#( at least the sun now exists past 4pm )

[siren-of-agony]

My sleep schedule this past week would bewitch some sleep scientists, I'm certain

[skoolbully-a]

.

[lebenspurpur]

first words - Thomas Hewitt

Pairing: Thomas Hewitt x reader 

Summary: Tommy hasn’t talked to the reader... yet.

Warnings: Mentions of Hoyt (worth a warning )

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You sighed heavily and dropped your stained hands in your lap.

Sweat ran down your back and forehead, causing the soft wind to cool down your hot skin. The sun was brutal, scorching down on everyone and everything. Nothing stopped her from frying you. Not even a single cloud was seen on the bright blue, afternoon sky.

The fields surrounding you looked surprisingly healthy. Yellow weed as far as you could see. It had been existing since the day you came here though nobody took care of it. Luda worked the whole day, Monty was straight-up disabled, Hoyt was simply lazy and Tommy already worked too hard. You didn't want him to take care of another thing.

Suddenly a heavier breeze hit your kneeling body and made you shiver a bit. Relaxing to the welcoming cold, you closed your eyes and lifted your head up so the air could reach your neck.

Your knees were seated next to the giant flower bed you decided to work on. What a stupid idea. The only flowers that survived in the humid Texas air were marigolds, geraniums and lemon verbenas.

Marigolds

Geranium

Lemon verbena

While they were pretty, they really weren't worth the blood, sweat and tears you invested in them.

You opened your eyes again and your gaze shifted over to the many flowers in front of you. After the last few plants died you decided to buy new ones and try again, watering them even more. A very gullible and impulsive decision but now it was too late anyway. At least Luda loved them.

Well, better get to work again. You only had two more marigolds to set in the earth and then you'd be finished. It looked like it was past 4pm already as well. Thomas would be done working soon.

While your dirt stained hands started digging the earth again, you let your mind wander.

In the last few weeks it seemed impossible to get the youngest Hewitt son out of your mind. It was pretty hilarious considering your first meeting, two years ago. You had been so terrified of the tall man in front of you. When he grabbed your two friends and threw them over his shoulder as if they weighed nothing, your whole mind froze in fear.

After all you could be glad that you survived it. For some reason Thomas as well as Luda fought hard for your survival, arguing with Hoyt everyday until he gave up. Until now you still didn't know why but you were grateful.

While the first few months as a captive were terrible and horrifying, you got used to the family's lifestyle and after a while they trusted you enough to let you leave the house.

Why didn't you leave?

You didn't really know the reason to be honest. Maybe you were crazy. Maybe you developed a Stockholm-syndrome. In the end, you didn't care.

The only thing that really mattered was that you didn't remember ever being this happy. You had a family now. Sure, they had their problems and more than just one, but they were loyal and loving and caring.

Especially Thomas was surprisingly sweet. Underneath the shell of the giant, scary human-being lived an insecure, sensitive and amazingly empathetic person waiting for some appreciation.

Sometimes you wondered if you were the one to give it to him.

Your old self would laugh at that thought but over the last months and years, your affection towards the butcher had grown more and more, making you incapable of thinking when he was in the same room.

Whenever his face relaxed and his blue eyes stared lovingly towards his mother your heart grew warm and a tingle could be felt in your tummy. Secretly you imagined him looking at you like that.

He had went through so much. You wanted to make up for the past few years. You wanted to make him smile or even laugh. You never heard him laugh before. You also never heard him talk before. Luda informed you that he wasn't really mute, he decided not to talk because he was insecure. Hoyt often made fun of him for it but Hoyt made fun of everyone.

You had decided to wait for the day when he trusted you enough to talk for you.

Finishing your gushing over Thomas, you stood up and inspected your dirty legs. Thank god you wore old pants today. You picked up the utensils and made your way towards the entrance. Leaving the tools in front of the main door you cleaned your shoes and opened the door.

The house was colder than the garden, thank god. Sometimes it got so hot that moving was impossible. You mostly spend those days in the basement conversing with Tommy or helping him clean the recent mess he'd made.

You decided to make yourself something to drink before taking a shower. We wouldn't want to pass out because of dehydration would we now?

Your feet carried you to the kitchen and then the counter. After washing your hands and scrubbing the dirt away you pulled out a knife, a few glasses and a jug.

Afterwards your eyes examined the kitchen in search for the lemons Hoyt had bought yesterday. Where did that idiot put them?

You cursed slightly as you saw them laying on top of one of the shelves. Of course. He knew you wouldn't be able to reach them there. Hoyt would probably love to see your frame all stretched out in front of him trying to reach the fruit. What a horny bastard.

You thanked the gods that he was still out of the house and extended your arm to grasp the small bag of lemons. Two of your fingers managed to get a grasp of plastic and you pulled the bag towards you.

After you've secured the bag tightly in your hands you turned around again and faced the cutting board as well as the knife.

The next few minutes were spent cutting lemons and putting the slices in the jug. After a few seconds you started humming slightly, swaying your hips to the melody of one of Monty's favorite songs.

After you've finished the lemons you poured some sugar in the jug and started mixing the brew.

Succeeding in that as well, you took one of the water bottles on the counter and poured them over the lemons. You stirred the lemonade slightly, mixing lemon-juice and water as you finished humming the song.

A thought crossed your mind. You'd bring Thomas some! He surely didn't drink at all today.

You poured the fluid into two of the jars and turned around, ready to start walking.

You nearly screamed as Thomas' frame in the doorway reached your eyes. He looked as if he'd been standing there for minutes, silent like always. You tried to calm your racing nerves and aggressive beating heart. Chuckling slightly you took a deep breath.

"You really scared me there Thomas, Jesus." you scolded, playfully smiling at him, "You can't just sneak up on people like that!".

Thomas averted his eyes on the ground and smiled in a shy manner as if he tried to apologize. You swore his neck turned a little bit pink, as well as his cheeks.

Now that you looked at him, his apron as well as tie was missing and his hair was wet. He must have taken a shower. Instead of his usual working attire he was dressed in simple jeans and a button up shirt. He looked like a normal, happy adult. Except the mask of course.

You stopped yourself from thirsting and looked as his eyes again, extending one hand with a jug towards him. "I made lemonade!" you declared, "..and I just wanted to bring you some but.. eh, well you're already here so...".

You cursed yourself for stuttering. It was just a fucking glass of lemonade, come on now.

Thomas chuckled very quietly and took the glass from your hand, sipping on it immediately.

As he grabbed the jug, his fingers touched yours for a moment and your cheeks grew hot and red. The fact that his azure eyes never left yours didn't make the whole situation better. You acted like a teenager in love for fuck's sake.

He finished the glass of lemonade in one big gulp and then placed it on the counter. You walked through the doorway, ready to head upstairs and take an earned shower as he tapped your shoulder.

You turned around facing him, one hand still on the doorway.

Thomas suddenly looked nervous and he had started to fumble with the buttons on his shirt.

He then pulled himself together and looked at you, opening his mouth. He wasn't trying to do what you thought he was doing, was he?

His hoarse and broken voice shook you out of your thoughts.

"Thank you." he mumbled quietly, nearly impossible for you to hear.

Your eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. He talked to you, Jesus Christ he talked to you! Euphoria flooded your brain and without even realizing it, you had pressed a sweet kiss on his masked cheek.

"It's no problem, really.." you stammered, realizing what you had done, "I, uh, I'm going to take a shower now.".

You turned around as fast as you could without seeming suspicious and hurried upstairs. God, this man would one day drive you crazy.

Unfortunately your hurried departure and Thomas' mask prevented you to see the lovely smile painted on his handsome features as he stared after you with a loving look in his eyes.

[kevyfanfics]

Touch Deprivation: When in Doubt, Hug it Out

Trying this out!! Seen a lot of “tumblr fics” out there so I thought I’d see how if goes :) This is part of my “Irondad Ending in Platonic Cuddles” one shot series!

---

Peter sits on the edge of the sixteen story building, feet dangling towards the street below as cars inch their way through the lunchtime traffic. Golden beams of the midday sun reflect in his lenses, but he doesn’t feel their warmth. It’s not the same. He sighs and a cloud of steam floats through the crisp, winter air.

“May has texted you that she won’t be able to make it home tonight for dinner,” Karen softly relays the message. “Her shift has been extended.” Peter closes his eyes and focuses on the chilled breeze.

“I know.” For once, his voice is ladened with defeat and acceptance. This has been the usual for the past few months. May has to work extra shifts to keep up with the ever-increasing bills, he has school and Spider-Man, mix those two together and they’ve seen each other for a total of four hours in the past week. He’s been counting. He knows keeping track isn't a good sign, but what else is there to do?

“Peter?” Karen’s voice reaches him through the deep thoughts. Peter opens his eyes and hums a response.

“Hm?”

“Are you alright?” He considers the question. Ned and MJ have been asking him that a lot lately, but he hasn’t quite found a good way to answer it. He just…doesn’t know how he feels. He’s not sure he does feel. He just kind of exists.

“I miss…people,” he settles on. It doesn’t feel right, but it doesn’t feel wrong, either. Feelings are difficult and he doesn’t have the energy to decipher them. Instead, he pulls his knees to his chest and wraps his arms around them. The pressure against his chest feels nice. Comforting, even.

“You saw MJ and Ned today,” Karen gently reminds, trying to coax more out of him without pushing it. Peter takes in another deep breath before shrugging.

“I miss May,” he finds he’s able to clarify. He loves his friends, but coming home to an empty house for two months straight is different. If it weren’t for patrols and workshop days, he’d go stir crazy over the break.

“You had dinner with her last night,” Karen attempts, her voice sweeter than usual. “That was nice.” Peter continues to stare at the pedestrians as they cross the street in hordes.

“The only reason we ate together was because we both got home at 2am and had leftover Chinese takeout,” he counters without much thought. Even to his own ears his voice is monotonous. He feels like he lost a part of himself, but it makes him feel selfish. May’s working hard to make sure they can get by and he’s a bit lonely.

Either way, last night was a rough patrol and he ended up unceremoniously climbing through the window at 2:13am all battered and bruised. That’s all he’s gotten recently. Nothing but punches to the face, kicks to the stomach, bruises to the ribs, blood coating his hands. Nothing but violence. He hasn’t had a single, positive touch in two months. No hugs, no loving hand rubbing his back, no lingering touch in his hair, no gentle thumb smoothing over his palm. Nothing but violence violence viole-

“Peter, your alarm is going off.” Karen’s voice pulls him back once more, and it takes him a moment to process what she just said.

“Hm?” He blinks sluggishly, then unfurls his warm legs from his chest, already missing the pressure.

“It’s time to head to the workshop,” Karen patiently provides, an absolute saint as usual. Oh, Peter thinks, it’s already four. It doesn’t feel like 4pm, but he can’t exactly argue with time and space. Rolling out his stiff, aching shoulders, he lazily flings out a web and starts swinging to the Tower. He just goes through the motions: thwip, double tap to release, thwip, double tap to release.

And, in what feels like the blink of any eye, he’s there. His muscles are taut and trembling from the frigid air, but when he slips inside one of the countless windows, the warmth from the Tower at least helps minutely. As soon as he’s clear, he pulls off the mask and breathes in fresh, spandex-free air. His teeth chatter and he warms his arms up with his hands, but besides that he’s no worse for wear.

“Hey, Fri? Where’s Mr. stark?” he asks through chattering teeth hidden behind blue-tinted lips.

“He's down in the shop. I’ve alerted him to your arrival,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. promptly replies and he nods a quick thanks. First, he goes to his room to change into normal clothes, then catches a ride down the elevator. His lips are more of a peach color again, but his teeth still clack against each other as his body tries to generate some warmth. Stupid spiders with their no thermoregulation. The elevator comes to a halt and he walks into the music-ridden, always-bustling workshop.

“Hey, Mr. Stark!” he shouts over both the welder and the guitar solo. Tony’s head pops up and the music lowers at the wave of his hand.

“Hey, kid,” he greets, lifting his goggles with a smile. “How’s your bumps and bruises.” Peter shrugs, hardly remembering the superficial injuries from last night’s fight, before sitting on the nearby stool.

“Don’t really feel them anymore,” he answers honestly as he rubs his hands together. Feeling is hard these days. Tony raises a curious eyebrow, then sets down his tools and saunters over to the teen.

“And is that because of the super spidey healing or the ice cubes you call fingers?” he inquires casually. Peter glances up and tries to put on his best I’m-really-not-in-the-mood-for-this face. Nonetheless, Tony chuckles at the expression. “Alright, alright, just get warm at least.”

“I’m trying.” Peter looks back down as he responds, but then an unexpected touch has him freezing in place, muscles tense.

“Jeez, bud, you’re frozen,” Tony mutters aloud as he rubs Peter’s hands in his own to provide more warmth. It takes more than a few seconds for Peter to register what's happening. But when he does, he slowly looks up at Tony as the man continues to warm the cold hands in his own. For some reason, it makes Peter want to cry. The hands are gentle, carefully moving back and forth and all he can focus on is that it doesn’t hurt. After months of nothing but agony and breaks and blood, there’s finally something full of love and support.

He closes his eyes and his eyebrows pull together…and he starts to cry. He doesn’t mean to, but the tears slip out in a mix of relief and pent-up devastation. His toes curl under in an attempt to regain control, but it’s already too late.

“Peter? What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” Tony suddenly questions when he sees the tears and Peter’s distraught expression. All Peter can manage is the shake of his head, causing tears to fall from his chin and onto his jeans. He should’ve been more prepared, but he wasn’t expecting the concerned tone or the protective hands encasing his. He didn’t realize he was touch deprived until Tony held his hands, the first positive touch he’s had in two months. Two months. “I need you to talk to me so I can help,” Tony tries to get through to him, kneeling at his level.

“I- I don’t-“ is as far as Peter gets before a sob cuts him off. He wants to curl up in a ball and never face the outside world again. It’s like his armor has cracked and the cruel reality of just how brutal and heartless the world can be is flooding in. It’s breached completely when one of Tony’s hands leaves his and cups his cheek.

He doesn’t hold back the sobs after that.

He simply cries, leaning into the soft touch and grabbing his mentor’s wrist like a lifeline. The thought of losing the contact now is unbearable. He can’t. He just can’t. At the action, Tony seems to catch on. This time, he pulls Peter into his chest and holds the kid tightly in his arms.

“You’re okay,” he assures into Peter’s curls, “I got you.” Peter feels them begin to rock and a hand rubs its way up and down his back in a comforting, predictable motion. He pulls in shuddering, uneven breaths, but his body isn’t ready to calm down. Instead, he grips Tony’s sleeves and buries his head in his chest so that his sobs are muffled by fabric. All the built up emotions force their way out, but being hugged is all he needs. Warm, strong arms keeping him safe. His cries rip Tony apart at the seams and he wonders how he could’ve missed this. It’s a basic human need to have positive, physical affirmation, something Peter evidently hasn’t had for a while.

The hug eases the aching in Peter’s chest and he holds on tighter. He can’t lose this feeling again. After all these weeks of apathy and going through the motions, he’s finally able to feel everything.

“I can't- there’s no-“ Tony gently hushes him, afraid that the teen will work himself into a panic attack if this keeps up. Honestly, it’s the last thing on Peter’s mind. He just knows he doesn’t want to be let go.

“Deep breaths, kiddo,” Tony patiently encourages. Peter can feel him shift and he registers that they somehow made it to the floor while he was focused on gripping the fabric closer. Breathing, Peter recalls, breathing is important. Gotta breathe. Just have to- He takes a deep, shaking breath, but the exhale becomes a sob and he just can’t pull himself together and he hates it and he just wants to be in control again- “I’m so proud of you.” He starts at the quiet, genuine admission. “I’m unbelievably proud of you,” Tony continues. “You don’t have to be so strong all the time. Sometimes strength is asking for help when it’s tough.” Peter’s chin wobbles and fresh tears glide down his cheeks. He nods into Tony’s shoulder, and pulls his legs to his chest for extra comfort.

“It’s, it’s been tough for a while,” he divulges in a hoarse whisper.

“I know, kid,” Tony acknowledges, lightly combing his fingers through Peter’s hair.

“I didn’t,” the teen confesses in a whisper. He really hadn’t seen any of this coming. “I thought I was okay. I, I thought I was fine just doing what I,” he swallows, “what I was doing. I didn’t think it affected me this much. It was just…I didn’t feel anything.” Apathy was probably a more apt description, but it was true. He hadn’t felt any intense emotion in such a long period of time that Tony’s loving, concerned action sent him into overdrive. Tony lets out a deep breath and rests his chin atop Peter’s head, tucking the kid into him to provide as much comfort as possible.

“From a scientific standpoint, lack of human contact decreases cortisol levels and NK cells,” Tony points out. It might seem like a cold and calculating response, but he knows what he’s doing; he’s putting it into perspective for Peter. He’s showing the kid that it isn’t just all in his head. It’s a physical change to a lack of touch. Peter let’s out a breathless chuckle, his wound up muscles starting to relax into the hug.

“A, uh, a hug needs to last at least twenty seconds for dopamine and serotonin to be released. Happy brain chemicals,” he adds with a sniff, closing his eyes. He just needs a moment to take it all in. It’s rare for Tony to be the one to illicit physical contact, so he accepts it while can.

“Well then,” Tony softly starts, “guess we gotta wait til you have enough happy brain chemicals.” He situates them more comfortably on the floor, then tightens his hold. Another trembling breath escapes Peter, emotions still raw and superficial, but manageable. It's a start, and if that start just so happens to be in Tony’s arms, maybe it’s not such a bad one.

[moldisgoodforyou]

give a little: chapter three (college!jj maybank x oc)

MASTERLIST

pairing: jj maybank x oc

synopsis: charlotte “charlie” walker is a rising senior at the university of south carolina, an exercise science major, a kappa, and is back in the outer banks for the summer. she’s stubborn as hell, isn’t rich enough to be a kook or poor enough to be a pogue, and is used to being in the background. she and jj both go to USC, her sorority and his frat (beta) running in the same social circles but the two rarely speak at school. things change when they run into each other at the boneyard in the summer.

warnings: drinking, creepy guy hinting at non-consent, swearing, mentions of sex, all characters are 21+

wordcount: 3.5k

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“Um, JJ’s number, Pope passed it on,” Charlie shrugged. “I’m probably not gonna do anything with it but I thought I’d keep it just in case.” 

Grace reached over and plucked it out of her hands, promptly ripping it into pieces despite Charlie’s feeble protest. “We went over this, I told you that boy’s no good for you. Will you let me do your makeup and pick out an outfit?”

“Why’d you have to - ugh, yeah, sure. Whatever makes you happy,” she teased. 

Grace clapped together her hands in excitement. “We’re gonna get you laaaiddd!” She sang, making Charlie blush again and whine in response. 

“I hate you.” 

Grace laughed. “No you don’t. You love me.” 

It was an evening ritual of Charlie’s to head to the ocean after work and unwind. She had her board on top of her car at all times and her wetsuit in the back, just in case. As soon as the clock hit 4pm and she traded spots with the high schoolers that manned the evening shifts, she drove straight to the beach. It was one of those days where the humidity felt so thick you were swimming through it and she forgoed her wetsuit for her bikini she wore under her work uniform. As she shimmied her jean shorts down her legs, JJ came around the corner with his board tucked under his arm. 

Charlie groaned quietly and stepped back behind her car, but not before JJ noticed her. 

“Walker, hey!” He waved, jogging over to her. 

She raised her eyebrows, caught off guard. “Walker?” She questioned with a small smile. 

JJ grinned, pleased with her reaction. “Yeah, since you refuse to use my name, I figured I ought to do the same.” 

She laughed. “Shame. I like the sound of my name on your lips.”

He beamed at the approval. “Here, let me help you with your board.” He set his own down and stepped up close to her, reaching over her to pull her surfboard down from the top of the car. 

Charlie swore her heart stopped beating for a second, her cheeks going red. She put her free hand on his bare chest to steady herself. 

“Charlie?” 

“Yeah?” She looked up, making eye contact. 

“Is this just a game to you?” He questioned. 

“Is what just a game?”

“Come on, you can’t tell me you don’t know exactly what you’re doing.” 

“Believe it or not, I don’t exist just to mess with you, Maybank.” She took her board from him and walked toward the water.  

JJ just watched her for a second, then jogged to catch up. “Do you surf often? I don’t remember seeing you on the water much in high school. And most Kappas I know are too prissy for that anyways,” he remarked as the two walked out to the water. 

She didn’t miss his gaze trailing down her body, but chose to ignore it as well. “We’re not prissy. But no, I picked it up last summer when I had an internship down in Florida. I’m okay,” she understated. After dealing with a shitty boss, she turned to surfing as her therapy and ended up finding time almost every single day to surf that summer. She was no amateur. 

They kept casual conversation as they both paddled out past the waves. “Oh, I’m sure you’re not that bad. Let’s see,” JJ gestured to an upcoming wave, letting her take the first ride. 

“What a gentleman,” Charlie grinned, paddling out toward the wave. She caught it with ease, standing over the swell and riding it into shore. 

Back in the ocean, JJ’s jaw dropped as he watched her take control of the wave. “Holy shit,” he murmured to himself before coming to his senses and catching a wave after her. 

He caught up to her on shore, grinning ear to ear. “What the fuck was that?!” JJ cried out. 

Charlie smirked and shrugged. “Like I said. I’m okay.” 

“If that’s just okay, then I’m just okay.” He bragged. “Seriously, Walker, I didn’t think you could rip like that.” 

Charlie just winked. “Race ya!” She yelled over her shoulder, taking off with a head start. 

He laughed and chased her into the waves, paddling out and keeping pace with her. They kept taking turns, one after another for a while, until they both grew tired. 

“I can’t keep up anymore,” JJ groaned. 

“Okay, okay, last one. It’s big, we can both catch it,” Charlie pointed out. 

“Deal.” JJ spit into his hand, force of habit with the Pogues, and went to shake Charlie’s hand. She just looked at him in disgust, wrinkling her nose. 

“You’re gross.” 

He retracted his hand, embarrassed and dipped it in the water. “I was just kidding!” 

Charlie just shook her head and started paddling out in sync with JJ, concentrating on the wave. Unlucky for her, he was concentrated on the curve of her ass instead. As they both stood, he got distracted and crashed the end of his board into hers, tossing both of them into the waves. It took an extra beat for Charlie to surface, her leash wrapped around her leg. 

She came up with a big inhale, sputtering. “What the fuck, Maybank?” She demanded. Charlie held onto her board for support, coughing up water. 

Uncharacteristically, he was bright red, not able to tell her the real reason why he made them wipe out. “Sorry, I, uh, wasn’t paying attention. Are you okay?” He steadied her board for her, coming closer to help her on. 

Charlie maneuvered her board away from him, pissed off. “I’m fine, no thanks to you.” 

“Shit, Charlie, I really didn’t mean to. Here, I can help you back to shore, check your leg out.” He offered apologetically, starting to paddle in with her. 

The last thing she wanted at the moment was his help, but her leg was stinging and that was never a good sign. “I thought you were supposed to be good at this, Maybank.” 

Her tone didn’t slip past him and he took her board from her immediately as they got to shore, ignoring her whine of protest. “I don’t know, I’m off my game, I guess.” He saw a trail of blood dripping down her leg and winced. “Stay here, I’ll go grab something for that.” 

Charlie glanced down at the scrape on her leg and groaned, flopping back into the sand and shielding her eyes from the sun with her arm. 

JJ returned quickly and knelt down in front of her as she propped herself up on her elbows. “I think it’s just a scrape but my board got you pretty good. I’m really sorry, Walker,” he apologized. 

“That’s Charlie Walker to you.” She retorted dryly. 

He laughed a little, then realized she wasn’t kidding around. JJ carefully dabbed the area with his shirt, wiping the sand away, then covered it in what was probably expired Neosporin and an old bandage. After a few too many falls, Kie made all of them put a tiny first aid kit in their cars ‘just in case.’ 

“Hey, at least it’s not as bad as when you sprained your ankle at the Clemson tailgate,” he joked to ease the mood. 

She shot him a glare. “That was your stupid pledge brother’s fault for running into me.” 

He dropped the smile. “Right. Not the beer bong you did beforehand?”  

She scowled. “Watch yourself, Maybank.” 

“That’s JJ Maybank to you.” He said, testing a smile with her. 

When she just rolled her eyes, he gave up. “I think I got you all fixed up, though. I’m sorry. Again.” He ran his hand through his hair, messing with it as a nervous habit. 

“It’s whatever. Thanks for the bandaid.” Charlie got up, ignoring his extended hand to help. She grabbed her board and stormed off. It probably was an honest accident, but she was still pissed. Plus, now she had an honest excuse to ignore the boy that had been living in her head rent-free since the first kegger. 

_______________________________________________________________________

JJ watched her stomp away and groaned once she was out of earshot. He brought the first-aid kit and his board back to the car, then grabbed his phone and texted the Pogues. 

~POGUE LIFE~ 

JJ: I fucked up

Kie: u ok??? 

Pope: What did you do 

John B: I’m with Sarah is it important

JJ: was surfing with Charlie and I busted her wave 

Pope: That’s it? 

JJ: no it was bad 

JJ: no chance of being friends now

Kie: i’m sure it’s not that bad, you’re such a drama queen 

Kie: is she ok? 

JJ: yeah I cleaned her up but she’s pissed 

Pope: She’ll get over it, I think she likes you  

Pope: Has she texted you yet

JJ: no and no thanks to you 

John B: well your stuttering in the ice cream shop didn’t help

Kie: play nice boys

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Friday rolled around, the day Charlie had been dreading. The last thing she wanted to do was go to a party and have a chance of running into JJ again. Normally an accident like that wouldn’t have pissed her off as much as it did, but there was something about the blonde boy that just irritated her to no end. She sat in Grace’s room as her friend practically tore her closet apart, looking for just the right outfit for Charlie. Charlie’s typical beach uniform of choice was just a tank top and jean shorts, but Grace had different plans. 

“Try this one on,” she said as she tossed a shirt at Charlie. 

Charlie held the garment up with one finger, eyeing it skeptically. “This thing? You can practically see your nipples when you wear it.” 

Grace rolled her eyes. “That’s the whole fucking point, Charlie, we’re trying to show you off here. How else do you think I hooked up with the quarterback?” 

Charlie gasped, genuinely surprised. “Grace Evans! You did not!” 

Grace grinned. “Did I forget to tell you about that one? It was after the Georgia win. Someone had to congratulate him,” she teased, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. 

The real reason Grace kept lecturing Charlie to stay away from JJ? She knew his game way too well - because she was practically the female version herself. She even made it onto the Beta composite last year when she was voted fraternity sweetheart. Sleeping with the president will get you to the top pretty quickly. 

“You are too damn much.” Charlie laughed, but pulled on the shirt anyway. Her chest was smaller than Grace’s and the crop top, while still low-cut, flattered her chest in just the right way. “Huh. It’s not too bad.” 

Grace beamed. “Then I know the perfect skirt.” She tossed a floral smocked skirt in Charlie’s direction. “I know it’s not your style, but trust me on this. No one will be able to resist you tonight.” 

Charlie obliged and pulled it on. “I just need to drink enough to not remember the guy’s name and I’ll be set.” 

“That’s my girl!” Grace grinned. “Let’s go, now we’re fashionably late.” 

_______________________________________________________________________

It was only an hour into the party before Charlie was tugging at her crop top to stay up and her skirt to stay down to an appropriate length. She was five White Claws deep (thanks to a pregame at Grace’s house) and definitely feeling it. She had seen JJ the second she walked in, but slipped in through the crowd and got away without him noticing. Focusing hard on walking in a straight line, she kept her eyes trained on the ground as she walked toward the keg - and straight into a Touron’s chest. 

The guy smiled and reached out to steady her, his glance going south to her chest. “Whoa there, don’t fall for me before we’ve even talked,” he said. 

She laughed, cheeks going red. “Hi, sorry, I was just trying to find more drinks.” 

He nodded. “Let’s go find more drinks then. I’m Scott.” He placed a hand on the small of her back to guide her through the party. 

Normally she would tell him to fuck off and get the drinks on her own, but after a second glance and deciding he was cute enough, she let it happen. “I’m Charlie. Nice to meet you,” she offered. 

“Pleasure’s mine, darling.” 

She laughed as they entered the kitchen. “You must be from the south.” 

He chuckled, pointing to the Alabama logo on his polo. “Guilty. Roll tide.” 

Charlie wrinkled her nose. “Ugh. That’s unfortunate.” 

He laughed and leaned over her to grab her a canned Smirnoff mixer out of the cooler, along with the last beer for him. 

Charlie squinted to read the 8% on the can and shook her head, knowing it was a bad idea, but then reminded herself of the reason she came out tonight and popped the tab with a sigh. 

“Let me guess, you go to North Carolina?” Scott questioned. 

“No.” Charlie was already bored. 

“Duke, then. All the pretty girls end up there.” 

She shook her head. “Ugh, no. I go to SC.” 

He nodded in recognition. “Ahh, an SEC girl! You must know how to party then.” 

Charlie shrugged, letting him carry the bulk of the conversation. “Guess so.”  

Behind her, JJ had spotted Charlie following the Touron into the beach house and made his way toward her. Before he got too close, he felt a small hand on his wrist pull him backward. 

“Hey - oh. Hi, Grace,” JJ muttered unenthusiastically. She hung around the Beta house far too often last year for him to not recognize her instantly. 

She gave him a look, crossing her arms to set the tone. “What are you doing?” 

“Uh...just getting more drinks?” JJ tried. 

Grace gave him a short laugh. “Don’t humor me, Maybank. I saw you watch Charlie go in there.” 

He relented quickly. “Look, I just wanted to say hi, that’s all. I got her leg scratched up earlier this week and thought I’d check in on her.” 

Grace scoffed. “Yeah. I heard. I don’t trust you.” 

JJ crossed his arms back, annoyed. “Okay, I’ll bite. Why don’t you trust me, Grace Evans?” 

Grace pointed two fingers at her eyes, then back at his. “Because I know exactly how you play your game, JJ Maybank, and you’re not playing it with my Charlie. She’s not gonna get hurt because of you.” 

JJ frowned. “I just want to check up on her, god!” He raised his eyebrows. “You know, I could do that if you just gave me her number…” 

She laughed. “Nice try, stupid. Leave her alone, she’s trying to get laid.” 

JJ had just taken a sip of his beer and choked on the drink. He grinned. “Well I could help her with that.” 

Grace glared. “Go find some other Touron to pick up tonight, JJ, leave her alone. You’re trouble.” With that, she walked away. JJ turned back to look into the beach house, but Charlie was nowhere in sight. He sighed, walking back to his friends with slumped shoulders. 

Pope gave him a sympathetic smile. “No luck?” 

JJ shook his head, draining the rest of his beer. “No, I got intercepted by her friend. John B, remember Grace Evans?” 

The tips of John B’s ears turned red and his grip around Sarah’s shoulders got a little tighter. “Uh...no?” He tried. 

Sarah looked up curiously. “Didn’t she go to your school?” 

JJ laughed, lightly punching John B’s arm. “Ohh...of course you remember Grace Evans, you crushed on her for a whole summer until -” 

John B’s eyes went wide, telling him to shut up. 

Sarah turned to her boyfriend, arms crossed. “Until what, John B?” 

John B flipped JJ off. “Thanks a lot.” 

Sarah turned back to JJ. “No, go on, I really want to hear this.” 

JJ shook his head. “No can do, Cameron,” and walked away before he had to deal with hearing the argument he probably just started. 

JJ made his way toward the beach and saw Charlie and the Touron, Scott, sitting out on the sand together. Alone. His brow furrowed and he walked closer til he could hear their conversation. 

“We should get out of here,” Scott offered, helping her up from the sand. 

Charlie blinked a couple times. “Huh? Honestly...I just wanna go to bed. I’m fuckin’ tired.” 

Scott smiled. “Come on, I’ll find you a place to sleep.” His arm went around her waist and trailed along the hem of her crop top. 

JJ frowned and jogged over, taking the drink from Charlie’s hand. “Hey, everything okay here?” 

Scott nodded. “We were just -” 

JJ crossed his arms and straightened up so he had a few inches on him, stepping toward Scott. “I wasn’t asking you. I was asking Charlie.” 

Charlie looked between the two of them. “I dunno. I think we’re gonna go take a nap?” 

JJ frowned deeper. “With this guy you don’t know?” 

Scott dropped his arm from Charlie’s waist and stepped up til he was face-to-face with JJ. “I got her man, don’t worry about it.” 

JJ shoved his chest. “Fuck that. You can leave.” 

Scott shoved his shoulder back and turned to Charlie, taking her hand. “Charlie, doll, you don’t want me to leave, do you?” 

JJ gritted his teeth and stepped in between the two of them, putting Charlie behind him protectively. 

Charlie reached up and tapped JJ’s shoulder. “Don’t fight, JJ, please?” 

JJ softened at the sound of his name and looked back to Scott. “You heard her. Fuck off.” 

Scott rolled his eyes. “Whatever. She’s boring anyway.” He walked back to the party and JJ kept an eye on him til he was out of sight. 

Seeing Charlie sway, JJ put his arm around Charlie’s shoulders to support her. “Careful, Walker, I got you.” 

She leaned into JJ. “I’m not boring, am I, Maybank?” 

JJ laughed quietly. “Anything but.” 

Charlie nodded, satisfied. “JJ...I’m drunk. Grace is gonna be mad at me.” 

He smiled. “Yeah? I’m almost drunk too. Why is Grace going to be mad at you?” 

She pouted, sticking out her bottom lip. “Because she let me borrow her clothes so I could get laid.” 

JJ grinned, amused. “I heard. And you look great. But why are you so set on getting laid? I mean, no judgment, just seems like you had a very set plan.” 

Charlie shrugged, resting her head on JJ’s chest. “My ex cheated on me and I need to move on. A good fuck usually helps with that.” 

JJ cleared his throat in surprise, moving his hands to her shoulders and carefully sitting her down. “I’m sorry. You don’t deserve that. I-uh, um, yeah. Sleeping with someone can help. Sometimes.” He sat next to her but made sure to keep distance between them. 

“I mean, you would know, right? You’ve had your fair share of fucking around.” Charlie asked pointedly and scooted closer. 

JJ laughed loudly in response. “I guess so?” 

She turned to him, a thought occurring and her eyebrows rising. “Oh! Is the thing about the handcuffs true?” 

JJ looked at her in shock. “The handcuffs? What thing about the handcuffs?” 

Charlie grinned. “You know. With Jenna Gray? She said you two hooked up after the Florida tailgate and you had handcuffs.” 

JJ ran a hand over his face, groaning. “Dear god. Now I can see where you’re coming from, talking about my “reputation,” He said, putting the last word in finger quotes. “I never hooked up with Jenna Gray, we kissed at the tailgate and then she puked in our bathroom and I called her an Uber home.” 

Charlie sat back, thinking. “Oh. Huh. I wonder how many stories I’ve heard are true, then.” 

JJ shook his head. “We’re gonna have to review those together when I’m not as drunk.” 

Charlie extended her pinky toward him. “Deal.” 

JJ smiled and locked his pinky with hers, then brought it to his lips and kissed it before letting go. “Deal.” 

They both turned as they heard voices from a boy and a girl heading their way. Charlie bit her lip as she saw Rafe come into view, hand-in-hand with the girl she had caught him cheating on her with. She weighed her decision, looking back and forth hurriedly between JJ and Rafe walking closer. 

“Are you okay, Charlie?” JJ asked, concerned. 

“I’m fine, um..” She glanced over just as Rafe seemed to recognize her and turned back toward JJ. 

“Oh, fuck it,” she muttered under her breath. Taking JJ by surprise, Charlie leaned over and her lips met his. 

He didn’t hesitate to kiss back, threading his fingers through her hair as she pushed him gently back into the sand. JJ took control instantly, flipping them over so he was on top. He broke off the passionate kiss reluctantly, hovering over her as Rafe walked away. 

The blonde choked out a laugh. “I’m not complaining, believe me I’m not. But what was that?” 

tags: @booksandshish​ @jiaraendgame​

[nsheetee]

Requested: 

Yangyang x Reader + Strangers to Friends to Lovers + Fluff

Summary: In which a very unhappy Yangyang is forced to pick up his little sister from daycare everyday, and you’re her daycare teacher

yangyang loves his little sister to bits and pieces

from the moment she was born and given to yangyang to hold in his tiny 11 year old arms

her little tufts of black hair sticking up and big doll eyes looking up at her older brother

he knew: he would probably do anything for this little angel

but now, 8 years later...

8 years of crying, nagging, hair-pulling, tattle tailing, and name calling

he thought he would finally be done

he thought his parents would lay off on all the responsibilities they’ve pushed onto him for the past 8 years due to the little angel that they named “joy”

he thought that once he started college, his parents would see how busy he is and finally relax off of him

but alas, yangyang was rewarded with a car of his own for his 19th birthday only under one condition: 

pick up joy from daycare at 4pm every weekday

so, a mildly irritated yangyang with a new set of wheels and just one more responsibility on his plate set out to his first day of college in his brand new chapter of life

you had a lot less to worry about, at least compared to yangyang

all you had to do was maintain a high GPA to keep your scholarship and a lot of your money problems were solved

but you still needed extra cash for yourself

which is why you got a job at a daycare

you would be in charge of a small group of 8 year old for around an hour every afternoon 

what you did with them for the hour was almost always up to you

so on the first day, your little group of five 8 year olds came into your daycare classroom- the first thing you did was go outside

the kids LOVE you

they boasted about being able to play on the playground when no one else got to- claiming they had “the awesome-est teacher EVER”

and when they got rid of all of their pent up energy from sitting on hard plastic seats at school for several hours, you managed to get them to introduce themselves to you and to one another

soon, the first day of daycare came to a close

parents arrived and greeted you, taking their kids and all their belongings with them as you wave good bye

only one girl from your group was left: joy

she sat under a shady tree, slouching as she picked at the grass next to her legs

“hey, joy. what’s up?” you ask and sit down next to her

“sorry my brother is late.” she looks guilty as she continues to pick at the grass

“it’s okay, joy. I’ll wait with you for however long it takes.” she nods, but you could tell she’s still apologetic.

“do you wanna make a flower crown?” you ask, trying to get the situation off her mind

“I don’t know how” 

“well, I'll teach you”

joy’s furrowed eyebrows slowly melts away as you hunt for flowers and a small smile blooms on her cheeks when she finally finishes her crown, gifting it to you

it was 4:47 when yangyang pulls up to the daycare, new wheels crunching on the gravel road and he pants as he gets out of the car

“yangie!” joy shrieks, running to her brother and encircling her tiny arms around his waist

“joy! I'm so sorry I'm late.” 

“I'm not the one who needs to hear that.” joy speaks matter of factly, and you don’t think you’ve ever heard an 8 year old sound more mature

as joy walks to the car, her older brother turns to you

you slowly take off the flower crown, eyebrows raised while waiting for the boy in front of you to say something

he’s so boyish it makes your heart melt

with curly hair that falls over his eyes and a smile that you know hides a lot of jokes and pranks for the future

you can’t help but feel a bit giddy at the sight of him

“I'm so sorry about this. I swear it won’t happen again.” he looks down apologetically and it reminds you of an older, boy version of joy

maybe it’s because you think he’s cute or maybe because his little sister is really fun

but you wave a dismissive hand

“it’s alright. joy is a pleasure to be around. I didn’t mind.”

he raises his head to see the sincerity in your eyes and relaxes 

“I’m yangyang, joy’s brother.” he finally introduces himself

“I'm y/n, joy’s daycare teacher” you reach forward to shake his hand

“aren’t you too young to be a teacher?” he asks

“I can give CPR and kids don’t hate me, that was enough for them to hire me” you shrug, “I go to the college” you wave your hand in the general direction of your school

“oh,” he looks surprised, “me too. maybe I'll see you around? o-or we can study.” yangyang curses himself at his stutter and feels heat crawl up his cheeks 

why is he blushing over an invitation to study?

maybe because he’s never been this straight forward with anyone else before

“yeah, sure” you don’t look affected and it makes yangyang more nervous

“yangie!” joy shouts from his car, looking annoyed and yangyang sighs

“right, we have to go home. I’ll see you... later.”

and you do see him later

he arrives to pick up joy (on time) every weekday

he would gather up joy’s backpack and jacket while intently looking at you as you explain what joy did at daycare that day

and after your spiel, yangyang would ask you how your day went and how your classes are going

yangyang enjoyed your small daily conversations so much that he started coming 5 minutes early to pick up joy to have some extra time to speak to you

and then he started coming 10 minutes earlier 

and then 15

and then 20

and then you just decided to invite yangyang to join your class

“w-what?” he laughed nervously when you asked

he thought you were just kidding

why would you want him to join your class of 8 year olds?

“well you’re here for almost half of the time anyway. just join us tomorrow!”

yangyang wasn’t going to- he would tell you that he had other plans:

he needed to study, he had to get his car washed, he had to walk his dog

literally ANY excuse he could think of

but he knew he couldn’t lie to that sweet smile you always gave him when you see him

so that’s how yangyang ended up sitting criss-cross apple sauce in the circle of your group of kids at daycare the next day

he had that light dusting of pink on his cheeks as he tried to fit between joy and another boy in the group on the carpeted floor

but when you introduced him and all the little kids said “hi, yangyang” in unison

he felt more comfortable

having yangyang with the group of kids was fun... really fun

one day he showed the kids his mad soccer skills

another day he played the piano to lull them into nap-time

you think he might steal your position of being “the awesom-est teacher EVER”

and of course, joy had to tell her parents one night over dinner about what was happening at daycare

“yangyang is part of my daycare group now” joy said during a lull in conversation 

yangyang kicked her chair under the table and sent her a pointed glare

“yangyang, we asked you to pick up joy from daycare. not join her at daycare” his mother sighs and puts her fork down

“oh no, mom. it’s a lot of fun with yangyang and y/n” joy defends

“y/n...” yangyang’s father ponders, “you know, we should invite them over for dinner.” 

“YEAH!”

“absolutely not”

joy and yangyang glare at each other from across the dinner table at each other’s opposing answers

“kids...” their mother warns and looks back at her husband, “I think that’s a good idea. we hear so much about them, why not invite them over?”

and that’s how you end up ringing the Liu’s doorbell promptly at 6pm the next Friday night

you made a batch of cookies to share (you refuse to show up empty handed, especially since it’s yangyang’s parents that you’re meeting) and you wear your nice clothes that you usually keep stored away in the back of your closet

yangyang opens the door and he immediately becomes 1000x more nervous

that smile hits him again, the kind smile that he doesn’t see you give to anyone else but him

it makes his heartbeat speed up and his cheeks tinge with pink no matter how hard he grips the door frame

“y/n, hi”

“hi,” you both stand in your spots, not moving or speaking... just looking at each other, “can I come in or...?”

“right, right. sorry” yangyang moves awkwardly to let you slide past him through the doorway

the smell of your fabric softener is so familiar that yangyang almost calms down in this situation

he’s been stressed this entire week leading up to this dinner

not only are you about to meet his parents, you’re about to witness what his family is actually like

and yangyang is scared that even if you had a small part of you that liked him

it’ll be non-existent by the end of this dinner

but surprisingly

dinner goes better than he expected

it seemed like you fit in perfectly, a fifth chair pulled up to the table made the atmosphere more cozy and your laughter mixing in with the rest of his family’s was something yangyang didn’t know he needed

he had a moment where he had to sit back and wonder when you got to be such an important part of his life

maybe it’s because joy already likes you so much

and yangyang knows that no matter how many times joy tattle tales, nags, or cries at yangyang

he’ll always be her big brother 

and it seems just a little too perfect for you to be an element that was added into the mixture that is his crazy life

but yangyang, despite his doubts, decides he’ll take this small but perfect thing that life handed to him and run with it

so after dinner, he walks you to your car in the driveway

the sun has just set and the leftover rays cast a purple hue over the sky and over your skin, making Yangyang fall just a little deeper into his feelings

when you say good night, you really hope he stops you 

you really hope he doesn’t let you get into your car

you really hope he doesn’t let you close the door

but he does, and you think you may be receiving mixed signals from him for the past few weeks 

until he knocks on the window of your car

you roll it down, confusion apparent on your face

“yangyang, what’s wrong?”

“uh, n-nothing just... don’t move” he says

he grips the frame of the car with all his might to steady himself, physically and mentally, and leans down through the window 

he places a gentle kiss on your cheek and pulls back to see your reaction

you’re a bit surprised but you quickly bite your lip to keep yourself from smiling too hard

and you signal at him to come back to you

you return a kiss on his rosy cheek, mumbling a shy goodnight before rolling up your window and driving away

he touches the small part of his cheek where your lips just were, smiling dumbly as he walks back into the house

he’ll have to thank joy for bringing you to him later

[vertanimeni]

the ice will start to break, the day will fade away (9/18)

Summary:

“Have you heard? The Elephant of Caocin has committed high treason!”

From Trikru’s most reputable war hero to Trikru’s most wanted traitor, Kova found themselves stripped of their titles and trapped between a clan that wants them dead and a camp of invaders - the same ones who kidnapped and tortured their brother.

But Kova was willing to do anything to stay alive and keep their family together.

Pairing: Bellamy Blake/Grounder OC

Word Count: 5,040

TW: Canon typical violence, virus outbreak/illness, Wells fingers and phantom pain, "Medical Procedure" if you could call it that + Some nasty stuff*, PTSD + Traumatic Memories*

*Note, Nasty part starts with "The morning came and went" and ends with "The ramp of the dropship". Includes vomit and blood. **Note, Traumatic memories is the italicized part starting with "A mountain road" to "bows and arrows in hand" if you want to skip that.

I’ll be leaving a summary at the bottom just in case anyone wants to skip.

A/N: Hello friends!! This chapter... is a lot. Sorry it took so long, finals week was pretty rough and I didn’t have time to edit it until recently. I’m yeeting Kova back at y’all. If you’re reading through my blog, the read more does not show up due to Tumblr’s new formatting, so please click on the post itself. As of right now, I will be updating every Friday at 4pm EST. Enjoy, and please read the trigger warnings! It’s a heavy chapter.

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ix. impotent (or not).

When the curtained entrance of the dropship fluttered, a wave of much needed fresh air entered and spread throughout the three levels. Unfortunately, this also meant the delinquents camping near the dropship would get hit with a wave of pained groans and the murky scent of old blood. Under Clarke’s orders, those delinquents had to move their tents away, and no one was allowed to enter the dropship, with very few exceptions.

Wells was one of these few exceptions, and he wished he wasn’t, as much as he hated the thought.

He could barely hear himself think, let alone have some (desperately needed) alone time. With every delinquent he attended to, two more would try to kick the bucket, and some of them had even refused his help. It was needless to say why, given his status within the group, but that didn’t stop the shock and irritation gathering at the pit of his stomach.

And it was barely dawn — much too early for this bullshit. At some point, he snapped when a group of delinquents at Death’s door rejected his help, complaining of the pain and mocking him in the same breath. “Listen,” Wells had grit out, hands clenching into fists, “either you let me take care of you all, or I’ll let Kova and Murphy deal with it.”

The way the group looked like they had bit into a particularly sour lemon gave Wells a satisfaction he hadn’t known was possible.

Oh yes, Kova (and surprisingly Murphy) had offered their services to help Clarke with the sick. Last time Wells saw Kova, they had changed into old, worn out clothes and their long dreads had been pulled back in a low bun, all done as if they had had experience with handling the sick. Most delinquents had only allowed Kova’s help when they were told the only other option would be Murphy.

Needless to say, the group fell quiet after that.

Wells was already stressed out to the max, even with three people working by his side. Wells and Murphy took care of those who had started improving while Kova and Clarke would take care of the sick at at death’s door.

Every once in a while someone would switch over when somebody needed a break, but Clarke wouldn’t allow Murphy and Kova to work together, not after their fifth argument before the sun could even peak over the horizon. He had no idea how Clarke had originally planned on helping the infected all by herself, and frankly, he didn’t think he would be able to handle her answer.

“Wells!”

Speaking of. “Yeah?”

“Could you leave a bowl of water by Eva? Don’t worry about finding a cloth, Kova’s on that.”

“Yup!”

He grabbed an unused bowl and reached into the water bucket, only to find it empty. He picked it up and made his way to the front of the dropship. Wells couldn’t help but roll his eyes. Something told him it wasn’t Kova - they had a habit of bringing in a new bucket once the old bucket was only 1/4th full. ‘I already reminded Murphy to replace it before.’

At the front of the dropship, the water crew were kind enough to leave them a row of filled buckets, replaced every half hour. Thoughts preoccupied, he picked up a heavy bucket with his injured hand, curling non-existent digits around the handle. Pain shot up his nerves and the bucket tumbled out of his grip. He recoiled, waiting for the clatter of metal against metal—

“Careful.”

He didn’t realized he had clenched his eyes tight until he heard the familiar voice. He forced his eyes open, only to see the top of a boot holding up the handle of the bucket. Kova stood before him, balancing on one foot, a bundle of clean(ish) rags in their hands. Slowly, they brought up one of their legs and took the bucket with their free hand.

“You strained your fingers.” They pointed out with a jut of their head.

Still in a state of shock from the sudden pain, he looked down at the bandages, now blotted with blood at the stump, and a meek “Oh” left his lips.

Before he could say anything else, Kova put aside the bucket and the bundle of cloths and took his head in theirs. The pain had dulled down to a throbbing ache, but still, he flinched, urging his body to not move away as much as he desperately wanted to, but he was surprised to find that their fingers were gentle despite calloused, nimble, and most importantly, confident. “You seem like you know what you’re doing.” He commented.

“Not my first time handling amputations.” A far-off look glazed over their eyes, one that Wells had seen a few times already when Kova thought of home (or, at least, that’s what he thought). “It feels like your fingers are still there, right? You try to curl them, but it only hurts?”

“How’d you know?”

“I’ve seen patients who lost appendages at the joint during my internship years.” The corners of Kova’s lips upturned, not enough for a smile, not a grimace either. “When they try to curl with a prosthetic, the nerves flare up in the only way they can — through pain.” 

Now, that was a lot to unpack. Wells could only manage to say, “Sorry, you—? Patients?”

“Mn.” They dropped his hands. “I used to work in prosthetic handling before all this. Find Clarke and ask her to check if the stitching popped.”

“Sure, after I do this real quick.” Wells reached for the bucket—

The placed their arm across the bucket. “I got it. You deal with that first.”

For the first time in a while, anger sparked in his stomach. “I’m not fragile—”

“I never said you were. Unless you have a death wish, you shouldn’t be helping a bunch of sick people with an open wound.”

Ah. That… That’s fair. Wells glanced between Kova and the bucket. They weren’t planning on relenting any time soon. “Yeah. Alright. I’ll find Clarke real quick, but…” He hesitated, “do you mind if I… I just have a few questions—”

“Find me afterwards.” They nodded. “I can try my best to answer.”

He had never looked for Clarke faster.

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It was only when the sick would cough up less blood, the dropship would grow quieter and quieter, and the crease between Clarke’s eyebrows would start to relax, did Wells get a chance to ask Kova quesions. Although truthfully, when he plopped down next to them around the corner of the Ark during their break, drinking boiled water, all he could think about was how Clarke handled his wounds with such care, the gentleness of her fingers as she unwrapped his bandages, that one stubborn baby hair curling just above her eyebrow, the worry lining around her eyes—

“—Wells.”

He startled out of his thoughts. Blood rushed to his cheeks when he realized Kova had been trying to catch his attention for the better part of the past few minutes. “Ah— Yeah, sorry. I, uh,” He motioned to his hand, hopefully directing attention from his burning cheeks. Kova’s look told him otherwise, but thankfully they obliged and looked away. “I’ve come to terms with it. But. Well. How much do you know about our home in space, the Ark?”

“Octavia explained somewhat at the bridge.”

“To put it simply, the rules there were very strict."

"Death for any crime, even for having a second child.”

Ah. Truthfully, after the initial reveal of the girl under the floor, Wells hadn’t put in a lot of thought about the second child. He was quite young when it happened, and by the time he grew up, he had other things to worry about, like the state of the Ark, his father’s expectations, Clarke, and her family, especially after her father died and she was sent to the Sky Box. To him, the Blakes were just another family torn apart for breaking the rules, just like the Griffins.

But down here, he had to face the consequences of such thinking. Down here, he became eye to eye with the remnants of said broken families. At first, it was difficult to unlearn what his father had taught him, to unlearn that exceptions were not allowed. There was a difference between a 16 year old boy who murdered for fun and an 8 year old girl who stole extra food after her parents had been floated. And now, to explain and try to justify the rules of the Ark, he wondered how he couldn’t see that before.

Regardless, there he was, nursing his boiled water, explaining how his father, the Chancellor, enforced the rules, and how most people wanted revenge by taking vengeance out on him. Not once did Kova give him a pitying or judgmental look (’or, maybe they hid it well,’ his mind unhelpfully supplied.)

“Then, there was this little girl named Charlotte, who watched her parents get floated. She uh…” His hand went up to where the scar on his neck was, laid out for all to see, and his voice wavered. “She tried to kill me. She only nicked me. I tried to stop her, but she swung the knife around and cut my fingers off. I passed out, and she left me there because she thought she killed me.

“I was knocked out for a day and a half from blood loss, shock, and an infection, but they couldn't tell my father I was still alive because they had already lost contact with the Ark. The problem is before all of this happened, Murphy threatened me for the same reason — my father — and Charlotte had used Murphy’s knife. When the camp found the knife, they accused him and tried to punish him in the same way.”

“By trying to kill him?”

He nodded again. “They tried to hang Murphy, but I guess the guilt got to her — she confessed during the hanging. He practically hunted her down and by the end of the day, she killed herself by jumping off a cliff. The group banished Murphy afterwards.”

“And now he’s back.”

“And now he’s back.” He repeated with a heavy sigh. “With a flu.”

The two stared off into the distance, falling quiet. “The son shall not bear the sins of the father,” Kova quoted, turning to him, “but the son should acknowledge his father’s mistakes. This,” they gestured behind them, to the dropship, “is not your fault. You and your father just so happened to be connected to it.”

“Is it not the same?”

“No, They’re different.” But, if he had asked them three years ago, they would have said the opposite. This was no longer a few years ago.

The sound of the camp rising and getting to work filled the silence that fell between them, until Kova said, “The pain you feel in your fingers — it’s called phantom pain.”

The fact that there was a name for his condition shouldn’t have made the pain lessen, shouldn’t have made Wells relax a little easily, but it did. A name. It wasn’t just him. “Oh.” He managed to murmur, cradling his hand with the other, gently pressing it against his chest. “Oh.”

Back into silence. He was grateful Kova let him settle with the new information for a moment, but he couldn’t help but ask, “Are you a doctor?”

They couldn’t help but snort. “Not a doctor. Just a prosthetist. I help shape and attach prosthetics to the amputated part. If you want, I can try and find some spare finger prosthetics and fit them for you myself—”

“Why?”

Kova paused. “Why what?”

“I… I don’t mean to sound rude, but why? Why would you do that?”

“…hmm.” How could they possibly explain that their once hateful view of the invaders— no, sky people — changed? That he and the others remind him of the children and teens at their village? Instead, they answered with, “Octavia told me that, besides her, you were the first one who stood up for my brother when Bellamy and Clarke tortured him. I will forever be grateful for that. And…”

“…and?”

“…You remind me of someone.” They left it at that, patting his shoulder and standing up. “C’mon, let’s go back and help your friends.”

Wells stared at them, and for a moment Kova worried he would press for more answered, but in the end all he did was nod, a smile on his face.

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The morning came and went. By the time Wells could take a break, four delinquents had died and Murphy and Kova only got into two arguments. Technically, it wasn’t even a break. He sat outside the dropship on the ramp, eating his rations while updating the other delinquents how the sick were doing. So far, everything had calmed down—

“Make way! We got an infected kid here!”

Wells stood too quickly and his knees cracked. He recognized that voice.

Shocked gasps came from the group of delinquents. They parted, allowing Raven and Fox to pass through, carrying a feverish looking child between them. “Wells! Emmie’s sick, we need help!” Raven called out.

Wells wouldn’t have hesitate to carry Emmie himself if it weren’t for his newly bandages hand. With the warnings from both Clarke and Kova in the back of his mind, he didn’t want to risk hurting Emmie or opening his wounds again, so as soon as he heard Raven, he stuck his head through the curtain and called for Kova.

Fox already had skin as pale as river rocks from the nearby stream and was just as anxious as the disturbed tadpoles by its shore, but she blanched further and her hands trembled at the call of the grounder’s name. Said grounder emerged from the curtains, eyebrows creased in worry, but Fox gripped Emmie’s legs ever so slightly. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Raven whirl her head sharply to give her the most angriest look Fox had ever seen on her, as if Raven knew exactly what Fox had been thinking. She couldn’t help but flinch as Raven opened her mouth—

“You can trust them.” A voice interrupted from the side. Fox turned to the crowd around them. She saw Finn jut his head towards the grounder. “Kova has been helping Clarke and the others all night and morning. They know what they’re doing.”

Seemingly composed, Kova wordlessly dipped their head in gratitude, but Fox noticed the uncertain tremble in their hands. Finn acknowledged it with his own nod.

Wells placed a comforting hand on her arm (when did he get so close?) and Fox looked down at the young girl she had been taking care of since they landed. Her breaths came short and rapid, her forehead beading with sweat and creased with a pained frown.

Without realizing, Fox nodded. Her arms, shaking with Emmie’s weight, relaxed as she and Raven passed the girl to Kova’s arms. With one arm across her back and the other holding up her legs, Kova hoisted Emmie on their hip and sped back to the dropship, calling out “Wells, let’s go!” over their shoulder.

But with the sudden change in position, a wave of nausea and dizziness hit Emmie quite suddenly. Her body tensed and saliva built up in her mouth and throat—

Years of training couldn’t stop the falter in their step, the disgusted shiver running up their spine, nor the goosebumps scattering across their arms as Emmie promptly vomited streaks of bile and blood over Kova’s shoulder, some of it catching on their clothes.

Well, not really their clothes, thankfully. But still.

Wells ran into the dropship first. The group of delinquents gasped and gagged, even as the two made their way inside.

At first, Kova thought the wet spot on their shoulder was vomit and had pointedly ignored it. Until Emmie started trembling, her forehead against their shoulder, and the wet spot grew bigger with every audible sniff.

“It’s alright, I got you.” They soothingly rubbed her back. “I’m here.”

“Kova, I’m sorry.”

“Here!” Wells suddenly called out.

“Coming! What are you apologizing for?”

“Vomiting on you.” Her voice cracked with another sob.

“No need. That’s not something you need to apologize for, but if it helps, I forgive you.”

Emmie nodded against their shoulder and Kova gently placed her on the makeshift bed. “I’m scared.” Another sniff, another whimper, and her arms wrapped around herself across her middle. “My stomach hurts.”

Their hands clenched into fists, but Kova kept them out of sight. There was nothing worse than seeing someone else in pain and not being able to do anything about it. Before they could speak, Wells stood and said, “It’s alright, we’ll take care of you. I’ll get water.”

Kova watched him leave until they felt a small hand on their knee.

“How come you’re not wearing the mask today?” Emmie’s question came with a shortening of breath and a weak smile that faltered with every wave of pain.

Ah. That’s why they felt lighter together. “I left it at my tent. Why, is it strange to see my face? Am I scary? Should I go get it?” They couldn’t help but tease, wiggling their eyebrows ever so slightly.

With every question, Emmie’s grin grew wider and wider and she shook her head vigorously. But one wrong move and her body tensed, her smile became a grimace, and her hands fisted her shirt across her middle, sweaty and clammy.

Wells came back and sent Kova a look, but they didn’t let even a hint of panic show on their face, and instead calmly asked, “Emmie, could you take a deep breath for me?”

She tried, but her chest hitched after a certain point. She winced and shook her head. “It hurts too much.”

“I see. You’re probably just sore from vomiting. Would you like for me to put your hair up?” They pushed back a curl making its way towards her eye. “So it’s out of your face?”

“Could you put it in a bun?”

“Mn. Wells, could you get a hair tie from Clarke?” Wells nodded, but before he could stand up, Kova caught his sleeve and whispered, “She has a hemothorax. Get Clarke. Bring a needle.”

Not wanting to alert Emmie, he nodded and left as fast as he could. Meanwhile, Kova kept her occupied and dipped a rag into the bowl Wells brought. “I see you’ve learnt my name. I will admit, I will miss being called ‘pretty stranger.’”

Emmie gave them a weak smile. “Fox told me after I bumped into you.”

“Ah. The girl outside? The one holding you?”

“The one with straight hair is Fox, but the one with the ponytail is Raven.”

Raven… Kova felt they had seen her before when it hit them — the meeting at the bridge. She was one of the gunners. “I see.” They dabbed at her forehead with the damp rag. “Are you close with both of them?”

“Yeah! Fox hangs out with the kids around here, mostly to keep us out of trouble, but before we landed I never really talked to her, but I knew she existed.”

If Kova hadn’t known much about the Ark, they would have been confused, but it made sense — of course Emmie would at the very least know of Fox’s existence, since the Ark was a closed and tight population, but that didn’t mean they really knew each other. “Right, right.”

“Same thing with Raven, but I think she’s, uh, an… en… engineer?”

“Raven’s a mechanic.” Came a voice from behind. “Don’t let her hear you call her an engineer, or she’ll get really upset.” Clarke dragged the word out playfully before she dropped to her knees besides Kova. Wells came up behind the two and passed Kova a hair tie before going to check on the other patients. “I heard you’re not feeling good, is that right?”

Emmie nodded, her head lolling loosely. “My chest was hurting, but now my back hurts too.”

“I see. Do you think you can roll on your side for us?”

She nodded once more, and with the help of Clarke and Kova, she rolled onto her left side. She coughed once, twice, then after the third time each cough came out deep and rattled. Kova sent Clarke a questioning look.

“It’s pretty common, I wouldn’t worry about it.” Clarke assured them—

—Blood splattered across the blanket, the floor, and specks landed on Kova’s knees. A scared whimper, more blood, and Emmie’s breathing came in quick and shallow—

“Lay her down on her back!” Clarke ordered.

Kova did so, and when Clarke took out the needle from behind her back, they blocked Emmie’s view of it.

“Kova—”

“I’m here.”

“It hurts!”

“I know, I know,” They gathered her hair into a bun, using the sweat beading at her forehead to keep strays away from her face. “It will get better, I’m here. Give it time.”

Kova only realized that no, it wouldn’t get better with time, when Clarke said, “It’s not working.”

They leaned back and tapped Well’s leg, silently grateful he was still close by, and motioned for him to keep Emmie occupied. As soon as her hazy attention switched from them to Wells, Kova moved next to Clarke. “What’s not working?”

She stuck the needle at a different angle and pulled the plunger back. “Her blood pressure is too low, I don’t think she’s eaten or drank anything today, and the blood isn’t coming out—!” 

With a pop!, the plunger came off of the syringe.

What… What kind of luck?

Alerted by the sound, Wells looked back, only to turn back to Emmie with the most neutral face he could possibly manage. Clarke and Kova stared at the plunger, hanging uselessly from the former’s fingertips.

As quietly as possible, Kova gritted out, “Get another one.”

“That was the last one. Bellamy sent out a team to get more from the bunker, but I don’t know how long it’ll take.”

“Those are over 200 years old—” Kova cut themselves off with a deep breath, closing their eyes. When they opened up again, both Clarke and Wells were sweating with anxiety. “Alright. Fine.” They pulled out the syringe and twisted the barrel off, leaving just the needle and its hilt. They turned to Clarke. “Get me two buckets — one empty, one with water — and a cup.”

“What are you—”

They stuck the needle in, just slightly lower than where it had been last time. Emmie flinched, and Kova patted her arm with an apologetic smile. Then they leaned forward—

With a sharp intake of breath, Clarke stumbled onto their feet and ran off. Alerted by the clatter, Wells glanced back only to turn and give his full attention to Emmie with a conversation on food, discreetly scooting closer to block her from the view.

Kova’s ears perked up at the sound of one heavy and one light clank in front of them, and one softer clank closer to their face. They reached for the empty bucket and spat out blood before returning to the hilt of the needle.

They repeated this until halfway through the fourth suck, Kova suddenly flinched. But before Clarke could react, they pulled the bucket underneath and spat out the last of the blood in their mouth while blood flowed freely from the needle. Emmie’s breathing, albeit shaky, deepened, and her eyes fluttered closed. Clarke checked her vitals with two fingers on her wrist and nodded. “She’s alright.”

A cup filled with water entered their vision. Kova took it with a thanks and swished it in their mouth before spitting it into the bucket of blood. Wells wordlessly took the cup, filled it with water, and passed it back. The two repeated this for a while until the tang of stale metal lessened. After Kova spat out their last swish, they said, “The blood.”

“What?”

“It tastes old.” Kova paused and looked between the two. “We will have to check on the others for early signs of hemothoraces, too.”

“Ah. Right,” Clarke nodded weakly, “of course. Here.” She offered a napkin, but Kova shook their head and gently pushed her hand back.

“Save it for her and the others.” They wiped their mouth with the end of their sleeve, smearing blood across their cheek. “I will…” They looked down at their dirtied clothes. “Go to my tent. And wash up.” They paused. “Will you two—”

“Please go. Take your time.”

“We’ll watch her.”

“…mn. Thanks.”

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The ramp of the dropship creaked as Kova made their way down, but instead of heading to their tent, they turned and walked around the corner of the dropship. As soon as they were out of sight from the rest of the camp, they braced themselves against the wall with a forearm and dry heaved. They gasped for breath—

A mountain road. Hundreds of dead bodies at its feet. The ends of a long jacket fluttered against their calves, cut apart with a rough knife, leaving threads to hang loosely. Fabric covered the lower half of their face. The pungent tang of blood coating their tongue. Throat so sore they just want to stick their fingers down inside and scratch—

They stumbled up the steep road alongside their fellow warriors (ones they had sent on a death mission—) Dehydrated, exhausted, bleeding out. It was a wonder how they got so far up before they finally collapsed. They can't move. Any fight they might have had disperses when their body finally— finally —slumped against the cold ground. They close their eyes. They rest. And they wait.

“Duck!”

Their eyes snap open at the sounds of bodies dropping around them. Kova found themselves face to face with one of their warriors, a young one at that, staring at them with wide eyes, body seizing as if trying to reject, trying to fight the two arrows stuck in their neck, and far too suddenly to be natural, the warrior stilled, but not before coughing out a last burst of blood, specking across Kova’s face. They flinched.

A thunder of footsteps tremble the mountain against their ear. Kova looked down, still at dirt level, only to see Azgeda’s army sprinting up the road, bows and arrows in hand—

“—Kova? You okay? Did something happen?”

Someone’s hand lightly grasped their shoulder, and even though being touched was the last thing they wanted, the warmth seeping through their shoulder grounded them, pulled them back from where they were spiraling towards. Instead of leaning against the wall, they found themselves sitting against it. They let out a deep breath, trying to calm down. “Yeah. I’m alright.” They turned to the voice—

Ah. The girl from before. Raven. Kova couldn’t control their shocked look, and Raven’s eyebrows creased in concern. “I saw you run back here. What’s wrong?”

“I’m fine.” The last thing they wanted to talk about was on their mind—

“You don’t look it.”

They looked down at their trembling, clammy hands. She had a point. They let out a resigned sigh. “Children.”

“What?”

“You have children here.”

“…yeah. We have more on the Ark.”

“The people down here are prisoners. They committed crimes. How do children commit crimes?” Raven fell silent. Kova continued. “Not just that, but Trikru knows.”

“Your clan? What do they know?”

“That you have children here.” They looked around the dense forest around. Now that they thought about it, they hadn’t seen any scout activities, nor did they hear about any grounders running around from the sky people. Did they leave already? “Trikru knew. But they still sent Murphy here with this disease. That breaks the Coalition Conventions.”

Raven was still silent, as if she were waiting for Kova to get all their thoughts out.

“Disgusting.” They spat to the side, far away on the poor grass. “I never would have expected them to go this far. They claim they want vengeance for the lives lost by the invaders, but how can they take vengeance knowing there are innocent children? Non-combatants? None of you all know what you’re doing, you had no idea there were people living here.” They took a deep breath. “Your people aren’t right, but neither are mine.” They couldn’t help but let out a loud, bitter laugh. Raven eyed them, as if watching someone break their sanity. “And somehow, you all had the luck to land here during a time of political unrest and the instability of the Coalition.

They hadn’t meant to spiral into a rant, but they were tired. They just didn’t realize how much until they planned the bridge scenario with Lincoln that one fateful day, and now? Now, here they are.

They snapped their head up, Raven watching them with wide eyes and a parted mouth. “My apologies, I shouldn’t have—”

“No, no, you’re good. I just—” Raven let out a light laugh, shoulders slumping with relief, as if Kova’s rant took off a heavy burden. “I wasn’t expecting that. Nice to know there’s someone on our side.” She lightly bumped her shoulder against theirs.

“Like I said, you all aren’t in the right, either. But,” They sent her a small reassuring smile, dipping their head slightly, and said, “neither is Trikru. And I’m not the only one thinking that.”

“Mmh, I sure hope so. Is…” Raven paused, glancing to the dropship. “Is Emmie okay?”

“Yeah. She had an issue with her lungs. But she was getting better, last time I saw her.”

“Good, good. Well, you definitely have my full support now.” She sent them a grin.

“Mn.” The corners of their mouth upticked. “You thought I was trying to sneak back to Trikru, didn’t you.”

Her eyes widened and she sputtered, her cheeks darkening slightly. “No! I mean. Well— Yeah. Sorry about that.”

“I think that was the first time I’ve ever seen proper security around here. Don’t apologize. Trust your gut.” They would have done the same if the situation were reversed, after all. “I’m glad you did. Want to come check on Emmie with me?”

“God, yes please. Fox has been going crazy in her tent.”

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A summary of TW notes for those who didn't want to read:

1) Illness - Same illness as before, the virus Murphy spread. More people are sick.

2) Wells' fingers - He tried to pick up a bucket with the wrong hand and ended up with phantom pain, something he didn't know was a real thing until Kova talked to him about it.

3) Medical Procedure + Nasty Stuff - Emmie gets sick with the virus and vomits. She also has a hemothorax, so Kova uses an unconventional way to drain the blood build up in her chest. I'm not a medical expert and wouldn't recommend doing it that way, but I've seen this done in my home village in Ecuador where there aren't many good/non-corrupted doctors. And it’s gross lol.

4) PTSD + Traumatic Memories - After #3, Kova recalls a traumatic memory from Mount Caocin that implies that they a) had to deal with this virus multiple times before, b) had done the unconventional way to drain the blood before, and c) had vaguely suicidal thoughts during their Mount Caocin era.

[moremoneytips]

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