braid. Anakin growled in mock rage and leaned away. “But, my very young Padawan, I also told you not to attempt it. I’m grateful for your skill because it proves that you’re strong and capable, but also because it saved you from injury. If you had truly not been ready, you could have been seriously hurt.”

Anakin barely restrained himself from rolling his eyes. “But I knew I could do it, and I just proved it!”

Obi-Wan sighed, his hand moving from the braid to Anakin’s shoulder, squeezing slightly as he tried to make his impudent, mischievous student focus on him for a moment. “And you disobeyed me to do so. So now you have a victory slightly tainted by that. And what if the next time I command you not to do something, you do it anyways and it goes badly wrong? You overreach, or circumstances intervene, and you’re hurt? In the field that could very often be the case, which is why I need to know that you’re accustomed to obeying. I can’t trust you on the field if I can’t trust you at home.”

Anakin’s face sank into lines of bitterness and shame, his head ducked low. Anger heated his cheeks.

Obi-Wan stopped himself, taking a slow breath.

“I’m sorry, Anakin,” he said quietly, and he squeezed Anakin’s shoulder a little tighter, rubbing the edge of his thumb up and down as if to soothe the boy. “Forgive your Master, he likes to hear himself talk.”

“Hey, that’s true,” Anakin chuckled, but he still didn’t raise his head.

Obi-Wan laughed quietly. “Yes. And while I made some very good points, things I want you to think about as we approach our first mission— there’s one more thing I want you to remember from this.”

Anakin’s shoulders slumped. “…Yes, Master?”

“You did extremely well today,” Obi-Wan reminded him. “And I am proud of you for working so hard and believing in your capabilities.”

Anakin’s head jerked up, and a beam spread slowly across his young face again. “Thanks,” he said a little shyly. “I’m grateful for your teachings, Obi-Wan. There’s no one I trust more than you.”

~

Dooku was a traitor and had escaped capture, war had been declared, over a hundred Jedi were dead, Obi-Wan’s leg was so injured that he was stuck in a cast and splint for two weeks, and Anakin… Anakin had lost most of his arm.

Obi-Wan could think of few moments in his life that had frightened him more than lying helpless on the floor while his student payed for his reckless behavior with a limb.

Now he sat here by Anakin’s bed, waiting for him to wake up to his new mech arm and hand.

Obi-Wan had no idea how to guide the boy through this.

He stared at his hands in his lap for awhile, and then at the bandaged leg, the stupid bandaged leg. This wound, it had stopped him from getting to Anakin in time.

He would never forgive himself—

“Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes flew to the bed, where Anakin was blinking at him in a daze, his hair in disarray and an expression of pinched pain on his still youthful face.

“Anakin,” he gasped, and sat upright, his leg throbbing as he moved. He grabbed his Padawan’s remaining flesh hand with his. Hoping to transfer some of his warmth. To ease the terrible chill.

“You… you’re here.”

“Yes.”

“Did you bother,” Anakin said, his voice a dry rasp, “to ask yourself if I wanted you here?”

Obi-Wan went very still. “I… I’m sorry. I thought you might want company. I can go.”

“Company, yeah,” Anakin replied. “But not you.”

Obi-Wan stopped halfway through standing up. He clung to the arm of the fragile chair, his bad leg trembling beneath his weight. “Is there… if there’s something we need to discuss…”

“You’re a liar,” Anakin said flatly.

Obi-Wan reeled.

“You’re a fake,” Anakin continued. “You pretend to care about me, pretend to be my friend, pretend to be the perfect Jedi. But someone who was a good teacher and a good friend would never have ignored my visions.”

“Anakin, what—” Obi-Wan asked, and could not tell if the strain of tears was caused by the pain in his leg or the explosion of anguish in his chest.

“I told you I dreamed of my mother!” Anakin shouted. “You let her die!”

“I don’t — you said dreams, you never said — Anakin, I’m sorry, I would never have—”

“And then you couldn’t even hold off Dooku,” Anakin spat, “and you made us abandon Padmé in the sand! She could have been killed, but you only cared about the chase. Nothing ever matters to you but the mission!”

“Anakin, no,” Obi-Wan said, and it was a sob this time. He felt disoriented, blindsided.

Last time, he had been expecting it, but now—

“I want you out of this room,” Anakin said, still helplessly slumped against his pillow but so full of betrayal and rage that he seemed about to spring from the bed and throttle his Master. “And when I recover enough to get out of this bed, I’m going to the Council to petition for Knighthood or for another Master to finish my training.”

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan whispered. “I’m sorry. Please.”

But Anakin was shaking his head. “You’re broken. You shouldn’t have been a Padawan, and never a Knight, and absolutely not a Master. Do you understand me?” The apprentice was breathing heavily, his eyes still glazed with drugs and grief. “You leave here and figure out some other place to be. You don’t belong here.”

Anakin glared at him until Obi-Wan had backed out of the room, leaning hard on the chair he was dragging.

As soon as the door slid shut, Obi-Wan collapsed against a wall, his forehead pressed against the cold metal, his hand still clenched around the chair.

And Obi-Wan was alone.

fin.

[dubsxreader]

worship the king //.o1 // shigaraki tomura x female!reader

summary: after the soul crushing realization that you're not meant to be the Hero you've spent your life training to be, you hunt down the most indiscriminate killer you know: Dabi. his man-child of a leader being there only makes the task easier, right? too bad Shigaraki has a knack for seeing things in others they don't see themselves. wc: 3,312 playlist: here!

rated: M for dark and mature themes; future lewd tw: suicidal ideation (seriously don't read if you're in a bad mindset this probs won't help), depression, toxic thoughts, manipulation, the start of a v dependent, idolizing relationship ie "worship" in all definitions of the word haha. Shigs taking advantage of a mentally vulnerable hero basically; dead dove do not eat for that reason.

a/n: this is something I wrote almost year ago now, when I first fell head over heels for Shigs and really felt like bnha was saving me from insanity haha. I have 15 pages of notes for this fic, but for now, for the King's birthday, this is my thank you to him and a year of loving Shigaraki Tomura <3 also to the xreader community for being my gateway into every fandom that takes over my life haha. will be posted to ao3 later

You stand on a cracked, littered rooftop, sullenly looking over the calamity you figured would be destroying the lives of every day, happily unaware citizens tonight. A slight sigh of relief leaves your chewed-to-hell lips, hidden to your own addled mind but glaringly apparent to any of your fellow heroes who’d commented on your state of mind the past few months.

You appreciated their care, you really did—for all the surface level care it could give, that is. It wasn’t their fault they couldn’t understand. They were simply more Heroic than you, official capital and all. More driven, stronger, faster… But you’ve been doing the absolute best you can, and you were sure of that. Days–weeks months?–of harshly honest self speculation assured you of your failures and of the fact that, simply put, you weren’t cut out for shouldering multitudes of lives every time you stepped out your door. Heroism didn’t just end when you took off your costume; no, it was an ideology that should be ingrained into the soul of the costume wearer, and you’d come to the jarring conclusion that, after all your special training, you just weren’t up to snuff.

You couldn’t even save yourself from your own demons. How the hell were you supposed to save those more deserving of life if you couldn’t cope with your own shit?

A small, condescending snort leaves your nostrils as you observe the blue flames engulfing the area below you. Fucking worthless. What was the point, then? Hours of support Hero's work on your items, costume—wasted. The countless words of love and support from friends and family. Ha. Your eyes track the small movements of the current chaos’ perpetrators with a keenness you've found twisted comfort in recently. A familiar, all encompassing fixation gears up that brings you out of the cloud of self-doubt, hate, and deprecation that was so, so wrong to feel as a Pro-Hero in today’s society. In this bubble there's a solution, so it's okay. You let out a numbing breath.

Maybe you could give the Villains +1 morality in the eyes of whatever twisted being rested on their laurels, idly watching as you drive yourself insane.

A swift gust of wind knocks the empty cans and bottles from their peaceful resting places as you leave your perch, descending into the empty alley below to begin your last stand against yourself. Resolute and heavy steps echo in the widened, deserted streets of the city you vowed to protect—a small, still aware part of you thankful it’s so late at night that most would be sleeping. Your targets (saviors?) usually moved when they would make the most social impact, but you’d been tracking a certain member that didn’t seem to adhere to their strict schedule.

Whoever they were behind the obvious moniker, they seemed to kill liberally. It should be easy. You take a numbing breath.

The stench of burning flesh and ash is suddenly all too pungent, assaulting your senses enough to kick your mind into another, more logical plane and question how stupid you’re being. How disappointed everyone who knew you would be. Izuku and Hitoshi, especially, had been trying their hardest to devote extra time to you recently, you knew that—fuck, how selfish were you to bring their attention away from a goal they’d fought so hard to achieve?

The flames are smoldering char on concrete when you arrive at the end of another alleyway, just as dirty as the one you’d come from… But the incineration just seemed to have cleansed the way of its trash. You nearly sigh again in morbid relief when you see two men still standing there in the aftermath. You can see from behind that the man you’ve been tracking, Dabi, still has his left arm extended, as if relishing the memory of his flames destroying the ones he deemed unworthy.

Hands in your hero costume’s pockets, you steel yourself in your usual Hero emotions: indignation, conviction, disgust at the idea of them feeling they had a right to do anything going against the grain of the society you were indoctrinated into. You clear your throat with the last of your practiced confidence, bringing the sights of the two Villains to your own frame shadowed by the bright street lamp at your back.

“You two aren’t planning on getting away with this, are you?”

Your simple, deadpan drawl has both men scoffing to themselves and sharing a look of exasperation and annoyance. They clearly want nothing more than to be done with whatever the hell they were doing; your gaze sharpens in acknowledgment while their own take note of your hero costume. This is it. This is really it. You’ve done it. Is it really what you want?

Your eyes ice over, hardening to protect your vulnerabilities when they meet those of the second man’s own carmine flecks, so unflinching and so, so bored from behind his trademark hand.

Yeah. This is it.

Resignation freezing the rest of your visage and nothing left to say, you dash forward with simple physical speed, locking onto the Villain you recognize as the leader of the League of Villains himself. Sure, Dabi was a proven relentless killer, but you figure if you go after the leader himself there would be even less hesitation or time to think on either side. They were both reportedly unflinching, ruthless, uncaring and absolutely evil, but Shigaraki’s devilishness was practically beaten into you at this point. He was the obvious candidate, the oddness of his presence meaningless yet welcome at this point.

Your eyes never leave his as you take those last three lunging leaps, your arm cocked back in a hopeful show of some impressive power you might possess, in a display grand enough to paint yourself as a threat if not at the very least an annoyance.

Blue flames lick at the back of your costume. You’d somehow been faster than Dabi’s flames, which made no sense at all—you weren’t fast in any capacity if you were to judge yourself. It must’ve been a misfire. Lucky you’ve targeted the faster acting Villain.

Something distinctly odd flashes in his previously disinterested eye as you rush him, your Quirk barely powered yet still reflecting in his observation as you aim for the mask. Your own, in contradictory spite, slows as your mind races, brushing the hand enough to feel the inexplicitly soft and leathery texture, knocking it clean off the face of the man you’d targeted. Maybe it's the adrenaline, maybe it's the anticipation of the end, but you don’t feel anything near what you thought you’d feel when his living hand grazes your outstretched arm. If anything, it feels like an angry wasp had come at your elbow in some sort of misguided revenge attempt. Bearable.

Fucking livable.

You skid to a shaky stop feet behind them, your glare going to the small hole in your costume’s arm where he’d made the briefest of contact. The skin had only begun to crack and decay from a central point; nothing near the scale and intensity you’d been warned about by your superiors and peers. What the fuck gives?

A desperate rage threatens to erupt at the lack of damage. You feel cheated. Your eyes shift from the minimal damage to the apprehensive yet notably curious eyes of your chosen euthanasist. Was he just not taking you seriously? You didn’t blame him, but…

“I thought the League was the best of the best?” The sting in your arm is mockingly there and you scoff, barely hiding your indignation at his unfulfillment of the role you’d forced upon him. You take it and use it to fuel the crumbling foundation of your resolve, ashing it to the ground yourself and focus on the slightly slumped figure topped with white-blue hair.

His eyes are now magnetized and piercing, never wavering from your own, adding to your rage and confusion. Just what is he getting at, looking straight at you in the fucked up state you’re in and just–just fucking seeing–?! You aren’t looking for pity, fuck all if it's from the person you’ve deemed would have the balls you didn’t to end this shitty nightmare you live in. With a primal, anguished and utterly guttural scream you dash forward once more towards Shigaraki Tomura, hand erupting in a more accurate show of your true power.

Once again, he simply guides your attack away from him into empty space, this time with a deft shove of his index finger. Silent and calculating. You stumble on your feet as you land, ignoring the insulting sting, and turn to face them at a pace you know isn’t up to Hero standards but unable to even fake it anymore. Your eyes, though.

They fucking call to him.

How could he dust you? A Pro-Hero, coming at him alone, a deadly ally at his side, with what he knew from his research to be nowhere near their quirk’s power and potential?

Nevermind the look in your eyes he’d recognized immediately—this Hero was asking to be killed. Cracked lips twitch to grin at the situation. His mind works at full throttle to balance the possibilities.

“Heh…” The small breath leaves him, a smirk winning out and pulling at already taught skin, “You’re looking to die, aren’t you, Hero?”

Your brows furrow in… Fuck, you can’t identify your feelings at this point–they shouldn’t matter–they’d become obsolete the moment you took a swing at the supposedly impulsive and irrational Villain in charge. All you can feel is the overwhelming sense of weight, of pressure, of absolute and total CHAOS destroying any semblance of unity you’d pulled together to end this.

“What the fuck does that matter to you, Villain?!” Your glare is full of a rawness you can’t recognize, let alone mask, “Fucking fight me or die!”

His smirk, now fully on display, stretches to the smuggest of smiles as he takes his experimental first steps forward, casually retrieving the hit hand and placing it safely in his trench coat pocket. You weren’t immediately attacking him—hell, you weren’t even defending yourself! You’d only be more obvious if you’d delivered yourself to his doorstep tied in a bright, blood-red ribbon labeled “do what you want, I don’t care anymore!” It made his blood simmer, his skin itch in excitement at all the optional routes opened up before him.

Quickly, too quickly to deploy your defense {even if you wanted to}, he’s in your face and encircling your neck in a four fingered grasp. Your eyes vaguely mark Dabi looking on with a detached interest, and you can’t help but mirror his lack of understanding—your emotions and thoughts unfortunately too far past controllable to be hidden behind the usual Heroics.

“You could still serve a purpose, you know.”

Narrowed (e/c) eyes meet piercing, analytical rubies set to freeze and crumble enemies. You have no answer to that, none at all—if you hadn’t come across another anything while you’d been searching in earnest, how could it be tossed into your lap from the hands of a Villain? Your clear disbelief doesn’t deter him in the slightest. It only gives him the subtle signals he needs to ensure a dedicated new member of his team. This situation could only go well for him and the League, if he plays it right, and he’s thankful Dabi knows when to shut the hell up and take the back seat when he truly should.

He’s never seen Shigaraki’s version of recruitment before. After Dabi's climate destroying display, he could use a lesson.

On the edge though this Hero is, the line is thin and the touch needed is delicate and calculated.

“You can make a real difference in this rotten world,” Shigaraki slowly lowers his defensive arm and loosens his grip on your neck, conveying his intentions to calm you. He notices this strikes an especially sore nerve that you’re too unhinged to recognize. You’re taken over by your emotions, unable to distinguish that you’ve offered your weaknesses to your enemy on a silver platter. Disgusted rage he’s now certain is self-focused meets him, only bringing him a step closer to your frozen and highly panicked figure. His free fingers fidgets on the clammy skin of your neck, tapping a pattern across your throbbing pulse, expectant and soft while the other stays loosely, carefully, against your clavicle.

It's constant.

It's… calming?

No, it's fucking overwhelming and uncomfortable and— As if your body’s acting on the last vestiges of your studies, you struggle in his grasp and pull your dominate arm back, channeling all your sadness and panic you’d been unable to expel into the attack you hoped would just fucking end this fucking end this it’s done—

Another four fingered grip captures your wrist, directing your power away from anything important and only ruffling Dabi’s clothes as he watches on. You choke on a cry, near your mask’s end with Shigaraki’s unexpected patience. You’d been told this was nothing more than a spoiled, raging, calloused young man entirely unable to connect with any feelings other than his own selfish need to destroy all Heroes he came in contact with. The only conclusion your racing mind can come to is that he doesn’t even view you as a Hero worth destroying. Thick and torrid tears rush from your eyes, betraying your need to be recognized and being denied that luxury in your final moments.

“I can’t even get what I need from you fuckfaces—!” Your cry rings out, eyes shutting tightly, shaking with the force of your emotions finally finding the breaking point they need to crash through into the real world, “What the fuck can I do to make a fucking difference?!”

Shigaraki pauses to assess your sobbing. You’ve all but folded into yourself; you would’ve disintegrated against his hold on your neck if he hadn’t been paying attention. No… he sees you. He sees you. His fingered grip on your neck slides up to force your head to follow, meeting his sure gaze. You’re lost. You’re anxiously grasping at anything you can to stop the burning, itching need to destroy your own mind… And he gets that. He knows what it took to hook him tightly into his own mindset. He knows of seeing a seemingly impossible goal set before him, of feeling unworthy and needing to prove himself to his peers and himself. If anyone could reshape you... it would be him. If anyone were to reshape you... it should be him.

“It isn’t fair, is it…?” He starts slowly, voice dripping with cooing understanding, gauging your expressions and body, “You work so hard to be what others want you to be… And never feel enough, even when you put your all into it.” Your whole being shudders at his words, breaking down and melting into the pressure of your expectations for yourself. You choke on another messy sob, tears blinding you, snot nearly reaching your lips, a trail of drool unknowingly slipping from the corner of your grimacing lips.

“We’d never expect more than you can give, you know,” He all but whispers into your ear, his words echoing with staying power. You miss the tiniest bit of excitement he lets slip into his tone at the thought of corrupting a fairly strong Hero to his cause with mere psychological one-upmanship. The power over your entire existence is an intoxicating prize and he’s not about to let go of it if he can help it.

A sad cross between a whimper and a cry escapes you as you crumble even more into a hold you’d only come to for annihilation. Why wasn’t he killing you? Why weren’t you dead? You’d wanted to die, needed to just stop everything and just—just STOP, finally, just stop. He was a hardened criminal with no need for heroes, what the hell kind of use did he see in you? You still the tiniest bit. You just need a use, a tangible use, is that what you’ve been missing? A clear direction set before you by an overwhelmingly liberating, intelligent, capable force… Could he see it through all the absolute shit you covered yourself in?

A tentative spark lights the furthest parts of you as you finally meet his confident and knowing gaze. Fuck if you don’t feel seen for the first time in your life, finally seen and accepted for the absolute mess you see yourself as. The conflicting, philosophical doubts you’ve had about Heroism, and your own heroics in the existential race you call a life, find a peaceful place in Shigaraki Tomura’s vision.

It's an alien calm, a powerful sedative on your mind, leading you to melt into his look—telling him all he needed to know and more. The grin he sports widens and his eyes shift to give a silent command to Dabi, still (surprisingly) observing quietly, before changing your life indefinitely, “Follow me, little hero. You'll never be lost again.”

A deep, swirling purple warp gate you’d only seen in footage appears at the entrance to the alleyway.

The loose grip on your neck finally leaves completely, giving you ample room to escape up and out across the rooftops. You’re frozen in your battling thoughts at the suddenly very real decision in front of you.

You knew you weren’t good enough to be a Hero. You’d been struggling with the core beliefs on what the word even meant, if the world you’d been taught was even so black and white. Did you even want to die or did you just need someone to come and give you a purpose, some great refocusing direction? Someone to swoop in, recognize and acknowledge your pain before wiping it away and giving you something definite to live for? You knew you couldn’t make it as a Hero. You were nothing in that world. But maybe you could make that nothing existence, doomed to the weaker, better…?

Eyes nearly blinded before blinking down more streams of tears, you sniffle and take a tentative step towards the man looming tall over you, an umbrella shielding you from a brightness you couldn’t stand to be seen in. You harshly wipe your falling tears to watch Dabi walk swiftly into the portal, an unlit cigarette of some sort dangling from his patterned lips. Shigaraki steps to it much slower. He stops before he reaches it, twisting subtly to look at you from over his shoulder. He shouldn’t have to say anything more for you to follow, if his assumptions are correct—

They are.

Your first steps are slow but pick up speed quickly, feet nearly throwing you into his right side, at the mouth of the portal to a place described by your thoughts as no return. His eyes widen in delight, a manic grin following as he places the fingers of his left hand onto your head in a semblance of comfort. More than he ever got. His right arm wraps confidently around your waist, absurdly consoling to your rapidly evolving morals and needs.

It allows you to let it all go, though. It tells you someone more capable, more prepared is there. That he sees you and is keeping you alive because you’re useful to him. You can’t seem to care why when the overwhelming realization that such a powerful man saw you as you were, truly were, and still found a profound use for you in a world you were dying in takes a strong hold. You’re practically weightless as he guides you into the inky blackness of his caretaker’s portal, mind clicking into place and recognizing the distinct choice you’re making with a calm acceptance of this development in your life.

You were a useless hero. Perhaps this is your chance to prove you could make a difference to someone as a villain.

---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ----

a/n: thanks so much for reading!! :) hope you enjoyed~ happy birthday, Shigster! maann I wish he'd take me away ;w; drop of a hat, I'm gone lol. the ultimate escapism... yandere!Shigaraki! xD annyway, I hope you have a wonderful day~ <3

[chrysalispen]

Prompt #1 - Crux

Spoilers for 5.3. See below the cut.

The concept of the timepiece, Hades had always thought to himself, was both eminently rational and peculiarly irrational.

Nabriales was the keeper of the Convocation minutes, ever punctual, and ensured the ship of any given meeting was tightly and neatly run, which was an important thing, of course. To master the concept of time was to provide proper documentation, proper history.

But everyone knew that such things were a superficial conceit at best, even the Majestic himself.

Time was an elastic thing. 

Any Amaurotine with a basic grasp of creation magic learned when they were still young how to alter their perception of time. A second could be as years and a year could be as a day, and a season could be as a lifetime when one was separated from the things - the people - that made it worth living. Hades understood that fact better than most.

For Hades always knew, always, always, when the turn of the warm seasons ended at least and the time for travel was done. 

With the drifting fall of old leaves there would also come the hollow tapping of a beak upon the patio door.

It was always early of an autumn morning, when incipient chill had returned to the eternal ebb and flow of the star's winds. He would sit up - hair mussed from its journey over his pillows as he tossed and turned at night - and smile, and he would reach for the mask he always kept set neatly on his bedside table, because she would be there. Razor-sharp talons curled over the spindly back of a delicate wrought-iron chair, soft layered feathers ruffled in the high and thin currents, thin and colder still outside the penthouse apartment they shared- with her rounded golden eyes fixed expectantly upon him, calm and unblinking.

Waiting for Hades to invite her in.

She could simply let herself in, he knew, but that was not the Traveler's way.

It had become a game with her over the years, even as he'd warned her about the dangers of taking a form so drastically different from her own. But as much as he scolded and lectured, and as much as she scoffed and teased, it was a routine. A warm and worn blanket with the threads woven from memory and routine, and one Hades - for all his exasperation - secretly awaited with no small degree of eagerness. The bright months, spring into summer, were so interminable he had long ago taken that basic time-trick and put it to quietly selfish ends.

They were easier to endure, that way.

Tap, tap, came the sound of her beak on the glass. A single snap of his fingers, dry and sharp, left him sufficiently dressed to open the door.

He was already smiling. And when Azem the Traveler fluttered across the threshold in a flurry of leaf-brown and snow-white to take once more the form of the woman he loved, he saw she was smiling too.

~*~

Time was an elastic thing. 

It yawned between them now, a chasm, a gulf of fury and desperation stretched across hours and days and weeks. Their voices, lowered and urgent, echoed through the emptied hallway. Hades had seen her angry before, but that anger had never been directed at him. Not like this.

"You said you had convinced the assembly to wait before making any decisions," she said, and behind her mask of office, Azem's eyes simmered with fire like the core of Lahabrea's phoenix, alight with her fury. "You said you would tell them--"

"I did tell them--"

"--to wait for my report! You promised!" Her lips trembled, turning into a downward bow. "How could you agree to such a thing? How could you possibly think-"

"Will you kindly stop shouting long enough to listen to me? We have no other viable options left!"

"There is always a choice! Did you even try?"

"Of course I tried! What do you take me for?" His own temper flared as his hands squeezed her shoulders. "I tried to see things your way, I even convinced them to wait for some time, but there is no time left!"

The trembling ceased. Her lips drew into a flat and unyielding line, and a deep and uneasy chill rippled through his own limbs at the sight of it. He didn't need to see her eyes to see the door slamming shut in his face.

"None of you have ever understood the lives of those outside the city," she said flatly. "Not now. Not ever. Even you of all people-- as much as I have confided in you, shed tears over them-"

"I do understand that you have your duties as I have mine," Hades bit out between clenched teeth, "but I will never understand why you seem to feel so much more empathy for these creatures than you do your own people."

She flinched as though he'd slapped her. A frozen moment passed before she shrugged away the hand on her shoulder, and in that moment Hades felt the retreat of her very aether: the closing of doors one by one until he could no longer see the facets of that brilliant blue as clearly as he once had. It was muted and brassy, the color of the noonday sky in summer. 

"And there it is," she said. "That is the crux of it all, this division between myself and the rest of you. You don't understand me, Emet-Selch. Nor do the others."

She straightened her shoulders, the drape of her robes shifting with the motion-

-and removed her mask.

Before he could recoil in shock she had grabbed his wrist and placed her discarded badge in his hand, then with an almost insolent gesture the unadorned alabaster smoothness of an Amaurotine citizen's mask covered her features once more. "Not once, in all these years, have you ever learned to love the world that lives beyond these borders. And if you cannot understand what it means to love the world, you cannot hope to understand why I must put the world first."

His throat felt unbearably dry. So shocked was he that in that moment he forgot her title.

"Tisiphone-"

"Emet-Selch. Pray let it known: I hereby tender my resignation from the Fourteenth seat." The smile that curved her lips was joyless. "You may pass along my sentiments to the others. Though I doubt I shall be missed. They seem to have operated just fine without my input thus far."

Time stretched and constricted as her back turned, and Hades was left only with the Traveler's mask in one hand and the other opened--reaching for her, to call back the inevitable.

But Azem did not stop. She passed beyond him to the entrance of the Capitol Building and in moments he was alone.

Hades shoved his hood from his face and clenched his fingers through his hair.

~*~

Time was an elastic thing.

Time was an elastic thing and Hades could count down to the exact minute how long he could keep this moment fresh in his memory, holding her sundered and dying body in his arms.

"This was your fault," he whispered.

Rage

(his or his Lord's, did it matter, did it matter)

and anguish building deep within his breast, throttled into a scream, and for all his rage he found he could see nothing through his tears. Nothing save that serene and smiling face he had loved so much, as she left him behind for the sake of the world she said he had never cared to understand.

"This was your fault," he snarled again, throat tight, time stretching and dilating until it was too thin, pulled taut and unwinding to snap and tangle, the edges raw and bleeding and forgotten except for her final words.

Ten months, he thought. He could stretch this moment no farther than ten months. Just shy of a year. 

Seven weeks--a single season, to recall the exact gold of her eyes: the throat of one of Halmarut's day lilies, bright yellow darkening to liminal gold before it turned amber at the base. Two for her hair, sunlit gold. Four for her throaty laugh. Two for the warmth wrapped about him as they lay in their bed.

Ten months was all he had to remember the countless years of their lives together before the light in her eyes had dulled and her soul shattered into fragments. And all he had left to himself was his rage and his grief. 

Knowing that in the end, she had chosen the world over him. That she had abandoned him. That she would make that choice again if she could.

Hatred thrummed through his veins, rancor the very pulse that throbbed in his temples- but the claws that had wrapped themselves about his soul failed against the cry of his heart. 

And that is the crux of it all. You don't understand me.

He didn't. He was a selfish creature at his core, selfish and sentimental, and she had been his reliable and unwavering other half to the bitter end. Gentle where he was harsh, boundlessly loving where he thought only of himself, and at his core, far below the paired virtues of civic duty and learned devotion, all he had ever wanted was to keep the people he treasured close, and he had lost the one that mattered most.

Azem had been right.

Azem had been right, and Emet-Selch couldn't bear it.

The sun fled in the wake of the storm, and upon the last whole souls of a world torn asunder, a cold rain began to fall. And fall. And fall.

[splendorten]

In the bleak midwinter

Pairing: Doyoung X Reader (ft. Taeyong)

Genre: 99.9% Angst, 0.1% fluff if you squint really hard

Warning: None

Summary: “You can love someone so much...But you can never love people as much as you can miss them.”

Word count: 2,789

Clad in a simple knee length black dress, the wind blowing through the brown locks of your hair, you stood with arms crossed, tapping your feet impatiently on the grey concrete pavement while waiting for your husband who was running very very late. He could forget dates and anniversaries but not this, he knows how important this is to you, and how badly he’ll screw up if you don’t see him in the next 5 minutes. You tried calling him over and over again, but it always brought you straight to his voice mail. Time passed, his time was up. Not bothering- or wanting to wait any longer for him, you swiftly turned on your heels and entered the memorial hall.

--

You were lounging on the couch with a pint of double chocolate ice cream in hand when you heard the lock on the front door click. He was home. “Darling I’m home” Usually those words would send you flying into his arms/embrace, but not today, not when you were so close to throttling him. He slowed his steps, his smile wiped off his face when he saw the expression you carried. The aura radiating off you was pure ice cold rage, it was as if he now stood in a minefield while facing off with a coiled wild beast, ready to pounce at any time. One wrong move and he was dead. “Darling, are you okay? Is something wrong?” his soft tentative voice floated towards you as he made his way over. You kept your focus on the TV screen, the programme on air wasn't very much to your taste, but anything to keep your mind off your anger towards Doyoung for now. The couch sank as he took a seat beside you, hand coming to cover your own but you snatched it out from under him like his touch had burned you. You stood up sharply and started to walk off till you heard his voice once more. “Why are you like this? I’ve had such a long day at work and I come home having to deal with your and your little tantrum!” You could hear the anger in his voice build up with every word. Is he for real? This is outrageous! He truly forgot what an important today was for you and he even has the cheek to turn this situation on you?

Angling yourself to face him, you didn’t bother to hide the scalding fire burning in your eyes. “Sure blame me! All you care about is your work, you don’t even know what today is do you? You completely forgot how much today means to me!” Matching up to your level of anger Doyoung strides over to you and shouted back “Haven’t I been coming home early to keep you company? Did I not bring you to Hawaii last week? I need to earn money to provide for us!” Doyoung had never raised his voice at you, never. The hurt and shock was evident in your eyes and you knew he noticed how you took a slight step back because in a flash all those anger and negative emotions vanished from his gaze, those love filled orbs taking over. “I’m sorry, I didn’t-” You had to get out of the house or you might just do something you’ll regret, “It’s my father’s first death anniversary today and you completely forgot!” Without waiting for his response you ran out the house. You didn’t see the way he dropped to his knees and tears streamed down his face, or how his arms tried reaching out to you, and you most certainly didn’t know how his heart broke. It wasn’t within his control, missing such an important date was only the first of many more to come.

That night neither one of you got any sleep, you stayed out till dawn while he sat by the door waiting for you to come home. Praying that you hadn’t abandoned him, especially not when his life was a complete mess.

--

You eventually went home, sure you could provide for yourself without the aid of your husband, but money wasn’t the issue, you loved him too deeply to be mad at him for long. Yes he hurt you but he is only human, you’ve also made countless mistakes alongside him too. Although both parties were talking and everything was back to normal again, none of you brought up that night because neither knew what to say other than apologise for your actions.

--

“Darling can you go get my laptop in the room and set it up for movie night? I’m just about done with the food” Doyoung called out to you, who was casually lounging on the living room couch reading - or should you say rereading your all time favorite book. Have a little faith, by Mitch Albom. Being unable to tear your attention from the said book, you merely made a sound of acknowledgement to Doyoung before unfolding your legs and making your way to the master bedroom. “Sheesh watch where you’re going or you’ll end up walking into the wall instead” Without turning around you knew Doyoung’s head was coming out of the little kitchen window to watch your retreating figure, so extended your hand and playfully sent him a vulgar gesture over your head. You had requested the contractor to install that little feature so that you could watch your husband work his magic in the kitchen. You heard him click his tongue at your actions and let your chuckle resonate down the hall.

Once in the room, you begrudgingly set the book down on the nightstand before beginning your hunt for Doyoung’s laptop. Thanks to his very successful career as the CEO of Kim Corporation, your master bedroom is huge - you could have a party of 20 and there’ll still be space to spare - and his laptop could be anywhere in the room. Walking over to the glass desk at the far right hand-side of the room, you spotted what you were looking for under piles and piles of documents. Reaching from the front of the table you tried to carefully pull out the device without messing up his work files, but life never ever goes as planned, and you pull out a few extra stacks of paper. Cursing at your clumsiness, you bent down to clean up the mess you’ve made. For a moment, the sound of rustling paper moving against one another filled the silent room. You were just about to leave after setting the files down on the table when one of them caught your eye, more specifically, one that was labeled “Seoul General Hospital''. Snatching the file off the table, you opened it and glanced at the content inside as dread pooled at the pit of your stomach. You were never really talented at science to begin with so it wasn’t much of a suprise when you couldn’t understand half of what was written on the papers, but 1 phrase and 1 name was all it took for you to figure out what was going on, for your heart to sink.

“Mr Kim Doyoung”

“Memory loss”

Suddenly the memories of Doyoung being forgetful, not remembering the times you've spent together over the past month started to make sense. You knew he was a meticulous and organised person who has a great memory, so the chances of him forgetting events, dates nights were close to being non-existent. "Darling did you find my lapt-" the words died in Doyoung's throat when he saw what you were holding in your hands. His medical report. From his spot by the threshold of the room door, he could see the stiffness creeping into your shoulders as you turned to face him with a mask of deadly calm. Your face contorted from a wave of calm, to anguish, to emptiness and finally rage. You couldn't bring yourself to believe that your husband was slowly losing his memories, all that you've been through together turning into nothing more than a speck of dust. The air was heavy as you contemplated on how you should feel, what your reaction should be. Breakdown and cry at the fact that you're going to have a husband with no memories and who might possibly not even remember who you are, or, rage..rage because he didn't trust you enough to tell you what happened, didn't believe after all that you've been through that you'll stick by him through thick and thin. Choosing the latter option, you stormed up to Doyoung, jaws clenched as you questioned him through gritted teeth "When were you going to tell me about this? Did you even plan on telling me? Your life doesn't just belong to you anymore! You can't be so selfish and keep me in the dark!" Your voice grew louder and louder with each word as tears of frustration streamed down your cheeks, chest heaving. When Doyoung didn’t so much as look at you, let alone answer your question, you raised a fist and brought it down on his chest “answer me! Were you planning to keep me in the dark?” Doyoung caught your fist in his hand and looked down at you with tears welling up in his eyes. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry” he apologised over and over again, pulling you into a tight embrace, holding you so close to him that you knew he wasn’t letting go anytime soon. You’ll figure things out together, you always do. 

“When did you know?” you finally asked once the both of you had calmed down. Letting out a breathe he didn’t know he was holding, his reply came out as a mere whisper. “The day of your father’s death anniversary.” That’s why he didn’t show up, and now that you know his reason, you felt terrible for saying all those nasty things to him. He went to the doctors...doctors..right, if anyone they’re the ones who can help Doyoung. “Let’s go to the doctors, they’ll know what to do!” you said pushing away from him to look into his eyes. “It’s no use. I’ve asked. There’s nothing we can do.” Shaking your head in denial you grip onto his dress shirt “there must be someone who can help us. Let’s get you a specialist.” You stood up only to be pulled down again “trust me, whatever you think of I’ve already thought of and tried.” Swallowing hard, you build up the courage to ask “How much time before..before you forget me”

“I will not forget you” Doyoung replied as he scrambled to kneel in front of you, holding your hands in his. Ignoring him, you asked once more. “How much time.” Seeing the look on your face, he knew better than to hide it any longer.

“A few months.”

--

Leaning on the cold metal railing of your shared apartment, you speedily dialed the number of Taeyong, a close friend of you and Doyoung. After a couple of rings, you hear his sleepy voice come through the speakers.

"Hey, what's up?"

You opened and closed your mouth a couple of times, trying to form a proper sentence.

"Is everything okay?" You could hear the ruffling of his sheets as he moved to lean against his headboard. For a moment no words were exchanged, only the sound of both your breathing could be heard as the situation sank in. The news of Doyoung losing his memory hit you like a flood, your emotions were all over the place, and you had no idea how to face this.

"What am I supposed to do" you asked while sliding down the glass panel to the cold ground of your balcony, the ends of your lips pulling up into a sad smile. How can you bear to lose the one person who meant the entire world to you, when your life together was just beginning. “It’s not fair Tae, after all we’ve been through, after all the obstacles that we conquered together. Why this, why take him away from me. Take away my memories too, I can’t bear this pain anymore.” By the time the last words left your lips, tears flowed down your cheeks like an endless river. “I know this is the hardest for you, and no matter what I say nothing will change, but the guys and I will be here together with you. I don’t know what to say to make you feel better and I hate myself for that. Just please, please stop crying. It’s breaking my heart to see my 2 closest friends suffer.” Taeyong’s voice was breaking with every word and you knew that his cheeks were as damp as yours. Gripping your phone tighter, you roughly wiped away your tears with the back of your hand. Regretting what you did or didn’t do these past few years isn’t going to help the situation. “You’re right, I’ve got to be strong for him. He’s going through enough, I just...just wish I can take the pain away, just wish to have more time.” Silence enveloped the both of you, only the sound of passing cars down below playing as a companion to this dark and cold night. “You have work tomorrow, I’m sorry for calling so late. You should go back to sleep, bye Tae.” You didn’t give Taeyong a chance to reply, immediately ending the call. Looking up at the starry night sky, it was as if the stars were mocking you, like a million stars shining high above free of worries, of pain and suffering. Wrapping your arms tighter around yourself, you let the second wave of tears take over. Like the title of your favorite book, you should have a little faith, and hope for a miracle.

Unbeknownst to you, Doyoung was listening in from behind the wall of the hallway. Listening to your every plea to take the pain away, to return everything back to the way it was, to give you the happiness you deserve. Every word broke his heart to more than a million pieces. To see the woman he loved so much suffer because of him was like restraining him and setting his whole body on fire. Doyoung felt like someone had ripped out his heart and stabbed it over and over again, had wrapped their icy cold fingers around his throat cutting off his oxygen supply. He bit down so hard on his clenched fist that it drew blood, and in a feeble attempt to stop the pain he started clawing and pounding his chest. Call it what you will, a mercy maybe, when Doyoung passed out from the overwhelming emotions swirling in his broken heart.

--

Days passed, weeks passed, you and Doyoung spent almost every waking moment together. Going to places that you guys have wanted to visit since the start of your relationship, spending as much time together as you could before the inevitable happens. Sometimes it could be just as simple as lying in bed tangled up in each other as you talked, feeling the warmth and touch of the other. Savouring the moments.

Today, you had a big day planned for the both of you. Doyoung has always mentioned how he wanted to spend a winter up in the glass igloo resort, and you had called in a few favours to get a booking for the weekend as booking always had to be made months in advance. Looking out the kitchen window as you prepared breakfast, you saw the first snowflake descend. The first snow in years, the both of you love the snow and Doyoung would be so happy knowing that he could play with them up in the resort. Smiling to yourself, you quickly finish cooking breakfast and went to wake your sleeping husband, barely able to contain the excitement of seeing the smile on his face once you broke the news to him.

Sitting down by the edge of the bed, you slowly and softly shook his shoulders, willing him to leave the dreamland. The way he stirred awake was just too cute and you couldn’t resist giving him a peck on the cheeks. However, when his eyes fully opened, you couldn’t help but feel something was wrong. His eyes scanned the room slowly before landing on your figure beside him, he looked confused, lost even. You reached a hand out to hold him, but he flinched and subconsciously moved backward till his back was pressed flush against the headboard. He looked at the room once more before locking eyes with you. That expression...you knew. You covered your mouth as tears streamed down your face, the inevitable has happened.

“Who are you.”

(A/N: Hello, I know I haven’t been writing much lately, terribly sorry for that but life has been getting in the way>< I hope you enjoyed this short piece of work, and if you’ve made it this far thank you so much for reading! As always feedback is appreciated and feel free to chat me up or leave Asks ^^)

[ritacaroline]

Starshine               Ch. 54    Jimmy Page         Fan Fiction

Clare and Jill continued their wonderful chat and shared their experiences together, over a pot of soothing tea and snacks. Jill was awestruck over 

hearing the details of Andrew’s birth. And also of the details of his first 12 days on the planet. Clare, as well, was in a tizzy of surprise and disbelief at Jill’s descriptions of their ghostly encounters.

Clare was absolutely horrified at the news of Jimmy’s close call of near drowning. She was shaking her head in anguish, that he truly could have died if he’d not ascended to the lake’s surface. “Jimmy, Jimmy, Jimmy.” Clare exclaimed with disappointment, out into the air. “Do you really need to scare the living HELL out of us all ? A life jacket could’ve prevented the whole ordeal !!” she continued in anger, “ And Jill, I’m sorry, but you need to be on top of these things for him also, my dear. You’re his significant other. Therefore, you need to know these details about his lack of certain abilities and keep him safe. For example, what if he said he needed to get someplace quickly and attempted to drive himself ? Would you stand there and let him ? No !!  He’s not always the sharpest tool in the shed  !  He takes chances. Dumb ones. Yes, he belongs to you, but guess what ? He also belongs to the world !!  He’s loved by millions, and I’m not exaggerating. But, like most men, he is careless and negligent with his precious life. Well then, you’re going to have to keep a second set of eyes on him. Ya know, like a little kid. Save him from his own negligence.“ 

Jill : Oh, Clare. You are so right !  I’m the dumbass here, too. I should’ve been alert to this the entire time. I vaguely remember him mentioning once, many months ago, that he is not a swimmer. I should have stored that info in the very front row of my files. In my head. Instead, he could’ve died, without me watching over him. Thank you for the heads up my friend. You taught me an important lesson today. I didn’t know he needed a mom. 

Clare : NOT just him !!  They ALL do !  What do you think the definition of “wife” is ? Here’s a clue : It starts with M. and it ends with “om”.

The two of them laughed so hard at that, they were spitting out tea in their hysterics. Clare mentioned, Jill, you look a little pink. Are you feeling ok ?

Jill : Yeah, I’m ok. Not bursting with health and glory but, ok.  

The truth was, that she felt much too warm and a bit uncomfortable, but no big deal. However, she thought to herself, no way am I gonna risk holding the baby, if Clare invites me to.

A moment later, a few little cries were heard, coming from the living room.  

Clare : Oh it’s my sweet little Baboo !! I’ll be right there babe !!

She exited and came back in, holding the tiny wiggling bundle. She said he needed to eat, and she unbuttoned her top and began breast feeding him. Oh my goodness, it was so beautiful. How he hung on and sucked with his most adorable teeny mouth !  As he did, John Henry could be heard, climbing the stairs from the downstairs studio. As he entered the room, he said, 

” Jilly ! So good to see you ! “

He opened his arms to her. Jill stepped into them and John hugged and kissed her with a lightened grip, acknowledging his strength. Immediately, a little short screech came from Jill. A little scream.  He immediately let go and shouted, “Jill ! Are you ok ?!” She held her side and a couple tears ran down her face.

John : What is it darling ? Are you hurt ?

Jill : Well, it’s my wound site. On my side, from the accident. It started aching me yesterday, and it felt tender. But, I didn’t see anything there so I ignored it.

John : Let me see, baby. Come here.

He brought her to the living room, where she sat, then leaned sideways. He lifted up her top and took a hard look. Clare followed close behind, holding Andrew.

John : Oh, Jill. It looks quite red and there’s liquid leaking out from the scarred area. The wound looks raised and puffy. You need the Dr., my love. I’m calling Jimmy to come get you. 

Jill : Ok. (looking very unhappy.)

Andrew had been fed and burped. Clare put him down into his bassinette and now sat with Jill, holding her hand.

In a few minutes, Roland had Jimmy there. (They only lived a couple miles away.) Jim rushed right in and was at Jill’s side in a flash. Clare had placed a clean damp towel onto the injured area and Jill was holding it in place. Jimmy took a look and said, “Ok, angel. It needs attention. Let’s go.”

Jim had already informed Jill’s Dr. that they’d be there in a few minutes. Jimmy lifted Jill up so gently, kissing her temple. He carried her to the car and thanked John and Clare before exiting.  They both looked so worried as they watched them drive away. They stood there, out on the lawn holding little Andrew, with concerned faces.

In the back seat, Jimmy was so worried. Holding Jill’s hand, kissing it. A few tears dripped from Jill’s eyes, due to pain. Jimmy had her resting against himself. He was petting her hair back and kissing her at the edge of her hairline, saying, “Jill, you feel very warm.”

Jim : You’re going to be ok, my love. Dr. Logan is going to take care of you. Please don’t worry. I’ll stay right next to you.

Once in the exam room, in walked the Dr. He checked the wound immediately. The towel was now soaked with red tinged fluid, which had leaked from the wound. 

Dr. L. : Jill, what you have here is an infection. Did you notice you have a fever ? It’s 103.8.  It’s from the infection. Your body is trying to smoke the bugs out, the bacteria, that is.  We’re going to need to drain this wound first, then give you an injection. Then oral antibiotics, at least 10 days worth. Along with pain meds. 

He instructed his assistant to get him sterile drainage tubing and a deep bowl, called an emesis pan. He threaded the tube into the wound opening and gross liquid drained out from it, into the pan. He had tried to put anesthetic onto the site, but it did very little to help and Jill was in a lot of pain. Logan was working at her left, Jim sat at her right. Tears of pain were running down the sides of her face with Jimmy there, holding her hand tightly with his head down. He had a small clean cloth, and used it to wipe away the tears dripping down her face. He couldn’t stand to see her in that much pain, in addition to just plain seeing her cry. He was in awful distress himself, viewing her like this. 

In a few minutes, they were finished. Logan dried then placed antibiotic cream to the area, used butterfly closures and bandaged it up. And handed Jimmy a few prescriptions for Jill. Then he injected her shoulder with a strong antibiotic. Next, he began asking questions.

Logan : So, my friend Jill. I’m not saying that this is definitely the cause of this issue. But, it could be. Have you been taking it extra easy ? What have you been up to ?

Jill : Well,  I had been doing that, taking it completely easy… up till this week.   I had started feeling great again.  So, Jim and I went for a stay at a castle up north this week.

Logan : And ? What kind of activities did you do there ? Just resting ?

Jill : Uhhmmm, rowboating on a lake. Swimming. Hiking. A little running, (then under her breath, “away from a ghost.”)

Jim : (very softly) - Uhm, a lot of sex.

That was barely audible, he had said it so low and quietly.

Logan : What was that last thing ? Did you say, a lot of sex ? 

Jill and Jim answered together, very softly but in stereo, “ Yes.”

Logan looked down, acting disappointed in them, shaking his head a little. 

Logan : My friends, … were you not told to keep things easy and gentle, stress free to the body ? I mean please - I know you were feeling much better. But, come on now. When you just begin to feel better, you do not go out and act as though a life threatening accident never happened !!  Did you think it was time for Jill to start training for the Olympics ? Even people who have never had a serious injury, don’t exert themselves to that extent. So guys, please. Please. She needs rest. Even if she felt fine, it doesn’t mean she can go and act out American Ninja Warriors.  Do you want Jill to heal ? Or die from a raging infection ? Septicemia. That’s an infection that has infiltrated her bloodstream ? It can be fatal. In fact - I could hospitalize her right now for this issue. But let’s hold off, and see you tomorrow, Jill. First thing, 8 am. If she’s not improved, then back into the hospital. And I realize you’re in love. And you love sex. But - gentle. Ease up. Jimmy,… I know she’s gorgeous. I see that. And she’s probably addictive, and you love her. And you really love loving her, who wouldn’t ?   I see that clearly. But please, man. Just keep it at kissing. Keep your hands and everything else of yours, off of this woman. Do you understand me ? 

Jim : For how long ? 

Logan : (while looking at his assistant, with his eyes crossed, pretend style,) “Do you hear this guy ? He’s asking for how long !!! . ( Back to looking at Jimmy again,) :  For a few weeks, ok ? Till this infection resolves and the skin’s fully healed. And even then, Jim, GENTLE.  Be gentle. You may hurt her. If this recurs, we may be looking at a serious problem. Please !  Control yourself. Now off ya go. Listen to my orders, people.

They both nodded, saying yes, they understood. And Jimmy carried her out to the car. They both felt like idiots. Once in the car again, Roland was driving homeward,

Jim : Angel. I can’t tell you how sorry I am, challenging you to go out on that trip, when you clearly weren’t ready yet. I fucked up. I didn’t realize you still needed more rest. You had acted so well and healthy again.  And I’m so sorry if I pressured you into having sex with me, and so much. I’m sorry.

Jill : You didn’t pressure me a bit. I wanted you. Your crime here, is being irresistible.  It’s not your fault at all. And I loved having sex with you. I should have known better, especially at the castle, to not go full throttle action again, as soon as I felt better. I’m the jerk here, not you.  

He leaned over and held her gently against himself, kissing her face and her lips. Petting her head.

Jim :  I would do anything I could do to keep you safe. Jill, I love you so much, and I wasn’t careful enough with you. You‘re in a fragile state   It was way too early for an outing like that. I should’ve had you call your Dr. first, and explained what we were planning to do. And asked him if it was too soon. I should have thought of that. Can’t believe how slow I am, when it comes to common sense. I’m really sorry.. 

Jill : And Jim, I should have remembered that when on water, you need a life jacket. That’s how badly I fucked up. You could’ve died then. No more sorrys. Now we know we have to be more alert, regarding each others safety. We need to take better care of each other. This stuff is serious. It’s not piddly. It could be life or death.

Jim : Yeah. I know now. I can’t lose you. I have to snap to attention, or I’m going to lose the most valuable person in my life.                                                       And angel, here,  take your antibiotic that Logan gave me. It’s a sample so that you can have it right away. So it can begin working this moment. He said, to take it now, even though you had the shot. That was a different type of antibiotic.

He also handed her a cup of water he had in his hand, from the fountain in the office.

Jim :  And Roland, can you please get us to the pharmacy near home, to drop off Jill’s prescriptions ?

______________________________________

Next Ch. 55 :  https://ritacaroline.tumblr.com/post/188450420841/starshine-ch55-jimmy-page

Chapter Index for “Starshine” is located at bottom section of Ch.1 ,  click here :

https://ritacaroline.tumblr.com/post/184383708541/starshine-ch-1-jimmy

Link to “In The Light” - original fan fic -https://ritacaroline.tumblr.com/post/173286165501/in-the-light-jimmy-page-fan-fiction

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