#I blame my meds for making me delirious

[peachsayshi]

you won’t judge me for saying that takuma ino has a mommy kink, right? 🥹

[branded-witha-j]

This request started one way and then took a whole other turn that I'm going to blame on the pain meds they gave me. I hope you enjoy it, anon reader. 😘💚💚💚

♤♡◇♧☆

Something went horribly wrong. It wasn't expected and no one saw it coming despite weeks of planning. The coppers showed up as expected, but something fell through when someone didn't do their job. A post that should have been manned was left wide open and that's how the GCPD got the upperhand.

You were there, holding your own, the armored truck on its side and smoking. The bags you helped carry were heavy and you were distracted, not noticing the officer until he had you restrained. They didn't make a fuss, pulling you away from the scene as discreetly as possible, but it didn't take J long to notice your absence.

He wheeled in place, scanning the street, and that's when he saw them dragging you away, his rage palpable. They thought you were a hostage, surely a nice, rich girl like you forced to commit such heinous crimes. They had no idea that you were important to The Joker or that you were madly in love with your so-called captor.

You fought and clawed to get back to him, but the cops threw you into a police van, the back empty except for you. Now that they had you in their custody, they intended to get you away from the scene, your father waiting for the phone call that you were safe.

You were a Daddy's girl, growing up privileged and rich. Things were planned out for you, your father the puppeteer. It didn't take long for you to tire of his control, a new Daddy altogether pulling your attention and keeping you captivated.

The Joker was just as rich, but dangerous and unpredictable. The night you met him at the annual Gotham Gala was the best of your life and you never looked back.

The van shifted as it pulled away from the curb, a single police car following while the others stayed behind to deal with and round up J and his crew. At least that was their plan. But the cops would fair no better, The Joker's men creating such a scene that J managed to slip away in your pursuit.

He wasn't alone, a handful of goons tagging along, and they were the ones to open fire. The tailing cruiser caught the first wave of bullets, the back tires popping and sending it into an uncontrollable spin. A row of parked cars cushioned the wreck, but the car was inoperable and left behind as the van tried to race for the station.

You were in the back, unable to hang on as a curve was taken too fast, crying out as you were thrown against the bare, metal wall. You found yourself on the floor, clutching for the bench leg that was bolted down, using it to pull yourself under for coverage as bullets ricocheted outside. You could hear shouting from the front, returning fire sounding close and making you scream as a bullet tore through the metal above you.

You rolled yourself into a ball and braced, not seeing the collision coming, but safe as the van slammed to a stop. It was no longer moving, but the shouting continued, eventually two single gun shots marking the silence.

Nothing happened, the van whining as someone cranked the engine and finally got it to start. You stayed under the bench shaking, beams of light shining through the bullet holes as the van started to move again. Even as the ride continued on for what felt like an eternity, you stayed on the floor unable to move out of some fear that The Joker had been hurt, or even worse, killed.

Eventually the van came to a stop and you held your breath, hearing the front door open, and approaching footsteps. They crunched in what sounded like gravel and stopped at the back doors. Then there was unnerving silence. You continued to hold your breath, eyes closing as the screech of metal unlocked the doors and light flooded over you. It took you a moment to open your eyes, the sunlight blotting out the figure that peered inside. You blinked, trying to clear your vision, and a hand at your ankle made you lash out. You kicked hard, snarling in anger as they avoided your booted defense and dragged you closer.

Hands groped at you, pulling you upright, and that's when you were finally able to focus. The Joker leaned over you, a gash at his forehead sending a steady stream of blood down the side of his chiseled cheek. He was bleeding, but seemed unharmed and very much alive. With a gasp, you clutched for him, anchoring your hands at his face and kissing him hard.

His metal teeth hurt against your own, but you didn't care, deepening it until you felt certain you could drown. He was the one to break the kiss, eyes darting and taking inventory. You were unharmed, maybe a little bruised, but not hurt. The relief made him purr and he pushed forward, kneeling at the metal floor and hovering over you.

You let him lay you back and didn't protest as his hands slid over your body, making sure you weren't damaged or in pain. As his exploration continued, you reached for him, pulling him on top of you, your arms and legs trapping him. He grimaced, a single droplet of blood falling on your cheek, and you couldn't stop yourself from kissing him. He tasted like blood and gunpowder and you savored it.

In the distance, you could hear approaching sirens, your moment ending almost as quickly as it had started. Surely the van could be tracked and they would be here soon, both of your hearts racing as you fled the scene. You took back alleyways, hiding in the shadows, ducking into dark doorways as police cruisers rolled past.

It was in one of these doors that J cornered you, smiling in his mischievous way. You smiled back, head tilting as he leaned in for a kiss. It was slow and deep, ending with a purr.

"Are you my girl?" You nodded to his question, feeling his hands on you, fingertips digging into your hips. You let out a gasp of surprise as he slid a hand over, cupping you and pushing you harder against the door. It creaked with your weight but held as J frantically pulled at the waistband of your leggings. You joined in, flipping his belt loose, and popping the button to pull down his zipper.

A single slam against the door made you both groan, The Joker not stopping until he was buried deep. He burned and stretched you in the most delicious way, his face burying at your neck. Another thrust of his hips made you cry out, the sound echoing around the alley and building as his movement grew frantic.

Voices yelled out nearby, causing you to tense, and a shift of your hips sent you over a dangerous edge. Your cries of pleasure bounced off the walls, dissolving into the air and mixing with the sounds of the city. The Joker had reached his end, as well, and held you in place, nuzzling at your neck until he left a purple mark with his mouth.

For a long moment, nothing else existed, the sounds of the city fading away. You relished in his touch and taste, his crimson smeared lips leaving no doubt that you belonged to him. It was a bubble of happiness that you lived in precariously, not ready for it to pop so soon.

But pop it did, and you were both on the run again, dragging your pants up with laughs and tripping away. The cop that discovered you was close, but not enough to catch you, both of you sliding out onto the crowded sidewalk, people rushing out of your way as you ran.

You felt like Bonnie and The Joker was your Clyde, hands joining as you ran, more fits of laughter falling from your lips as you veered off the sidewalk and into traffic to avoid another cop.

You didn't see it coming, so lost in your delirious happiness that the delivery truck went unnoticed. Brakes squealed as the large vehicle tried to stop, but too much weight and speed kept it coming in your direction, both of you freezing on the spot.

There was a second where you realized you were about to die, turning towards J, but feeling yourself lifted and flung in the opposite direction. You waited for the pain, but it didn't come, instead air whipping past and making your hair swirl. And then your ride was abruptly over, Batman releasing you on the far sidewalk.

Stunned to see him this close up, it took a moment for you to wheel back in search of The Joker, horror making you cry out at his still form on the road. You pulled and screamed, tearing yourself away from your savior to run to your lover.

No one tried to stop you, everyone frozen and watching as you collapsed by his side, hands shaking and touching him. You were frantic, pulling at him, screaming his name, but getting no response. He was gone, his body broken and bleeding before you like a living nightmare.

You tried to revive him, performing CPR, pushing and thumping at his chest until Batman pulled you away. His arms locked around you like a vice and carried you from the horrible scene, your pleas falling on deaf ears.

Your eyes pinched shut, your cries turning into begging, everything fading until you jolted awake in a cell you couldn't remember. The pressure around you that had once been Batman's arms was a straitjacket keeping you secure. It was an embrace you could never escape, eyes heavy and sweeping the empty, dim room.

Who knows how long you had been here, time meaning nothing. Who knows if anything was real, the pain in your heart the only reminder that something had been taken from you.

The ground vibrated but you barely noticed it, the extinguished lights above you swaying and sending dust down upon you. Your neck was stiff as you slowly looked up, the hanging light swaying back and forth. Another much harder vibration caused it to pick up momentum and you were mesmerized by it, not hearing the screams in the hallway.

A fresh explosion buckled the door, leaving a gaping hole filled with smoke. You stared at it, unable to move even if you felt the desire, a single figure stepping through as a floating silhouette. They crossed the room, kneeling before you, and a tug at the helmet they wore revealed a shock of green hair and icy blue eyes.

He smiled at you, your own lips twitching and pulling until the corners lifted and mirrored him. His laugh came next, eerie and almost mournful, but your own joining in until it was deafening and terrifying to all that could hear it.

Again you felt yourself lifted, this time in the arms you wanted more than anything, The Joker carrying you from the cell and into the fiery hallway. Bodies lay before you, framing your escape route, and J didn't let you go until he reached the getaway vehicle, slowly placing you in the backseat. Leaning down, his lips ghosted over yours, a new scar across his cheek catching your eye. His kiss was brief, a peck at your lips, and then he spoke the words you had been dying to hear for so long.

"Let's go home."

[rrazor]

positions | m. issei

tags: fluff, mildly suggestive content

issei never knew how much he loved touching you until he was granted unconditional permission to do so. he thought he was relatively independent and someone who didn’t need as much reassurance or physical affection compared to other guys around him, like oikawa and hanamaki or even iwaizumi.

he thought he’d be fine, satisfied, content with just having you sit next to him or holding your hand or just being near you.

he thought wrong.

but he’s okay with that—you always indulged him after all, more than happy to have him close. your face lights up in a way that’s so adorable it pains him and has his fingers itching for contact.

he toys with the edge of your hoodie, watching your in-game character dash about. turning his head, he dips it into the crook of your neck, closing his eyes. his arms automatically tighten around you as he noses into the skin there.

“‘sei, you bored?”

he mumbles his “no” into your skin, smelling clean and cottony from your shower. his legs tangle with yours underneath the blankets. the side of his right foot comes up to brush against your bare calf and he begins to wish he wore shorts instead.

you hum, fingers tapping away at the screen while his slide up under your hoodie. you glance down at them before looking back to your screen again. issei grins happily behind you, gently roaming his hands across your stomach and up to cup your boobs. your skin is soft, recently moisturized. you talked about how you bought a new one, how it was “natural” and made your skin feel like velvet. he agrees, roaming his hands around and taking in all your dips and curves.

“hey!” you squeal. “i’m fighting!”

he chuckles, kissing your cheek. “and you’re gonna lose if you don’t focus.”

you huff, but to his delight, don’t tell him to stop so he lets you grumble, snickering like the cat who got the cream.

｡⋆ʚ♡⃛ɞ

he wakes up to a delirious fog, overheated and chilled to the bone. bringing his hand up to rub at his eyes, he blinks through the darkness of his room, slowly extending an arm to his phone on his nightstand.

5:37pm.

“nii-chan… room… dinner.”

he hears footsteps get closer to his door. a short series of knocks.

“issei?” your voice is soft. “are you awake?”

“yes,” he tries to say, but it comes out a rasp, too quiet. he wonders why you’re here anyways, on a school night when there’s a math exam tomorrow. an exam he hopes he’ll pass given the state he’s in.

the door opens gently, allowing the soft yellow light from the hallway into his room. you walk in, hands carrying a tray. he hears the china knock into each other.

“oh, you’re awake.”

he nods, watching you set down everything on his nightstand before putting a hand over his forehead. the steam of the mug rises and already, he can feel how dry his mouth is.

“how’re you feeling?”

he clears his throat, wincing at the amount of phlegm he’s forced to clear out. you frown, if your down turned eyebrows are anything to go by. he can’t see the rest of your pretty face behind your mask.

“been better,” he croaks.

you huff out a laugh. “got enough energy for your meds?”

he nods, sitting up just enough to make it easy to wash the pills down with water before he slumps back into bed.

“are you hungry?” you ask, sitting down at the edge of his bed.

he shakes his head, letting you touch his forehead again.

“tired? wanna go back to sleep?”

he hums noncommittally, bringing his hand up to hold onto your wrist. you run your fingers through his soft curls, making him shiver.

“go to sleep,” you whisper.

he shakes his head, pulling you hard enough that you fall over him in surprise. he wraps his arms around your torso, burying his face in your chest.

“hey,” you chide, resting on your elbows above him. “you need to rest.”

he nuzzles into your shirt, relishing in having you close. the smooth, cool cotton of your shirt a welcome feeling on his overheated skin.

“missed you.”

straight through the heart.

“i missed you, too,” you whisper.

“stay a bit?” he pleas. he knows he shouldn’t, but he can’t really help himself.

you bring the blankets up over yourself and his heart soars. he tucks himself on top of your chest, heart pounding in his chest as you pull your mask down to kiss his forehead. it’s tender, so comforting.

he falls asleep to the smell of cotton and camomile.

｡⋆ʚ♡⃛ɞ

“babe.”

you hum, lips resting against his forehead. the clock on the bedside table reads 9:48pm in muted led.

he can’t see you in the dark, tucked in so close to you. issei’s resting beside you again. because he can’t ever get enough. because that’s where he belongs, hands on your skin, head tucked into your neck. he’s tall, might as well be two metres, two whole hundred centimetres but issei adores it when he gets to be the small spoon.

“d’y’ever think about the people who got infinity symbols tattooed or those moustaches—wonder how they’re doing?”

he can hear you, feel you laugh.

“no, i would’ve never if you didn’t bring it up,” you snort. “forgot about those dumb trends.”

he chuckles softly into your pajamas, slotting himself closer to you. he can’t explain it but an overwhelming surge of love blooms in his chest when you bring the blankets up to cover his shoulders.

you’ll probably end up on opposite sides of the bed in the morning, maybe even turned away from one another. s’fine, he usually ends up scooching over to you anyways. the rise and fall of your chest slows. it’s a bit too early for him to doze off—.

“g’night, ‘sei,” you mumble, kissing his hairline. “love you.”

he nods imperceptibly, kissing where your heart is. “night,” he whispers. “love you more.”

you mumble something into his hair. he draws infinity signs on your back.

｡⋆ʚ♡⃛ɞ

today, he’s the big spoon—sorta. you’re on the train to the mitsui outlet park. it’s crowded, likely because of the kamen rider event going on. the rest of his family got there early to participate from start to finish.

it’s 11:58am and he’s caged you in between the train walls, a nice barricade from other passengers.

he’s zoning out when he hears your stomach growl.

“did you eat breakfast?”

you look up at him sheepishly. “no?”

he leans down to knock his forehead against yours, lips curling upward when you make a funny noise.

“i think i have candy in my pockets.”

his mom was giving them out in the morning after finding them in her purse. she handed him a few saying she got them from work.

“really?” your eyes glimmer as your hands reach into his pockets. your rummaging digs up two pieces of caramel. you unwrap them and feed one to him before pocketing the plastic.

“y’know i think i love you a little bit.” you grin, tongue swirling caramel goodness.

“yeah?” he snickers. “can’t blame you. i’m the ultimate catch—tall, funny, handsome.”

you roll your eyes, watching as he leans against the glass perpendicular to the doors. he stands closer when the doors on the opposite open. you raise your fists up in front of you. “i’ll have you catch these hands.”

“you could have just told me you wanted to hold hands, babe,” he chuckles, grabbing your right one and leaving a quick kiss on your forehead.

“don’t twist my words,” you grumble. your words are half spoken into his chest when he presses closer as a businessman squeezes by.

“oh, don’t worry.” he winks. “i know you and i have other plans for these hands later.”

you snort. “yeah, prayer.”

｡⋆ʚ♡⃛ɞ

issei leans back against the couch, tilting over onto the arm to rest his head as he settles into his food coma.

“issei, come back and have some marinated duck!”

he groans a little, telling his grandmother that he’d be over soon. though he could eat a lot, the walls of his stomach could never defeat nor contain the power of his grandmother.

he decides it’s a great time to take a picture of his extended stomach and send it to you.

>> (05:47) babe >> (05:47) [img.png] >> (05:48) i’m expecting

>> (05:51) what the Hell >> (05:52) tw: mpreg

>> (05:53) did you just trigger warning me?

>> (05:53) yes

>> (05:54) damn >> (05:55) well I don’t need this negativity in my life >> (05:55) relationships r built on mutual respect >> (05:56) I’ve told u I love you what more do u want

>> (05:57) nudes

>> (05:57) 😔😢😢

>> (05:58) here’s one of mine >> (05:58) [img.png] >> (05:59) 🥰❤️❤️❤️

he’s never sat up so fast in his life.

“issei, are you coming?”

he bites his tongue. “yes, grandma.”

｡⋆ʚ♡⃛ɞ

he comes back home to you two days later. he drops his bags on his bedroom floor and is about to run out the house to yours when his mom yells at him from the kitchen, “issei, sort through your things before you go!”

his shoulders slump and his head hangs but he gets it done and then he’s off.

>> (02:12) I’m home 😎😎💩 >> (02:12) wait ididnt mean the poo emoji

>> (02:13) welcome home 🌸

>> (02:13) Open the door  

you do, though it takes you a millisecond too long but he’s not going to gripe too much about it. he engulfs you in a hug the moment he sees you and nearly knocks your cell phone onto the pavement. your arms automatically go behind him. swaying, you stay there, sun shining and leaving an orange tint behind when you close your eyes.

“welcome back, ‘sei.” you nuzzle your head into his. “how was your grandma’s?”

he mumbles something but doesn’t make any effort to move. not wanting to attract stares, you slowly waddle backwards to get him through the front door. on your third step back, he just picks you up and does it himself before closing the door behind him and returning to his original position.

“‘sei,” you drawl out. “my back huurts.”

he pulls back the slightest, eager to see you up close yet wanting to keep you close. “i just wanted to hug you, is that so bad?”

“bedroom” is all you say. he frowns but lets you take him there anyways.

you sit on the bed and pat the space next to you. he instead opts to kneel down on the floor and rest his head on your thighs.

“‘sei?”

“grandma’s was good,” he murmurs, eyes closing when you run a hand through his curls. “thank you for the nude.”

you laugh and he takes the chance to get up and pull you into bed with him. he rolls you on top of him, brushing your hair away and cupping your face to pull you in for a kiss. his tongue is warm, soft, lax and you melt into him, onto him.

“wait,” he mutters.

“hm? something wrong?” you lean up a bit.

“i left your food at my place. my grandma made you some.”

you hum, leaving kisses on his jaw and swinging your legs. “we can go over later. kiss me more, please?”

he grins. “thought you’d never ask, babe.”

[szallejhscorner]

Let It End

How Long is Forever - Part 23

3.1k words, @nek0dzuken @amortentiaz @lilithlamorgue @lindsayjoy444 @beewolfwrites @booksandhoneymilktea @sadeyesgf @celestiacq

You lean back into the chair while letting out a shaky breath. While you didn’t even notice the tension in your body, you now feel the ease as you relax your muscles. Whatever just happened, it did so completely unexpected.

“We shouldn’t do that again,” you mumble between grit teeth. Five people have gone through these doors, and only three survived. Two, if Granny wasn’t lucky enough. And the King is still waiting for his victory.

Schoolgirl has turned so white now that there is no way left to blame it on the quality of the monitors, and you can see her trembling hands as she ruffles through her hair. “What… what happened?”

You watch your own hands, not able to hold still since the second major shock. Will they stop quivering once this is over? Diamonds was still activated when Granny was inside, which only confirmed Chishiya’s theory of it being chosen twice. But Freckles’ hasty action caused it to switch to Spades. “He nearly killed both of them. I don’t know about the older woman, but Freckles is dead for sure.”

“Freckles?” Sweatpants puts in with a snort, “don’t tell me you have such stupid nicknames for all of us?”

It probably sounds like a joke to the big one, because he can’t stop laughing about it. “What am I then, eh? Goliath, Schwarzenegger? Tell me, little mouse!”

Not even bothering to answer him, you focus on Chishiya and the schoolgirl. They’re the ones you want to bring out of this alive. Schoolgirl’s expression has turned into a frown, while Chishiya remains apathetic to the other players’ fate.

“It was still on Diamonds when he entered, so I assume the Game Masters didn’t want two people to be in there simultaneously.”

“Of course they don’t!” Sweatpants looks up with mockery in both eyes and voice. “They want the one inside the chair to suffer for the others, and it would be against this idea if two people always went through the room at the same time.”

Schoolgirl has stopped dragging her hair and has her eyes glued to the ground now. “We still have enough people to make it. Can… can I go next? This game makes me feel sick. I… I want to get over with this as soon as possible.”

Mr. Muscle makes attempts to disagree, but Sweatpants silences him with a single glance. You check the currently active room and already open your mouth to give her a hint, something that will cause a minor shock yet nothing worse, but she shakes her head before you can talk.

“I know the way. Save your strength for him.” She nods towards Chishiya and then opens the Diamonds door. It doesn’t take longer than a couple of heartbeats for her to cross the room safely and disappear through the other door.

The three remaining men watch each other in silence for a bit, and another cramp is looming in your left leg, but it seems that you can stop it in time by shaking your limbs.

It’s the big guy who makes the first noise eventually. It starts as a giggle and quickly turns into a laughter, so heavy that tears emerge from the corners of his eyes. He pats Sweatpants’ shoulder, who has just gotten up on his feet again, and his chest still vibrates from whatever he finds so funny.

“So it is you after all, you bastard! Eh!”

Sweatpants doesn’t flinch or deny this accusation. The smirk on his face reminds you of Chishiya, knowing yet illegible to anyone else. Potentially dangerous. “What makes you so sure of that?”

“If blonde Romeo here was one of the enemies, it’d be a Diamonds game. No one would waste such a brain for Hearts. And them?” He huffs into the camera, “they remind me of my brother, you know. Wanted to be perfect, loved by everyone, bla bla. Cancer took him in at the end of the day, and I made sure that he’d make over all his money to me while the pain meds kept him inside a delirious state. He was too naïve to think people would actually abuse him or his wealth…Yet none of his friends attended his funeral. A corpse can’t give them money, eh? And Crybaby here is just the same.”

The acknowledging whisper comes from Sweatpants, who seems to be honestly impressed while you swallow down the comment already on your tongue. How can a person be so ugly and still breathing while others like Ichika and Tatta had to go?

“You’re the perfect Hearts player. Has anyone ever told you that?”

Mr. Muscle laughs, rough and clipped. “It’s a shame no one asked me to be the King. This world is exactly geared to my needs!”

This is the moment where you should step up to them and slap both of them as hard as you can, if it wasn’t for the buckles and a whole wall separating you from them. “You two are disgusting.”

“And look where it has brought me, eh!” This ugly grin just won’t leave his face, and you wonder if he will still look like this when the sniper blasts away his head. But he doesn’t let you end this little daydream of yours.

“Guess I’m the next one, eh! Tell me, Romeo – which door is it?”

After Spades came Diamonds, and while you had spent so much time with talking, it had switched to Clubs. Just a second ago, the lamp started to glow over Spades, and you should have a couple of minutes  more until it swaps back to Clubs.

Chishiya doesn’t even hesitate to answer. “It’s Clubs.”

You gasp as you check the monitors twice, where the green lamp clearly is still not lit over the Clubs room, but over the Spades one. Could it be that Chishiya is wrong about this one, that he was either too fast or too slow with his inner clock? Or could it be that…

The way he turns his head towards the camera it feels as if he locks eyes with you, and the smirk on his face can’t be mistaken. Should you tell the big guy that it’s wrong? That going through the Clubs door will kill him?

You hesitate. Staying quiet will equal murder, but isn’t that what you have wanted since the Jack of Clubs? Isn’t it this man you want to see dead since he deserves it more than anyone?

And yet… he has been on your side during the game. Not that he has been nice to you or to anyone in general, but he didn’t accuse you of being the King. He even brought in arguments of why it wasn’t you.

But you don’t need him to survive. Four people already made it, and with Chishiya and you, it will be six. You have won the game already.

Mr. Muscle grins into the camera, and the evil laughter once more causes shivers to run down your spine.

“I want to hear it from you too. Suffer for me once more, little mousie!”

And this is the point where you decide to keep quiet. You speak up with clenched teeth, and you can see how the grin widens at the sound of your smitten voice. “Yes. It’s Clubs.”

He doesn’t stop laughing while he opens the door, and with no doubt is he already feeling the joy over the punishment awaiting you. He has heard the pain in your voice, both from your already tortured body and the fact that this time, you’re actually killing someone knowingly, and he obviously is mistaking the pain for the shock.

Only that the punishment doesn’t come, and he realizes as soon as the door closes behind him and the other door remains locked. The joy immediately turns to horror mixed with sheer anger, and once more you’re glad that those rooms don’t have audio transmission. But you don’t need audio to understand what he’s shouting, and you wonder what this room has prepared for him. You have seen cold, you have seen flames…

In this room, the deadly force is not visible. The big guy falls onto his knees, hands pressed against his head and eyes wide open so they almost pop out of his head. Blood starts to flow out of his nose, out of his eyes, out of his ears. So much that it covers his hands, his clothes, the carpet under his body, until his eyes turn white and he slumps to the ground.

Watching him suffer causes you to tremble even more than you already to, and as hot tears stream down your face, you can’t wait for the floor to split so the body will disappear from your sight.

I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

Sweatpants stands in the middle of the room, unable to move as he seems to be honestly stunned for the first time since the game started. With huge eyes, he’s staring into the camera, and you notice the surprise in his voice as well. “Wait, there- there was no punishment. You lied to him!”

You swallow heavily, and you don’t dare to look back to the upper monitor even though the room is empty now. When you finally manage to speak, your voice is feint and fragile. “We killed him.”

“He hurt you.” No signs of regret accompany this statement. Is this the only reason Chishiya did this? As an act of revenge to put right what the big guy has done to you?

It’s an eye for an eye, not a life for a cut.

But you can’t put the blame on Chishiya now. It would have been easy for you to correct him and to lead the big guy to the right door. The truth is you didn’t want to help him.

Now it is too late to turn back anyway, and there’s no need to. The game is as good as over.

“It doesn’t matter,” you repeat it out loud to the remaining two men inside the other room. “We have won. With you and me, there will be more than five survivors.”

Chishiya hums in agreement, turning towards Sweatpants with his hands still tucked into the pockets. “No one really cared to reveal the King. Aren’t you disappointed that you were not interesting enough?”

Sweatpants puts him off with an elegant move of his hand and leans against the table with the fruits, just like he did at the beginning of the game.

“They didn’t care much about the King because they would live no matter what, as long as enough people made it out of this. They trusted in you to guide them! And this is what you made of it.” He shakes his head in disbelief, yet with a grin on his face.

“You were so clever! You even figured out the sequence. I didn’t even know there was one, heh! And you would have won, you would have lived, if you didn’t sacrifice this man for whatever he has done to you in the past. But now…”

“You’re wrong,” you interrupt him with a harsh voice. “We need five players to win. Maths might not be your strength, but four people already made it. There is no way we could lose now.”

The grin turns into a wide smile as Sweatpants reaches for a fruit skewer. He watches it for a moment, then pulls the upmost strawberry off the skewer with his teeth. It seems so out of place how he savors the flavor of the fruit, and he doesn’t even look at you when he answers.

“Ahh, listen to yourself. So sure about victory, it almost touches my heart… But didn’t you say yourself that it’s not sure if the old woman survived? And-“ he strips off another piece of fruit and chews it with relish, “there is something you should know about these lovelies here.”

Chishiya doesn’t wait for him to chew another one. “They’re poisoned.”

And this is when you remember. How the schoolgirl has put some of these into her mouth as well while she prepared the skewers. How she had held her stomach, the paleness of her skin.

It hadn’t been the game making her feel sick.

It had been the fruits.

“Oh no.”

“Oh yes!” The smile on his face seems so honest and pure, like a child unwrapping Christmas gifts. “With the little girl gone, three of you remain on the other side. Assumed the old lady survived. If she died as well, it will be such a wonderful game over for you…”

“Assumed she survived, then we’ll still be five even with the girl gone. And since you ate those fruits, you are fully aware that you won’t get out of this alive.”

“My clever friend, this is a Hearts game. Not all things can be solved with mathematics in here. Oh, it’s wonderful when people cherish the hope that they can win. I am glad that the first group failed, because I would have missed the twists and turns this time!”

Sweatpants throws away the now empty skewer and ponders what he will choose next. “I didn’t sit on that chair during the first round either. It was someone just like you, honest and pure, but weak. She passed out after the fourth one made it through, and they were not clever enough to see through the sequence. They waited for her to regain consciousness, but in the end, they just chose a door and hoped one of them would make it. There was only one more needed to win, and five people left, so quite high chances, right?”

He turns away from the table with a collection of apple slices, strawberries and grapes, stuffing them into his mouth piece after piece. “They were just not lucky. Not a single one chose the right door, and all of them had to die. Imagine the despair on the four people on the other side when they realized that no one else was coming through those doors! Death in its finest beauty.”

“I don’t see what this has to do with us,” you spit towards the monitors. Why is Chishiya still listening? Why won’t he just walk through the next door and finish this?

“Let me tell you a secret, since I am impressed about how far you’ve come.” This man just ate poisoned fruit, and he still remains calm as if he was just chatting with someone he met on the street. And there’s nothing evil, nothing devious about his smile when he looks into the camera. Just a hint of… pity?

“Both of you have to survive, so either Romeo relies on his calculations – which won’t help him any longer – or you tell him and take the last punishment willingly. Well… I don’t have to remind you this is a Hearts game, which means there is always a twist.”

“…which is?”

Sweatpants gives a wink into the camera, emptying the remaining fruits on his hands. “The last shock will kill you.”

He sighs, cleans his hand on his pants and claps them once. “So clever, and yet so foolish. So utterly foolish! Who could have ever foreseen a splendid outcome like this? I wish I could witness the end of you two, I really do.”

You don’t have to ask what he’s up to. Chishiya was right: he wouldn’t have eaten those fruits if he expected to survive this. He wants to sacrifice himself so he won’t give you a last chance of winning easily. But is it true? Will the last shock kill you?

“One last thing before I leave.” The King halts right in front of the Hearts door, hand already stretched out to open it but face turned to the camera once more. “What name did you have for me?”

“Sweatpants.”

He chuckles, just another happy and unconcerned sound. As if he wasn’t about to get himself killed. “Hah! I like that.”

And with that, he’s gone.

You witness how he stops in the middle of the carpet, arms stretched out as if he wants to greet death. Dozens of needles burrow themselves into his skin, red streaks quickly covering his body like a morbid painting. Yet this cursed smile won’t leave his face, not even as the floor swallows his corpse.

At least he died with the grace of a King.

 With the heavy silence falling on you once more, you close your eyes for a second. With nothing else to focus on, your own condition becomes painfully clear to you. The headache feels as if it is about to blow up your head, and you don’t feel your hands and fingers anymore since they have long turned into a single mass of fire. Yet your limbs won’t stop to tremble, and cold sweat causes your clothes to feel damp.

Will you survive the next punishment?

“I know which door it is. You don’t have to take a risk.”

It’s a miracle to you how Chishiya manages to remain so calm, and when you open your eyes again, he hasn’t moved an inch. You search for the green light, and suddenly you realize Sweatpants was right. Maths won’t be of any use here.

“I don’t think you should do this on your own. Let’s work together once more and leave this game behind.”

“You don’t trust me.”

It’s not a question, it’s more a statement. You shake your head even though he can’t see it. “I’m not questioning your intelligence, Chishiya. But I do not trust this game.”

A deep frown remains on his face while he takes his time to answer. “So you want to risk it and put up with the shock?”

“Maybe he was lying. No, I am sure he was lying. This last punishment won’t kill me. He just said that to irritate us. I told you before that I can handle the pain.”

Not that you can do it, but more that you have to. There is no other option.

“You can’t.”

“Have faith in me, just for once. Okay?”

Chishiya wants to shake his head, you can see it. He already turns towards the doors as if he doesn’t wait for you to talk, but in the end, he hesitates. His next words are hard to understand, because he doesn’t face the camera, but you get them nonetheless.

“You have ten seconds to decide if you want to stay sane.”

But you don’t need those ten seconds, and you’re not risking that Chishiya will take the wrong door. You take a deep breath and close your eyes, though you know that you can’t prepare for the final shock.

“It is Hearts.”

[yikesharringrove]

oh god okay feel free to ignore this if you want, idk? but um ive been really struggling with eating lately (like i just kinda panicked about the thought of eating?) and you're really good at writing all this kind of stuff so maybe billy struggling with eating after starcourt (for medical and mental reasons) and steve helping but still bring gentle and encouraging (totally okay if this is a sensitive for you or if you don't want to write it 💕)

This is pretty heavy.

Under the cut for medical stuff, disordered eating, talks of throw up (nothing graphic), me projecting.

The first bit under the cut is my medical story, so skip that if you would like.

Read on Ao3

-

So, oof. A little background. I spent three years misdiagnosed when I was young. I was so sick and in so much pain (one of my organs had literally died) that I couldn’t eat. If I did, I was in such severe pain I would throw up. I was 5 feet tall and weighed 62 pounds. If I had lost 2 pounds, I would’ve had an intestinal feeding tube. The doctors thought I just had an eating disorder from doing ballet. They would look at my chart, see another chronic illness I have, and blame my pain on that. They found what was wrong BY ACCIDENT and fixed it within a few hours in one (1) surgery.

So this is based largely on that.

-

He pushed the mashed potatoes around the plate.

“I thought hospital food was supposed to be like, bad. This is pretty alright.” Steve had wolfed down the plate he had gotten himself, not paying much attention to how the plate he had brought Billy was still full.

“Yeah. It’s okay.” He had taken one bite.

He felt fucking sick.

The thought of food, of something in his sore stomach, made him want to hurl.

“You’re not eating?” Steve’s eyebrows were scrunched up, concerned.

“Don’t feel too good.”

“Would something sound better? I could get you whatever you wanted.”

“Um, just like a ginger ale or something. Then I’ll try eating again.” That was his go-to. Ginger ale or Sprite, the carbonation helped his stomach enough that he could force some food down for a while.

Steve got him a few cans from the vending machine.

He ended up taking three bites of potato.

-

Steve made dinner when he finally got to come home.

They had decided he would move in with Steve, “live” in the bedroom across the hall, but they both knew he would be spending the most time in Steve’s room.

He had just made buttered noddles, nothing that would be hard on Billy’s weak stomach, but he had made the noodles from scratch.

And Billy was just staring at them.

“You feeling okay?”

“Just, uh, you know. Stomach’s kinda off.” Steve got him a can of ginger ale from the fridge, slid it to him with a bright smile.

The gesture was sweet, but Billy just didn’t want to risk it.

Every night he spent heaving into the toilet, it made his muscles seize and hurt. It made his throat burn for hours, made him feel like he was wasting away to nothing.

-

He always used the same hole on his belts.

He knew it was the right one from the way the leather was stretched a bit, the buckle leaving indents on it.

But that was too big now.

Did nothing to hold up his pants.

His pants that used to fit.

He tightened his belt.

Two notches. He was two notches thinner.

-

Billy could hear the blender when he woke up.

He was curious as to what Steve was doing, what the fuck he was blending up.

He came downstairs, found Steve with grocery bags all around the kitchen.

“Hey! I’ve been doing some research.” He poured the thick smoothie into a blender. “I think this might be easier for you to eat and keep down. There’s protein powder and some ginger, that should help keep your stomach calm, and spinach and some fruit and stuff.” Steve was fidgeting with his hands.

“Thank you.” Billy sat down with it.

Steve let him take his time, let him drink it in tiny sips.

He was about halfway through when he threw it all up.

-

Billy hadn’t eaten in two days.

But he also hadn’t thrown up in just as long.

Steve poked a plate of plain toast towards him.

Billy stared at it.

Steve sighed.

“Will you just, take one bite? For me?”

He took the smallest bite he possibly could.

Steve let him wait ten minutes before he pushed the toast back towards him.

They continued that until Billy finished the toast, waiting a while between each bite in order to make sure it wasn’t on it’s way back up.

He kept it down almost the whole night, until the pain in his stomach flared again and he was heaving into the large mixing bowl Steve kept next to the bed.

-

Billy was laying on the bed, curled into himself, clutching his stomach.

Steve had been behind him almost all day, rubbing his back, talking in a low soothing voice.

He left when there was a pounding on the door. He left the door open, Billy could hear Max’s voice.

“Jesus, Max. You’re a mess.”

“It’s, it’s raining. And I fell.”

“Why were you skateboarding in the rain?”

“I um, I remembered, whenever Billy felt sick, he liked eating lime popcicles, and I went to Melvald’s, and I got some.”

She sounded hysterical.

“Alright, thank you, Max. Thank you. Let’s get you cleaned up.” He heard them coming up the stairs, going into the bathroom on the landing he kept the first aid kit in.

They were in there for a while before Steve came in, talking in that soft voice he always uses.

“Billy, Max is here.”

It felt like a feat for him to roll over.

Her knees were bandaged up, and her face was splotchy.

“Hey, Shitbird.”

“You look like shit.” He huffed a laugh.”

“Feel like it, too.” Her lip trembled. He didn’t want that. “Hey, thanks for the popcicles. Can I get one? Lime, right?”

“Yeah. Lime.” Steve helped him sit up, gave him one of the popcicles.

It tasted good, and the cold was nice on his throat.

And he even kept the whole thing down.

-

Steve was standing next to Billy as they waited for the doctor.

He had lost nearly thirty pounds since he’d been home. His muscle was nearly entirely gone.

“Steve, just, play it cool.”

“I will not.” He had his pissed off mom face on, and Billy knew he had no qualms about yelling at a doctor.

“Steve, this is just, my life now.”

“No. I refuse to accept that.”

“You yell at Owens every time we’ve come in for the past four months, Steve.”

“And I’m gonna keep yelling until shit gets fixed.”

There was a rap on the door before Dr. Owens let himself in.

“You need to help him.” Billy huffed as Steve started in immediately.

“Um, good morning to you both.” Dr. Owens looked between the two of them.

“Billy can’t eat without throwing up. Look at him. He’s fucking wasting away.”

“Steve-”

“No. I can’t take it anymore. There is something fucking wrong. It is your job to fix it.”

Owens’ eyes were wide, Steve was on a roll.

“Every day, every day he can’t eat anything. He won’t because he’s in pain, and he’d rather not eat than throw everything up. And you need to help him.”

Owens was quiet.

“Let’s run some tests.”

-

Billy was in imaging within a few minutes. He had an x-ray done of his abdomen, and Owens ordered several blood tests.

They were in another room, Billy was having an ultrasound done of his entire stomach.

The tech was looking at his intestines, finding everything normal.

“Look, you’re already doing all this, can’t you just kinda, poke around?”

“I’m not sure-”

“Just kinda,” Steve made a vague wiggling gesture around Billy’s stomach.

She gave him a look.

But she sighed, moving the wand up his body.

“Huh?”

“Wait, what’s huh?”

“Um, excuse me.” She left in a hurry.

“Wait, you think they found something?” Billy’s eyes were side.

“If they did, and I was right, you’re never gonna hear the end of it.” Billy rolled his eyes.

The tech returned with an older woman, pointing at the screen and discussing in low voices.

And then the doctor was leaving again, and the tech was wiping his stomach.

“So, we’re going to prep an operation room. We’re going to have you in there as soon as we can.”

“Wait, what?”

“His gallbladder is infected.” Steve was fucking grinning when he turned back to Billy.

“So, I was right?”

“Steve, read the room. Surgery.”

“Oh, fuck.”

-

Steve was biting his nails.

The chairs in the waiting room were stiff and uncomfortable.

They were given the run down. Billy’s gallbladder had become infected. Probably due to the traumatic situation of his injuries and the many surgeries it took to put him back together.

It was almost completely dead inside his body, causing severe pain and all the vomiting. The doctor had explained that his rapid weight loss had probably only hurt it more.

They said it would take about two hours to remove.

Steve had been staring at the large clock as the two hours clicked by.

It was creeping up on two and a half, and he was getting fucking antsy.

He scrambled to his feet when a nurse called him back.

“You family?”

“Yeah, I’m his brother.” It was easier to lie. He needed to see him.

“He should be waking up very soon. It’s easier if there’s family. His surgery went well, the surgeons were able to remove his gallbladder with no other complications. He may be in pain and delirious when he wakes up, put that will pass, and we can give him more medicine if he needs.” They had stopped in front of a nondescript door.

Steve let himself in, taking the seat closest to Billy’s bed, taking his hand. His eyes were already blinking slowly. He smiled softly when he saw Steve.

“Pretty,” his voice was soft.

“Hey, Baby. I’m right here for you.”

“Thanks for, thanks for fightin’.” Steve smiled back at him, running a hand through his hair.

“Of course, Bill. I’ll always fight for you.”

“Love you.”

“I love you, too.” Billy smiled again. “You feelin’ okay? Need more meds?”

“Nah. Feelin’ good. Feelin’ high.”

“Yeah, they gave you the good drugs.”

“Good drugs.” He laid back in the pillow, his eyelids looking heavy.

“Go to sleep if you’re tired, Bill.”

“Don’t wanna. Wanna see you.”

“I’ll be here when you wake up again.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.” Steve kissed his hand.

[colormetheworld]

“delirious”

Found it in a 1st draft of “About Love” that never got off the ground. I love the Keys universe the most I think. I write in it a lot. 

I actually like this start better, but it never got an ending.

The song is “City Hall” by Vienna Teng 

you wanna see if there’s a word in my WIPs? go ahead. Ask, and if it’s there, I’ll post the snippet. 

TW: Rape & Assault

......

Me and my baby on a February Holiday. Cause we got the news. Yeah we got the news.  Five hundred miles and we’re gonna make it all the way Got nothin to lose. Got nothin to lose. 

It has been a long time since Maura’s heard her wife sing her own songs. Maura stands in the back of the little music hall, swaying slowly so that the little boy in her arms stays asleep. Unlike his twin brother, Asher refuses to sleep in the stroller. One of his mothers, preferably Jane, must be holding him when he drifts off. This last song, Jane’s latest, is his favorite lullabye, and she need only hum the first few bars for Asher’s eyes to blink heavily. 

In front of her, sitting on Constance's lap, Gracie stops her squirming and turns to look up on the stage. 

“Mama?” She calls out, perplexed. “Mama?” Before Constance has a chance to reach up and shush her. 

Jane takes the interruption in stride, looking up from her hands and into the crowd, smiling. 

“Hey baby,” she calls back. 

The audience chuckles as one. 

Gracie will not heed her Grandmother. “Mama, what you doing up there?” She calls, surprised. “What you singing to all these people?’ 

More laughter, and Jane adds a couple of bars to the break in her song, always attentive to her family, above everything else. 

“Yes, hon. I’m gonna sing these people a couple songs. They paid me to. Is that okay?” 

Grace sees nothing out of the ordinary with this situation. She sits forward on Constance's lap. 

“They paid?” She asks skeptically, and the laughter of the crowd is the largest yet. 

Jane laughs right along with them. “Nobody like your kids to keep you humble,” she jokes. “Am I right?”  She wraps the melody of the song back around to the beginning. “Let’s go again,” she says. “Now that everyone is up to speed.” 

She bends back over her piano to play the opening sequence again, and this profile, this long neck and these long dark locks. 

This is what Maura first fell in love with. The sight of it now makes her heart feel too full with affection. 

Me and my baby on a February Holiday.  Cause we got the news. Yeah we got the news Five hundred miles and we’re gonna make it all the way.  Got nothin to lose. Got nothing to lose.  Ten years waitin’ but it’s better late than the never we’d been told before We can’t wait one minute more…

And  just like that the music hall is wiped away.  Memory swallows the moment, plunging her back in time. 

...

Jane shivers against Maura’s chest. Her body is slick with sweat. “Please,” she says. “Please.” 

Maura pushes Jane’s hair off of her face, bending to kiss her forehead. “It’s going to be okay,” she murmurs. “The doctor said it might take a while for the meds to work, remember?” 

“My hands,” Jane moans softly. “Please. Charlie. It hurts.” 

Maura swallows hard, hesitating. “You’re safe,” she says quietly. It’s all she can think of to say. Aside from Jane’s odd nightmare, they have not deeply discussed her ordeal at the hands of Garrett Fairfield and Charles Hoyt. Maura had never found the right time to bring it up, and Jane seemed more than happy to let it stay in the past. 

Now here her girlfriend is, delirious, caught in the burning fever of pneumonia, and the grips of a flashback. 

“It hurts,” she moans, “It hurts. Gracie, I’m sorry.” 

Maura bends to kiss Jane’s forehead again, but pulls back when the brunette flinches. “It’s okay,” she says again. “You’re safe.” 

“I can’t hold out much longer. I’m not sorry for loving you, but I can’t…” She breaks off to cough, and it seems to tear her chest apart. 

Maura bites her lip. “Jane,” she begins. 

“Say it’s okay,” Jane interrupts. “He’s going to come back down and…” she shudders.. “I’m sorry I’m not as strong as you are.” 

“No,” Maura says, and she takes Jane’s hands in hers, kissing the palms, where the scars sit. “No. You’re the strongest person I know. It’s okay, my darling. You can give in.” 

“Stay with me,” Jane murmurs. She winds her hand into Maura’s sweater. “Please. Please.” 

“I’m right here, baby. Go to sleep.”

...

It is three days later, when Jane finds Maura and her mother in the reading room on the second floor. When Constance sees the look on Jane’s face, she excuses herself. 

“I’m glad you’re feeling better, sweetheart,” she says quietly as she passes. “Don’t be frightened.” 

Jane smiles, and then comes to take Constance's vacated seat. She puts out her hands for Maura’s. 

“Go ahead,” she says, not meeting her girlfriend’s eyes. “Ask. I want you to.” 

Maura lets her thumbs rub over the scars on the back of Jane’s hands. “Who did this?” 

“Charlie did,” Jane answers immediately, sounding determined. “He did it so I would stop fighting him.” 

“He...raped you.” 

Jane nods, still looking down. 

“What did Garrett want?” Maura asks, trying to keep her voice steady. She tries to focus on the trust her girlfriend is giving to her, and not the delirious whispering of the last two days that have made this conversation necessary. “Why did he do it?” 

“Because he loved her,” Jane says. “And he blamed me for her not loving him back.” 

“I’m sure that she loved him still. That-” 

“No, Maura,” Jane’s voice is rough, angry. “He loved her. Do you understand?” She looks up into Maura’s face, searching. “And when I found out, I did everything I could to keep him away from her.” 

It is almost too horrible to believe, but Maura does. Immediately. She remembers the wild look in Garrett Fairfield’s eyes the night he’d confronted her outside of her dorm room. She remembers the possessive way he talked about Grace. 

“Oh,” she says, not able to keep the tears from rolling down her cheeks any longer. “Jane.” 

“He wanted me to say I was sorry,” she drops her eyes back to her lap, to their hands, still holding on to each other. “I wasn’t sorry.” 

“Nor should you have been,” Maura says. “Can I touch your face?” 

Jane nods, a little jerkily, and Maura is relieved when her girlfriend leans heavily into her hand. 

It is the summer after Maura’s Sophomore year at Juilliard, and she is the top of her class. She has made more friends this year, though she still prefers to hang out with Susie, Frost, & Ian when possible. 

Her teachers like her. 

Her friends like her. 

She has been asked to pick up some Extras in the fall, and she is going to say yes. 

But nothing brings her more joy than to sit on a sun drenched couch in the reading room with her girlfriend, and imagine the future they are going to have together. 

“I love you,” She says softly, using both of her hands to tilt Jane’s face upwards. “I love you so much. You held on. You fought for her, even after she was gone. That means more than either of us can understand, I think.” 

Jane looks tired, but not unhappy, and she leans forward to put her head on Maura’s shoulder, breathing deeply, just the trace of a rasp left now.

“How did you get away?” Maura asks softly. She puts her hands into the hair at the back of Jane’s head. 

“I…” Jane hesitates. “It sounds stupid.” 

“It couldn’t,” Maura replies. 

“You don’t believe in ghosts.” 

Maura smiles. “How did you get out?” 

“Grace helped me,” Jane says, and she pulls back to search Maura’s face for disbelief. “I knew she wasn’t real. But it was like…” Jane shakes her head. “It was like she...took away my pain. Just for a little bit. But...Suddenly nothing hurt. I couldn’t feel my hands, or...how bad my hips hurt. I just. I ran.” 

Jane wipes her eyes roughly. “She helped me.” 

Maura kisses the side of Jane’s mouth. “I believe you,” she says 

 “Do you know what I said to Frost on the phone?” She asks, and her voice sounds a little more cheerful now. 

“Tell me.” 

“I told him that out of all the houses, I prefer the Hartford house the best, but that Worcester is a close second.”

Maura nods, not quite understanding why this is news. “I agree,” she says, smiling, although you have not yet been to our house on the coast of Spain.” 

Jane looks at her, scandalized, and Maura looks back, eyebrows raised. 

“What?” She asks finally. 

“What?” Jane shakes her head. “Maura, we're discussing favorite houses like they are shirts!”

Maura crinkles her brow. “I have favorites of those too, Jane,” she says reasonably, and when Jane lunges at her, gathering her up in her arms with a playful growl, Maura’s squeal is closer to a moan. 

They settle lengthwise on the couch, Jane resting her head on Maura's chest so that she can pull her hands through Jane's hair. 

“I felt that,” she says quietly. “Your hands in my hair. The whole time I was sick. So I never got truly lost.” 

Maura grins at the ceiling. “I'm so glad.”

[poorlilbeans]

Clinging on to Magic

IT Chapter two commission for the lovely @taylortut :D

(au where everything is fine and nothing hurts because i’m Babey)

“Hey, are you okay?” Eddie whispered. He never was great at whispering, and Richie’s face burned as he felt all the eyes at the table fall on him.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not eating.”

Shit, had it been that long since he’d taken a bite? Richie glanced around the table, and sure enough, everyone else’s plates were nearly empty.

“Oh. Zoned out, I guess,” he laughed, praying Eddie would just leave the matter alone. He didn’t though. He just kept staring, and Richie could practically feel the embarrassment burning holes in his resolve. “I’m just not that hungry,” he admitted.

“Does your stomach hurt?” Eddie ventured. His voice was soft, sweet, but Richie could already see him subtly shifting his chair away.

“No,” he answered honestly. It wasn’t enough. Seriously, were these guys aware of how intimidating it was, just staring at someone like that? He paused, waited for the conversation to pick up again- waited for all those eyes to move off of him and back to their food. When it didn’t happen, he leaned back in his chair, frustrated. “My throat, alright? My throat hurts,” he admitted, finally. His face burned ever hotter at the concerned stares of his friends.

“You’re sick,” Mike concluded. Beside him, Eddie breathed a sigh of relief that someone else had said the words, so he didn’t have to.

“Maybe. I don’t know. I’m fine, I just feel shitty. It doesn’t matter.”

“You’re kind of contradicting yourself,” Ben spoke up tentatively. Richie sighed, burying his face in his hands and knocking his glasses askew. Eddie’s heart flipped; he hated seeing Richie embarrassed like this… still, it was better than letting him stay out and continue to overexert himself, right? He leaned close to Richie’s ear, silently cursing himself for not noticing the heat radiating from his head earlier.

“No one’s going to be mad if you need to go home,” he whispered. Richie didn’t move.

“If you don’t want me here, you can just tell me,” he answered. He’d been hoping the teasing would be clear in his tone, but judging by the way his friends faces fell, it wasn’t.

“That’s not what I meant,” Eddie started, and god damn it he sounded so worried, so sad, and Richie felt like the biggest asshole on the planet.

“I know. I’m sorry, I just…”

“You just don’t feel well.”

“Yeah.” Richie leaned back in his chair again, a deep ache in sparking in his back at the movement. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s n-not your f-f-fault, Richie,” Bill placated from across the table.

“Yeah,” Bev added, “We really should’ve noticed something was up with the lack of shitty jokes all evening.” And Richie just looked so sad, so guilty… germs could be damned, and Eddie reached under the table and took his hand.

“I’ll drive you home, okay?”

“I can take a cab,” Richie said, eyes cast down.

“I know,” Eddie answered fondly as he rose from his chair, producing his car keys from his jeans pocket. “Let’s go.”

             “-chie?” Are you okay?”

“Hmmm?”

“There you are,” Eddie smiled, but it was a sad kind of smile. It made Richie feel sad, but it was a distant kind of sad; a liquidy, confusing sort of exhaustion was at the forefront, the kind that make it hard to talk and move and exist because he just couldn’t quite remember how.

“I said we’re here,” Eddie repeated. Getting the message, Richie reached over to unclasp his seat belt, a task that was suddenly unreasonably difficult. He tried one, two, three, four times and the damned thing finally clicked open. He turned proudly, only to startle when he realized that Eddie had already appeared beside him and opened the passenger side door.

“When’d you get so fast, Eds?” Richie mumbled, amazed, and wow, there was that smile again. It was so cute. It made it look like Eddie really, really loved him, and that was just absurd, right? He was just a comedian. He was a thing to be laughed at, not to be loved, but here Eddie was, looking at him with a dimply smile and a sparkle in his caramel brown eyes, and goddamn, that was just wonderful, wasn’t it?

           He leaned on Eddie maybe a little bit more than he needed to walking into his apartment building and waiting for the elevator, but he was warm and cool at the same time and it felt like magic. Richie was sure he couldn’t be blamed for clinging on to magic, right? And then the elevator dinged, and Richie cursed it for breaking the illusion,  for ending that moment of perfect quiet he’d found pushing his forehead into the soft crook of Eddie’s neck. He felt a moment of panic, then, because Eddie was tugging him into the elevator; he was almost home, and that meant Eddie was going to leave soon and he would be all alone! The thought was just unbearable and Richie felt himself tearing up before he could stop it. He sniffled reflexively, a gross, wet, deep gurgling sound rumbling through his sinuses, and the tears came faster at the humiliation. Then they were moving, up, up, up… it felt wobbly, and Richie found himself woozily shifting even more of his weight onto Eddie’s shoulder. Eddie’s hand was tracing a slow, soothing path around Richie’s back, his own quiet way of offering comfort; he was never quite sure what to do when Richie cried, but this… this was nice. The elevator dinged again and Richie whined against his will, the monster of cold loneliness looming ever closer.

“It’s alright, Rich, we’re almost there. You can lie down soon,” Eddie offered. Richie wanted to tell him that that wasn’t the problem- that he was misinterpreting his tears, but Eddie was only trying to help, so he kept his mouth shut.

           The two of them wobbled up to Richie’s apartment, and Eddie reached around into Richie’s pocket, tickling his hip to grab his keys. He twitched a little at the sensation, and felt a giggle bubble up his throat despite himself. Eddie’s mouth twitched upward, he couldn’t help but notice, but the deep crease between his brows didn’t ease as he practically carried Richie past the threshold and toward his bedroom.

           He was deposited on his bed, then, and a deep shiver ran up and down is spine as Eddie carefully palmed his forehead, his cheek, his neck.

“Shit, you feel really hot… you have a thermometer, right?” Eddie asked, already up and skittering toward the bathroom.

“I already know I’m hot,” Richie called after him. “Everyone knows! I’m smoking hot!” Eddie didn’t answer, seemingly preoccupied with making an absolutely ungodly amount of noise clattering around in the cupboard and the medicine cabinet. Richie closed his eyes, his headache making a very unwelcome reappearance in response to all the racket. The pain seemed to ease off moments later, though, when cool fingers started stroking his head, combing through his curly hair.

“I couldn’t find it… or any meds for that matter. Where do you keep your cold and flu stuff?”

“Mnn?” Richie eloquently replied, already feeling Eddie’s gentle touch soothing him to sleep. The fingers left his hair, much to his dismay, and reappeared moments later to tap him repeatedly on the forehead. “Heyyyyy,” he whined opening his eyes a crack.

“Where do you keep your medicine and your thermometer?” Eddie repeated.

“Oh,” Richie chuckled deliriously, taking Eddie’s wrist and nuzzling into the palm of his hand. “I don’t have any.” Eddie drew a long, trembling breath, a familiar look of panic settling into his expression.

“Well, you need some. I’ll go out to the convenience store and get you some stuff, alright?”

“Noooo, please!” Richie blurted out, embarrassment returning a little at the high, childish pitch his voice took on. “Just stay for a little longer, please?” After a long pause, Eddie sighed.

“Fine. I’ll stay until you fall asleep, alright? Then I’ll go shopping, and I’ll be back before you even wake up.” He sat back on the bed, smiling a little when Richie began snuggling his hand again. Then, he stopped, and forced all the sad sweetness he could muster into his dark brown eyes as he pouted,

“Will you hold me?” He watched with some (okay a lot) satisfaction as Eddie blushed, but after a beat, he complied, and carefully climbed into the bed with him. Richie unashamedly wrapped his arms around his waist, whatever reservations he normally held completely burned away by fever.

“Have I mentioned how hot I am?” Richie asked as Eddie reached down and pulled his glasses off of his face.

“Yes,” Eddie laughed. “Thrice now, I believe.”

“Mhm,” Richie hummed. Without the barrier of his glasses in his way, he smooshed his face into Eddie’s chest wishing his nose wasn’t so stuffed so he could breathe in the comforting scent of his deodorant. “And my dick is huge.”

“Uh huh, I’m sure it is…” Eddie’s lovely fingers reappeared in his hair, and for the first time all day Richie felt completely, one hundred percent at peace. The world was still spinning, and his throat, his head, his… his everything was all aching, but with a cuddle like this, how could he complain, really? The rise and fall of Eddie’s chest as he restrained his laughter jostled Richie’s head up and down, and the world spun up, up, up, until he was floating a way into sweet, quiet unconsciousness.

             Eddie’s heart was pounding as he shuffled up and down the aisles of the pharmacy. Thermometer, Tylenol, Asprin… should he get some Advil, too? Maybe he should, just to be safe. Pills or liquid, though? Shit, he should’ve asked… Eddie quickly felt his chest tightening, his vision whiting out at the corners as he drew in panicked little gasps of breath. He needed to calm down. This was just a cold. Or the flu. Or Bronchitis. Pneumonia. The plague. Shit, shit…

Eddie ducked into an empty aisle, leaning down over his cart to catch his breath. In, out. In, out. Don’t panic. Everything is going to be fine. In, out. In, out.

           He carefully counted his breaths for the rest of the trips, scuttling around to find cough syrup, both drowsy and non-drowsy, juice, soup, throat lozenges… should he get Gravol? Richie said his stomach wasn’t upset, but… just in case. His tossed it in the basket. The bill was pretty expensive, and Eddie couldn’t help avert his eyes when he noticed the confused and ever so slightly judgmental look the cashier wore with every new package of medicine he scanned. Whatever, what did he know? Eddie just liked to be prepared! Shit, should he have gotten Gatorade? Fuck. Maybe he could grab some at the convenience store on the way back.

           Aside from a quick pit stop on the way, the trek back to Richie’s building was a blur. What if he was getting worse? Maybe he’d woken up and found himself all alone, with no medicine in him and no one to look after him, no one to tell him everything was going to be alright. With every passing moment Eddie got more worried and more frustrated with himself for not just taking Richie back to his own place. He practically sprinted all the way back, only stopping to catch his breath once he was in the elevator. Anticipation built as he jammed Richie’s key into the lock, ready to find him crying or being sick or something.

           Richie was still asleep. Of course he was, he was exhausted. What was Eddie thinking? He let out the breath he’d been holding, much of the tension bleeding out of his body in a huge rush. Knowing now that he had some time to spare, he set about stocking Richie’s kitchen with sick-friendly foods and beverages, and his bathroom cabinets with a lifetime supply off cold and flu supplies. Then, he made his way back into the bedroom with a glass of water in one hand, a brand new thermometer and Tylenol Cold and Flu in the other. He set the water on the nightstand and climbed back into the bed, hoping to coax Richie to wakefulness with a soothing hand on his head. However, the second he made contact Richie jolted awake with a violent, wet coughing fit. Heartbeat picking up speed once more, Eddie grabbed him by the shoulders and heaved him into a sitting position, trying to be as subtle as possible about holding his breath and turning his head away as Richie worked his way through the fit. Once he was finished, Eddie turned back, and sympathy swirled in his stomach as he took in Richie’s flushed, sweaty face, the tears welling up in his eyes from all the coughing.

“Hey, I’m back,” he said, wanting to kick himself for saying something so silly and obvious. “I’m going to take your temperature, okay?” Richie moaned and dropped his head on Eddie’s shoulder, but opened his mouth obediently nevertheless. Eddie placed the thermometer under his tongue, and tried his best to soothe him as he struggled to breathe around it. Once it beeped, Eddie’s heart skipped an anxious beat at the reading. Then again, any number on that thing would have probably made him feel anxious.

“I have pills for you, okay?” he coaxed, pleased when Richie sat up straighter, and swallowed the pills with a water chase and no complaint. He even took a few extra sips of the water before almost dropping the glass in his lap, sleepiness clearly taking over once more. Smiling fondly, Eddie took the glass and put it back on the nightstand, and helped Richie to lie back down.

“It’s alright, you can sleep now,” he cooed. Richie’s brows furrowed as he squirmed, trying to get comfortable.

“Will you stay?” he mumbled. Honestly, Eddie thought, how could he not?

“Of course, I will,” he answered. “I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

             Eddie woke with a jolt, with no memory of how or when he’d fallen asleep. This wasn’t his bed, or his room…

The memories all came whirling back when he heard a distressed whimper beside him. He fumbled to turn the light on, and found Richie still sleeping, but not restfully. He was thrashing about, moaning and whimpering and crying. Panicked, Eddie grasped at his shoulders and shook, desperate to save him from whatever horrible dream had him so upset. Richie woke with a gasp, which turned into a cough, which turned into several coughs and then a few hiccuped sobs.

“Hey, hey, hey, I’m here, you’re alright,” Eddie tried, with no idea if what he was saying was helpful. It must have been, though, because Richie stopped crying and met his eyes, the wild terror in his own dying down a little. “You’re alright,” Eddie repeated. “You were just having a bad dream. You’re safe.” Wordlessly, Richie scooted closer, clinging to Eddie like he wanted to just straight up climb inside of him. “Shh, it’s alright. Did you want to talk about it?” Eddie asked, not really expecting an answer.

“You were dead…” Richie whispered, and Eddie’s heart flipped. “You… there was this wolf following us, and it had yellow eyes and then…” he sniffled, burying his face in Eddie’s hip.

“It isn’t stupid,” Eddie prompted. Richie sniffled.

“It turned into a clown and it was ripping you apart. I was watching, and it was just ripping pieces off of you and eating them, but you weren’t dead yet. You were alive and screaming but I couldn’t move, and then he ate your heart and he… you…” Richie’s breath came in quick gasps for a moment before he broke off into delirious crying.

“It’s alright, it wasn’t real. I’m here,” Eddie whispered. He rubbed Richie’s quaking back, whispering soothing words until his sobs slowed to a stop, and held him tight until they both fell asleep again.

           When he woke next it was morning, and he was awakened by the harsh sound of Richie coughing. He sat up.

“Are you okay?!” he asked, raising a gentle hand to Richie’s back. “Do you need anything? Water?” Recovering from the fit, Richie raised an eyebrow, seemingly surprised by Eddie’s panic.

“I’m fine,” he rasped, and they both cringed at the gravelly sound of his voice. He blushed when Eddie reached out to feel his forehead.

“You feel a lot cooler,” he breathed, and for a moment they just looked at each other; Eddie could practically feel crackling static between them. Feeling his own face heat up, he pulled back. “I’ll get you something for that cough. Oh, and are you hungry? What do you want for breakfast?”

“I’d like some Spaghetti please,” Richie wheezed, grinning and offering a wink. Eddie rolled his eyes.

“I’m serious, you need food in you.”

“Won’t you cuddle me first?”

“No. Food first.” Eddie did his best to sound stern, and Richie pouted for a moment, before quickly recovering.

“It’s fine, I’ve got a great cuddle session planned with your mom later tonight.”

“Just for that you’re getting unflavoured Buckley’s.”

“Nooooo,” Richie whined. Eddie smiled, relieved to be bantering again.

“Nope, it’s too late. Hell Juice for you, motherfucker.”

“Damn right I’m a Mother Fucker.”

“Fuck off.”

[youeverfeelcursed]

On the Narrative of Last of Us Part 2 (3/3)

So this should be the last part on the narrative but I’ll probably post more thoughts on characters, representation, maybe on some details of the gameplay that just made me wish I could design something like this and most likely a text on where do I think this franchise is going to. 

I will also check and fix the previous posts as I know there’s typos and some mismatched data and maybe some timelines confusing. Logically, it comes with posting at my 3am and working from memory and not notes. 

That said, lets just move onto what I hope is interesting enough for people to read these old woman’s ramblings. For anyone still reading, thank you very much for your attention, it’s been a while since I truly enjoyed analizing an art piece.

(Note: I’m marking this post for rechecking as I feel its a bit convoluted. I blame it being 4am.) 

We ended the previous Act 3 (Abby’s Act) with a overhead shot (or aerial if you prefer) of Ellie and Dina on different sides of the shot, close but separated with Ellie being bathed by a red light and both represented in a descending oblique line from Dina to Ellie. 

I find it a wonderful shot that represents Ellie’s story in few and simple details. 

(For those interested, the name in the screenshot is from MkIceAndFire a No commentary channel I follow, go check him out!) 

From here, we jump to what I called the respise intermission, a short part but full of important details for the understanding of the next and final act. 

Like a moth to the flame, or how living sometimes is harder than dying.

The next part of Ellie’s story is as bittersweet as the best coffee you’ll ever have. We find her reminiscencing over Joel’s watch on hers and Dina’s bedroom. Putting it away we get to finally hold in our arms the cutest potatoe I’ve ever seen: JJ! Jesus that child is cute. And it’s obvious that Ellie loves him with all her heart. 

During this time we get to explore the beautiful they both probably restored to live in, in which it specially caught my attention how Ellie surprinsingly gets a full room for herself, whereas Dina seems to have a small space in the living room , where the photo of her sister sits.

I loved this part so much but I could feel that something was wrong, and it is. If we read Ellie’s diary we find out that she’s having trouble sleeping and dealing with people, needing to hide and what’s most likely profound PTSD thats later shown with her breaking down after herding all the sheep. 

A detail that I found important is the fact that she breaks down while having JJ in her arms, which has to be removed by Dina in case she hurts him during her seizure. Because remember that for Ellie protecting those she cares for is very important, so, does she feel she can protect them now?

Stop for a minute and think of how hard is for nowadays soldier to treat PTSD even with psychological support and meds, and how many of those war survivors end commiting suicide anyway. Now imagine that same in a world where violence is constant - yes they live peacefully in the farm but do you really think they don’t have to deal with any straggler? - and there’s basically zero to none mental health support.

Thats where it is important to pay attention to the moment when Ellie is coming back from hunting, how she cleans her face and takes a deep breath and puts her mask on - an obvious referal to her words in her diary - just before going back to Dina and JJ. 

I mean this is not the face of a person fully happy, its the face of a person thats putting her best front but catastrophically failing her inner battle. 

Tommy’s visit manages to break any remainer of the mask she tried to maintain so hard. It is obvious how while he tells her how he found information about Abby that with every word she breaks a little bit more. The trembling, tight shut lips and her open wide eyes that look as hopeful as they look lost. 

If this were another world, one in which I believe Ellie could get help, I would have hated that she left. But she says it herself, she doesn’t sleep, she doesn’t eat, she has a full room for herself so she can have space and even so she leaves for long times alone. She’s not really living, she’s riding the waves as they come but never truly enjoying it because by now her trauma is so deep I would have been surprised that she stayed. 

Because when Tommy talks about Abby, she feels a light, a hope of being able to just pour all of this shit out of her. Abby is not even important anymore, shes just a barrier for Ellie for her own liberation from her demons. Or thats what she thinks. 

She truly does JJ and Dina, but she’s completely broken inside. She’s missing pieces and for her, this is a chance of regaining them. It’s not even about vengeance anymore, it’s about rest. An end. Closure. 

What comes around, goes around. Or how Santa Barbara was the so needed eye opening. 

I was truly happy to see Abby and Lev being kind of silly and well, happy. They are the example of how you can heal when you learn to forgive both yourself and others. A extreme image compared to what we’ll see from Abby next time.

Fast-forward to Ellie after leaving the Rattlers village. Look at Ellie, she’s slightly delirious - Abby, Abby, Abby, Abby... - completely battered, skinny, with a fucked up side, half limping and pulling through out of sheer desesperation. She needs to do this, because if she doesn’t everything she left behind - Dina, JJ, Jackson - will be for nothing. She says it herself in her diary, she cannot think of that. 

And it’s funny. It’s funny there she goes. She helps Abby down and follows both of them to two small boats where she makes a scranny and completely eaten up Abby battle with her in exchange of not hurting Lev. 

The battle is sad. Abby contrary to Ellie had started healing so she didn’t want to battle. But it’s sad, these two beautiful human beings battling against each other as shadows of what they used to be, eaten away by life, hate and stupid decisions. You just feel like being over it because by this point it just feels completely stupid to keep warring. 

And there, Ellie doesn’t kill Abby. We get a flashback of Joel playing the guitar that stops her from killing her. 

And it’s funny, it’s funny because without Ellie both Lev and Abby would be rotting in those pillars. She left her home to kill a woman and ends saving both their lives! Why would she do that? 

We end this Act 4 with Ellie alone, watching the last remains of her flame disappear into the nothing. Rock bottom. You cannot go down further. That’s what it means. She left her family, Tommy is crippled and kind of hates her, Jesse is death, Joel is death, Ryley is death.

 And yet she left Abby leave. But why? 

The answer to all this crazyness is in the last flashback of her and Joel and a few words that are thrown into the night. 

“I was supposed to die in that hospital. My life would’ve fucking mattered. But you took it from me!”

Purpose. 

Yes, purpose. A meaning to her life. A meaning that has been ripped from her hands multiples times in situations out of her control. Is this what she really wants? Her life to revolve around vengeance? Is this what she’s choosing? 

So for once, she decides for herself and she decides that no. She doesn’t want that path. It’s not enough anymore. 

Ellie was supposed to die with Riley, but she survived and found out that’s she’s immune. 

Ellie traveled from one side to another of USA to be the solution to humanity’s problem. To help create a vaccine, whatever the cost. She was ready for it, she was ok with it. But it was ripped from her and lied about it multiple times. 

Imagine thinking you’re immune but that it means absolutely nothing. After getting yourself mentally ready for whatever it would happen, you are told that you’re useless. That you cannot help. That you’re worthless. 

Worthless. 

She ends in Jackson, And learns she’s been betrayed by the person she trusted most, that she could have meant something instead of just living taking care of cows and patrolling. 

It was impossible for Ellie to remain the same even before Joel’s death. Because Ellie is a very complicated character made of survivor guilt, a need to have a purpose in life, too many personal loses and self hating. Not only that, but all of this happens during her adolescence, a time which is hard to deal already without all these traumas piling up. 

Joel’s killing is what makes the bomb explode. Suddenly she can do something, she can leave Jackson and she can revenge him. Again, purpose. She can feel alive because she’s got finally a direction. It’s just not the correct one, because we all know that hate is a terrible guide but for her, is the only guide amids the fog. 

Ellie is a character that has been lost from the moment she learned she could have helped humanity. Chasing Abby was literally the easy path to take to give some meaning to her life. 

When she was with her family at the ranch, I truly believe she wanted her purpose to be to protect her family, but it was something impossible for her to do in her condition. She tried hard, but she couldn’t do it. Her diary again sheds some light on these, on how she feels she has nothing else to give to them. 

We know that, if Joel hadn’t been killed, she could have healed given enough time. She could have forgotten him. She could have find a motivation in Jackson. But there’s so much you can push something until it completely breaks. 

I think that, at the end of the game, when she walks from the ranch she realizes she cannot keep going like this. That if she wants her life to mean something, she has to do it herself instead of just waiting for it to happen. And I feel I know which way she will take next and why. 

Although the ending might seem sad, I found it strangely positive. The circle comes to a end, the guitar that Joel cleaned in the first seconds of the game, is put down by an Ellie lacking two of her left hand fingers impossible, to play it again that way. It is an act of moving on, but not of forgetting. 

Of finally attaining peace of mind, and the chance of recovering herself. 

[blueyesandleatherjacket]

A Taste Of Christmas, 3/6

Volume: 1.

Number of parts: 3/6.

Pairings: Metacrisis Nine x Rose.

A/N: Sequel for The Summertime Of Our Lives. Written for doctorroseprompts' fall fic bingo and ficmas challenge. Fall fic bingo: Chill, Ghost, Mug, Tent, Free. Ficmas challenge: Gingerbread, Garland, Eggnog, Peppermint, Tagging @thebookster on her demand.

“Christmas is a time when you get homesick - even when you're home.” - Carol Nelson.

CHAPTER 3:

The house was smelling like gingerbread and sweets and happiness was dripping through every window and door of the place. The Doctor was busy hanging garlands and fairy lights on their home. Wrapped into warm clothes, a tools’ belt around his waist, he was ever so seriously accomplishing his mission. He was even whistling a music from centuries ago. The TARDIS was always customising herself according to the seasons and holidays. He never had anything to do then – not that he cared about all of that – and he had to trust his incredible instincts in terms of decoration. For such a work, he should be rewarded with a glass of eggnog he was distilling in Rose’s workshop. Rose wasn’t very happy with the installation but she agreed that it was the safest place to keep Tony from playing with it. The Doctor rubbed his hands together and blew on them. A small cloud of white smoke formed itself in the chilly air. It was getting chiller and chiller with every passing minute or was it an impression? He smiled at his decoration. Rose and Tony would love it. He raised his head, looked at the clear skies. White flakes were starting to fall. Snow. The first snowflakes wee falling from the sky to complete the perfection of this work of art. This universe could bring some magic when it wanted. It was adding a tiny bit of authenticity to this Christmas they were creating. For Rose and him, it would bring nostalgia. For Tony, it would bring wonder and amazement. Jackie would go after them for putting such ideas in his head when he had to focus on his studies and become the perfect successor to Pete. What a boring life. He heard a noise behind him and swiftly turned around, all senses on alert. There was no one. He was being observed though. There was a tingle on the back of his neck. The surroundings were quiet. Too quiet. This wasn’t normal. Nature seemed to have shut up all of a sudden. The atmosphere was heavy, unbreathable. Something was terribly wrong. There was movement. He saw it in the corner of his eye. A black silhouette. He followed the move, found nothing. He wasn’t giving up. He never gave up on a mystery when all of him was screaming for danger and danger meant adrenaline. This was all he was asking for and his wishes were finally granted. He abandoned his task of decorating the house – he was thinking about adding a Christmas tree outside… or maybe two, one on each side of the front door – and followed the move of the dark silhouette like Hamlet had been following the spectre of his father. “Who are you?” he asked. The silhouette vanished. He was alone, on the edge of the cliff their house had been built on. The wind was blowing in his back so hard that he was stumbling. There had been this one time he had been standing like this, on the edge of an abyss, and Rose had pushed him away from there. Where was she now? The house looked so far away, lost in the blizzard. The silhouette returned, behind him, but it wasn’t so dark anymore. Instead, it was shining bright and an intense warmth spread in his body when it put a hand on his shoulder. This was familiar and unfamiliar all at once. He was surrounded by an infinite and passionate love soiled with such a deep sadness that it was unbearable. His warm compassionate smile faded when he turned around and his only human heart dropped in his chest. Rose was facing him, but not the Rose he was now married to. This one was a ghost from a past life with a golden halo. It was Rose and it wasn’t Rose. Why was Bad Wolf coming after him after all this time? After everything was finally over? “You shouldn’t be here. You can’t be here.” “You let me die, Doctor. You let the Vortex burn inside me until there was nothing left of me.” She was blaming him but none of this had happened. Not in his timeline. Not in her timeline either. He had kissed her and saved her and they lived many more adventures together. Bad Wolf hadn’t consumed her. Never would he have let this happen. “No. No, I saved you.” “Liar!” “I gave up on my life to save you.” He cupped her cheeks wet with tears. “I swear on my life I would never have been able to let a flower as beautiful as you wither and die. I can’t even forgive myself for leaving you with pretty boy.” “Your words are lies and your mind is full of hatred. You despise the Daleks but you are just like them.” “We are not the same, I’m not…” Arguing with the ghost of a person who could see all of the past, present, future and timelines that could ever have been was useless. Bad Wolf was a fusion between the selfless Rose and his faithful TARDIS. They knew everything about him, could see even the darkest corners of his mind and heart. His soul was bare and he had been declared to be a bad man. His hands fell by his sides. It was pointless to argue, pointless to explain himself. He had done and said things that would haunt him forever but there was one thing he refused to admit, one thing he knew for sure would never happen in any of the existing parallel universes: he would never let Rose, his so precious Rose, die in any possible way. “I have killed and lied and cheated for my survival. I have fought wars and been to Hell and back. I have done more harm to the universes than anyone, including Daleks, could ever do. I would have killed myself if you hadn’t been thrown on my way. Now what? You have saved me. You pulled me up, made me a better man. This human life will never be long enough to redeem myself from all those crimes. I’m ready to accept your sentence, whatever it is.” For a moment, there was nothing but the silence. Then, the ghost of Rose grabbed his shirt and pulled him close to her. Her lips pressed on his and for a second, he believed that he was given grace, but he was actually given a kiss of death. Bad Wolf was sucking all of his vital energy and he had no way to escape the fate he deserved. Rose was sat in the kitchen, a steaming mug of tea before her. It was getting cold but she wasn’t even noticing it. Her eyes were glued to the ticking clock above the door. Time was a ridiculous concept when you were traveling through it. It wasn’t when she had to sit there and stare. She had been sitting there for only a couple of minutes and it was already more than she could take. Tony was in the living room. He was watching over the bloody idiot she had as husband. An idiot who had no control on the weather, on the combination of factors that had led him to fall from that ladder he was on and knocked him out. He had been conscious when she had run outside to check on him. He had joked about the fact he couldn’t be easily killed and then, had started babbling deliriously and had fainted. The sonic screwdriver hadn’t detected anything abnormal or alarming that would have had them running to the hospital. The Doctor was in the clear, but he was stuck in a nightmare he wouldn’t wake up from. No reason to worry beside that but she was tempted to take him to the med bay of the TARDIS to confirm the sonic’s diagnosis. But there was Tony and as much as she loved her little brother, she was ready to unveil her secret time spaceship and have him telling the secret accidentally. “Rosie! He’s awake!” Rose jumped to her feet so fast that her chair fell to the ground with a loud noise. She didn’t stop and pick it up. She was already pressing an accusing finger in her husband’s chest and yelling at him for being a stupid idiot coming out and climbing on a ladder with such a wind outside. Her reaction was astonishing and exaggerated for Tony. He couldn’t understand why she was lecturing the Doctor when she was nearly devastated in the kitchen minutes ago. Adults were complicated to follow. Far from answering his wife’s wrath the way he should have – his daddy was always yelling louder than his mummy when there were arguments – the Doctor cupped her cheeks and kissed her as if he hadn’t seen her in years. There was something desperate in this kiss, in the way he was holding Rose so she would stay close. “What was that for?” Rose was breathless when the Doctor let go and she was as surprised as Tony by this reaction. Usually, the Doctor only laughed and shrugged the argument off. He was unimpressed by her anger. Not today. Today, he was welcoming it as a good thing. “I thought I’d lost you again.” This talk was gonna take longer than expected. The Doctor’s biggest fear was to lose her. He was often having nightmares about those days he almost lost her, about the day he really lost her to better find her again later. Rose sent Tony to get them peppermint alcohol and glasses for two. The Doctor needed a topper to pull himself back together. The strong taste of peppermint and alcohol brought him back to his usual self. “How the hell can you drink something like that? It’s even worse than Guinness and Butterbeer.” “That’s a local liqueur. Not quite bad once you’re used to it.” Yet, she herself made a face when she drank her shot in one go. Tony was trying to hold back his laugh at the Doctor’s face and way to get rid of the taste. The nightmare was gone, hiding in a corner of the human Time Lord’s mind. Rose gave him a piece of gingerbread she had been making with Tony earlier to completely cover the peppermint taste that was still burning his throat and stomach. They definitely knew how to create their alcohol here. He would have preferred a glass of eggnog instead of this terrible and strong beverage. “Tony wanted to build a tent in the living room to watch the arrival of Santa Claus. I told him you were the best for it and that you would help him as soon as you would have some free time.” “A tent? I’m the king of tents. I’m always free to build tents. You should have called me before I had the crazy idea of going outside.” He was now laughing about the situation. It would come back later, when Rose and him would be alone and able to speak without Tony eavesdropping. This wasn’t a talk for the little boy. A little boy who was excitedly making room for the huge tent the Doctor was promising him…

To be continued...

A Taste Of Christmas © | 2019 | Tous droits réservés.

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AO3 || TS.

[fallout4reactsblog]

the companions all strike me as pretty lonely people in one way or another, can i request the moment it sinks in for the companions that the sole survivor really cares about them and is here to stay and all that? thanks a bunch!!

Cait: The withdrawals were an absolute bitch. She’d run out of psycho a while ago, and she’d been living off of sole’s stuff until they ran out, too. So now they were back in Sanctuary with a batch cooking up, and until it was done Cait had resigned herself to huddling up on one of the beds, sole stroking her back softly.

“It’s okay,” they whispered soothingly. “You’re gonna be okay. It’s just a little while longer.”

They were always so nice to her. Of all the people they could have chosen, they’d opted for a junkie burnout cage fighter. They should have ditched her.

“You’re alright. I’m here. It’s all going to work out just fine.”

They were always there. Always.

It hit Cait that, if they were here now, they probably intended to stay forever.

Sole rubbed soft circles on her back, and she wondered if she should let them. There were better things out there. Could she let sole throw away her life for her of all people?

No, she couldn’t.

As soon as this was over, she was going to get clean, and be a person that was worth sole’s loyalty.

Curie: “Madam/Monsieur, do you have a moment?”

Sole turned, soft smile already on their face. “What is it, Curie?”

“You still miss your spouse very much, no?”

They frowned just a little. “It’s complicated. I miss them, sure, but not as much as I thought.”

“You feel guilt?”

“No, I-” They sighed. “Look, Curie, being with you has helped a lot, and I want to offer you something. To let you know how much I care about you.”

“A gift? You should not have.”

They just smiled and took Curie’s hand, slipping a simple gold band onto her finger. “This was Nate/Nora’s before the war. But, I’m moving on from that. I want you to have it, Curie.”

“You are-” She took a deep breath, heart pounding. “You are asking me to marry you? Zhat is a very long commitment, and think of your former spouse, and je ne pense pas que-”

“Curie.” They silenced her with their words. “I’m sure.”

Curie knew what marriage meant. She knew what came with it, a lifelong dedication and loyalty. This was a forever promise that sole was making to her. They weren’t going to leave her. They were going to stay.

“Oh, yes! Yes, mon dieu, I have never been so certain in my life.” She threw her arms around sole’s shoulders, and they picked her up to spin her in a circle, laughing.

Curie would never have to be alone again.

Danse: “Maxson, he’s not dangerous. He should be allowed to leave, and not have to die.”

He watched the scene unfold in front of him, his life hanging in the balance. Sole had a way with words, and as he watched he saw them slowly beginning to break Maxson down. Argument after argument was presented until he finally relented.

As soon as he was gone, sole slumped against him. “That was close.”

“That was reckless. You could have been exiled from the Brotherhood for that behavior.”

They shrugged. “It would have been worth it.”

“How is that possible?”

“You’re worth more to me than the Brotherhood is.”

His heart jumped in his chest. “What are you saying?”

“The truth. I’m going to do whatever I have to to help you, Danse. No matter what.”

He was a synth. He didn’t understand why they would do this. Why they would stay so loyal to an abomination, but their eyes were truthful. They meant it. They were going to stay with him, despite everything.

He leaned against them, too, trying to figure out what that meant for him. “I appreciate it.”

Maybe, just maybe, he could be in love.

Deacon: He loved undercover work. He loved it more with sole by his side, also in complete disguise as they sat at the Third Rail, waiting to pick up the next synth from the Memory Den.

“I’m telling you,” he said, waving his arms, “if we can get a pig into HQ it will be the best prank we have ever pulled.”

“Speaking of pigs,” a voice said from behind them, “why don’t you ditch this one? I can show you a much better way to spend an evening.”

They turned to see a tall blond man behind them. In one smooth motion, he placed a drink in front of sole. “On me.”

Deacon swallowed. This guy was, well, hot. Younger than he was, better-looking than he was, probably had fewer secrets and things to hide. He wouldn’t blame sole for ditching him. He almost expected it.

They scooped up the drink and handed it back to him. “No, thanks. I’m good.”

“Come on,” he said, holding it out again. “I bought you a drink. At least get to know me before you decide.”

“My mind’s made up,” they replied. “I’m very happy with the guy I already have.”

“Look, I get it. It’s embarrassing to leave in the middle of a date. But trust me, you’re not gonna regret it.” He grabbed their wrist, and they stared at it a moment before turning back to the bar.

“Hey, Charlie, can I get the trash for you?”

“Absolutely.”

Within minutes, sole had forcefully tossed the guy out of the bar and was back on a stool next to Deacon. He was reeling a little, because apparently they were happy to be with him. He wasn’t a date out of pity or desperation, they were genuinely happy to be with him. 

He hadn’t thought it was possible, but it seemed he was wrong.

Hancock: “He, who are you calling ugly, pal?”

“Sole.” He tried to hold them back, he really did. “Sole, honey, you don’t-”

“Hold my hat, Hancock.”

“Sunshine, he’s twice your size. You’re going to get yourself killed.”

“At least I’ll have done something meaningful with my life.” They pecked him on the cheek. “I’ll be right back.”

“He has a knife.”

“I have righteous fury. Let me handle it.”

He watched her beat down a guy in the middle of Cambridge. All he’d said was some derogatory remark about ghouls, and now he was practically begging for his life. Sole gave him the boot and strolled back, dusting off their hands.

“You really handled that guy, sunshine.”

They grinned, snatching their hat back. “Anything for you, darling.”

They said that a lot, but in that moment it hit him that they weren’t teasing. They’d do anything for him. Jump into fights, defend his honor, go to war with the Brotherhood of Steel, it was all on the table.

They cared about him. As in, deeply.

“Hancock? Are you alright?”

“Yeah.” He took a breath. “Yeah, sunshine, I’m fine. The same goes for you, you know. I’ll fight anybody for you.”

“You already did,” they laughed. “Finn learned his lesson.”

“He better have. I’d hate to have to teach it again.”

They just grinned, he popped a Mentat, and they strolled down the street again.

MacCready: Now he was well and truly screwed. Hands tied above his head, Gunners staring him in the face, a gun to his temple. It was all over.

“Any last words?” one of them sneered. His breath reeked of something unpleasant, akin to fish.

“I’ll see you in hell,” he spat.

The Gunner’s eyes narrowed, and the barrel of the gun was jabbed more firmly against his temple. “Then say good-”

He didn’t get the chance to finish his sentence, because a bullet appeared in the place his brain should have been. The rest scattered, shouting, “Sniper!”

One by one they dropped, and then sole emerged from the carnage.

“I got twelve. How many did you get?”

“Why are you here?” He opted not to respond.

Sole shrugged as they untied him. “Duncan needs his father. I need his father.”

Realization hit MacCready like a truck. They’d been thinking of his son. They’d listened to what he said, and they’d cared enough to realize what would happen to Duncan if he died. They’d had his back.

That meant they were staying. For good.

“What’s that look for, MacCready?”

“Nothing. Let’s get moving.”

Nick: “Seems you’ve gotten yourself into a right pickle here, Nick.”

He looked up at the figure above him. They were smiling, but there was a forming bruise on their cheek and blood seeping from a wound in their arm. “Kid, you’re looking a little worse for wear.”

“Nothing I can’t handle.”

“There were at least thirty guys out there.”

“And you needed my help. Case closed.”

“You can’t keep putting you life on the line for me like this. You’re gonna get hurt. You’re gonna get yourself killed.”

“It will have been worth it. Because then you’ll be safe.”

That was a hell of a thing to just say out of nowhere. “You’re delirious.”

“No, I’m not. I’m telling the truth.”

They meant it. He was good at detecting lies and they weren’t lying. He didn’t know what to make of that, honestly. They were still fairly young. They could remarry, have some kids. Could he really let them throw all of it away for a half-broken synth?

“Let’s just get you patched up.”

Piper: “How’s she doing?”

Piper looked up from where she was sitting beside Nat’s bed to see sole coming through the door, power noodles in hand. “Not too good. Her fever’s getting worse.”

Sole nodded and set the bowl down. “I brought her something to eat and some medicine, but I don’t know how it’ll do. It might make her better, it might do nothing at all.”

“Thanks, Blue.” Piper looked back over at her sister. “You really don’t have to do all of this, you know.”

“Sure I do. I care about you, and you care about Nat. She’s a good kid.”

“I know how expensive medicine is.”

“So do I. I just don’t care, because she needs it.”

Piper glanced at sole out of the corner of her eye. “You take good care of both of us.”

They leaned back a little in their chair, arms folded. “I try to take care of the people that mean a lot to me.”

She nodded. Sole was always there for her, no matter what. They really meant it when they said she meant a lot to them. They were there through thick and thin, and Piper was grateful for that. It was good to have someone on her side, especially someone like sole.

“You mean a lot to me, too, Blue.”

Sole just nodded and pulled the meds out of their bag. “I’ll go get some water for when she wakes up.”

“I’ll be here.”

She turned back to Nat as the door shut.

“Man,” she whispered. “We’re really lucky.” 

Preston: “General,” he whispered quietly, shaking sole. “Wake up.”

“Huh?” Sole sat up, bleary-eyed. “What’s going on?”

“You fell asleep at the workbench again. You need to get some rest in a real bed. Come on.”

They shook their head, turning back to the dismantled desk fan in front of them. “No, I gotta finish this turret. Tenpines Bluff needs more defenses.”

“General.” He tugged gently on their arm. “You need some sleep.”

“The settlements come first, Preston. We have to, you know, do the right thing.  We gotta help people get back on their feet. It’s important to us.”

“I know, but you can’t put your own health at risk for it.”

They sighed. “You’re always right, Preston. I’m so happy I have you.”

He smiled happily at the compliment. The General wasn’t always great at saying how they felt so such a small compliment was really a huge gesture. It showed some sort of undying trust and that felt really good. They were dedicated to the Minutemen, and he knew they would stay. As he helped them off to bed, they leaned against him, and he knew that everything would be okay.

“Stay with me?” They asked softly, and all he could do was nod and take off his boots and coat.

“Alright, General. Just for tonight.”

They wrapped an arm around him. “Or forever.”

He laughed. “I’d like that.”

X6-88: “I’m going to give you one chance to rephrase that.”

The shop owner bristled at sole’s words. “I meant what I said. We don’t serve synths here. You and your friend can beat it.”

They leaned over the counter to get in the merchant’s face. “That’s an Institute courser. I’d think he gets to eat wherever he damn well pleases.”

He sat back, watching the exchange. Sole was sticking up for him. That wasn’t a new behavior, but they’d never been quite so aggressive about it. He wasn’t sure how that made him feel.

“I’ll have you thrown out of here.”

“You can try if you want. Who are you going to call? Do you really think Diamond City security is going to try to attack me?”

He dragged them out before things could get any more heated. He didn’t mind them being violent, but as the Director of the Institute they needed to represent them well. They couldn’t just go brawling with Mr. Handy units in upper-class Diamond City restaurants.

“I had that,” they grumbled.

“I know.”

“I just get so upset! You’re my partner. Why can’t people quit being so awful for just one second…”

They went on ranting, but X6 got stuck around the word “partner”. He knew that was what they were, as in, they traveled and worked together, but that word also had some very different connotations, and he wasn’t sure which version of the word they were using. So, he asked.

“Both, I suppose.” They paused in their rant to answer. “You’re my traveling buddy, but also my favorite person in the Commonwealth.”

Favorite person. Those words bounced through his head. Favorite person. More than a synth, more than a courser, more than a tool. A person who could be their favorite. Someone who was cared for.

“You are… also my favorite.”

They grinned. “Of course. Where do you wanna try to get dinner next?”

“The Institute cafeteria?”

“Ugh.”

[cutesuki--bakugou]

Little Nurse

For Day #1 of the @mha-xmas-challenge

Christmas Challenge | Day 1 - Catching A Cold

Category | One-Shot

Pairing: Bakugou x Koge (OC) Koge’s Tag

Rating: E, no warnings

Word Count: 2,072

“Aachoo!”

Koge gave a small, sarcastic gasp from the sound of sneezing that came from upstairs, loud enough to get through a closed door and over the roaring sound of cartoons on the television. “Oh goodness. What a sneeze.” She looked down at the tiny figure of her daughter, who was eagerly bouncing her body up and down without actually lifting her feet off the floor. Crimson eyes locked on her mother, the two year old had both tiny hands on Koge’s leg, waiting impatiently for her to finish her work. “Ma!” She spoke through her pacifier, bringing a smile to Koge’s lips.

“Yes, Natsuki, I know. That was Daddy sneezing, wasn’t it?” After mixing a vitamin C boosting powder into a glass of water, Koge placed it onto a tray. Already on it was a bowl of soup, which was a special recipe graciously given to Koge by her mother-in-law, to which her darling husband had already thrown a fit about. Bakugou had never been one for his mother’s home remedies, but Koge had seen this stuff work, and she was determined to get him feeling better as quickly as she could. Having just hit a high fever yesterday, her lover was totally miserable, and it broke her heart to see him so pathetic. In fact, she was pretty sure this was the first time he had gotten sick since he was a pre-teen, so the way he was handling the situation was absolutely ludicrous, in Koge’s opinion.

At first, it had been denial. Then more denial, followed by further denial, all the way up until he hit a 103 degree fever and had gone through an entire box of tissues in only two hours. Even then, he refused to believe it, stating that it must have been an aftereffect of a villain’s quirk, one which he must have captured recently. Koge had effectively told him that he was stupid, forced his stubborn ass into bed and medicated him. Now, he was beyond needy, so delirious with fever that he had screamed about not being able to find the remote to the television, when it had been in his lap the entire time. Koge loved Bakugou to the deepest depths of her soul, but he could really be a moron sometimes.

Her attention was pulled back down to her daughter as she continued to bounce, finding her enthusiasm exhausting. “How many times do you think Daddy has sneezed today?” Natsuki stopped bouncing, looking at her hands as she put up a variety of fingers, before displaying two to Koge confidently. Koge smiled, picking up the tray in front of her to take upstairs. “Two? Oh man, that sure is a lot. I’m going to take this to Daddy now, you stay- ah, Natsuki!” Before Koge could even take a step, the tiny girl took off out of the kitchen, vanishing behind the wall with her light blonde hair bouncing vigorously in its ponytail. With a sigh, Koge followed, having to be careful with each step so that she didn’t spill the food.

“Natsuki! Baby, you can’t see Daddy right now.” Much to her dismay, the tiny speed demon was already halfway up the stairs, a skill that she had acquired very quickly after learning how to walk. In fact, Koge was pretty sure the child had come out of the womb with the willpower of a god, learning to walk before she could even crawl. Her daughter was a completely different experience compared to her son, who was very attached to Koge in contrast to her highly independant daughter. Bakugou had always claimed that she was going to be someone amazing who would one day even surpass him, and Koge didn’t doubt a word he said.

As she passed through the livingroom to the stairs, she looked over at the couch, spotting her son sitting on the floor at the coffee table. He was drawing, tongue sticking out of his mouth with extreme focus. He had just turned four, and was very mellow compared to his sister. “Matsuki, baby, I know you’re drawing, but could you come help me, please?” Pale blue eyes that matched her own locked onto her before the child stood, quickly making his way over. “Yeah, Mama. Need me to open the door?” Matsuki made his way up the stairs with Koge following, still being careful not to spill the soup. “Please hun, thank you. And try to keep your sister from barging in if possible, I don’t want her to catch this stuff.”

“Yes, Mama.” Matsuki looked back at her a few times as they headed up, concern on his face, as if he were worried about her having to carry the soup. Besides the eyes, Matsuki was nearly an exact clone of Bakugou when it came to looks. Personality wise, however, he was incredibly soft and timid. He had an extreme sense of empathy, even for something as small as an ant. Koge loved that about him, though she could already see him struggling in pre-school and with other kids. With a father like Bakugou, an extremely well known and powerful Pro Hero, Matsuki had a lot on his shoulders that was starting to weigh him down. Everyone expected big things of him, and told him that constantly. Koge vividly remembered the defeat on his face when he had told an adult that he had wanted to be a doctor instead of a pro, and that person had the audacity to tell him that he had no other choice than to follow in his father's footsteps.

If not for the child in her arms, Koge would have knocked that man's teeth out, though that didn’t stop her from giving him a piece of her mind. Bakugou had even been the one to pull her away from that confrontation, with Koge still spitting venom even as she walked away. She hated people like that, and if she were honest, the world of Pro Heros was nothing but constant stress and ridiculous expectations that often times made her sick. On top of that, she was constantly worrying about Bakugou’s safety, no matter how strong he was. So, in a way, she was thankful for this little cold that kept him home with her, where she could take care of him.

When she finally reached the top of the stairs, Koge gave a small roll of her eyes at the sight of her daughter, trying to hop up to reach the doorknob to where Bakugou was resting. Matsuki quickly made his way over to her, putting his arms awkwardly around her tiny torso to pull her back. “Natsu, Mama said you can’t go in!” The pacifier in Natsuki’s mouth flew out, though was successfully caught onto her clothing by the clip and string Koge had bought to limit the loss of them. “No, Da!” The tiny girl struggled against her brother, desperately reaching for the doorknob. Koge shook her head as she approached, stopping beside the door. “Natsuki, that’s enough.” “What’s going on out there? Sounds like a -cough- damn wrestling match.”

“Sorry, Katsuki. Baby, open the door for Mommy, please.” Koge address Matsuki, who successfully got his sister to sit on the floor. “Yes, Mama.” Though, the instant the door was opened, Natsuki tumbled her way into the room, pushing past her brother with a sudden burst of speed of which Koge had never seen before. “Ah, Natsuki!” She could only watch in defeat as her daughter rushed over, first climbing up onto the cushioned bench that sat at the foot of the bed before onto the mattress itself. Clumsily climbing over the thick layers of blankets, she crawled her way over to her father, who was already sitting up and looking at her in a numbed state of annoyance.

Natsuki plopped down beside him, putting her pacifier back into her mouth. Koge sighed, walking into the room as well with her son following. “I’m sorry, we tried to stop her, but she’s so stubborn. Like someone we all know.” She smiled at Bakugou as he glowered up at her, though the tissue shoved up one nostril ruined any sense of intimidation he was trying to give off. Paired along with the pale complexion, bags under his eyes and exhausted expression, he looked all around pathetic. “Well if she gets sick, you can’t blame me.” Bakugou’s voice was hoarse and nasally with stuffed sinuses, and Koge could tell that he was in need of another round of medication.

“Katsuki, you need to eat this and then take more meds. Have you checked your temperature recently?” Koge walked over to the pop up table she had set up beside the bed, placing the tray down onto it. Bakugou grumbled at the thought of putting food into his mouth, looking away from it in disgust. “I haven’t. But I don’t know if I can eat. Especially not that garbage my mom made.” He quickly brought his arm up to cover his mouth, giving a series of coughs into his hoodie sleeve. The instant he lowered his arm, he was suddenly poked in the face by an object, startling him a bit and pulling his attention to the small girl beside him.

Peering up at him with intense focus, she was holding the digital thermometer up towards his lips, once again poking him in the chin. Carefully, Bakugou took it from her. “What, you little squid? You want me to take my temperature? I don’t think you want to know what it says.” He glanced at Koge before pushing the button to turn the device on, placing it in his mouth with the sensor under his tongue. Matsuki came closer, crawling up onto the end of the bed as well. “Daddy, I tasted Grandma’s soup, it’s good. It’s not gross like you said.” Bakugou raised an eyebrow at his son, silenced by the device in his mouth. Koge smiled, sitting down beside Bakugou’s legs. “He wanted to taste test it for you, to make sure that it was good. He thinks it’s delicious, and so do I.”

Bakugou glared at the steaming soup beside him, not responding until the thermometer beeped and he removed it from his lips. “Then she must have not been the one to make it.” He turned the thermometer towards Koge, allowing her to read the small screen. 102.8 wasn’t exactly a good thing, but it had gone down a little from that morning. “Ah, still high. Well-” She was cut off as Bakugou gave a small hiss, suddenly smacked in the face with his box of tissues by Natsuki. Taking it from her, he did his best not to glare at his daughter, taking in a deep breath the best he could to stay calm. “Thank you, Natsu-” Next was the television remote, which was something he wasn’t entirely sure why she had picked, as it had nothing to do with his recovery.

Stifling her giggles, Koge covered her mouth, smile on her lips. “Aw, she’s just trying to help you.” Matsuki laughed softly as his sister stood, placing her tiny hand on Bakugou’s forehead, as if to feel for a temperature. Bakugou placed a hand on her back gently to steady her, allowing her to ruffle his hair a bit, as she always enjoyed doing. “Natsu, I think you’re a miracle worker. I already feel- ah no, you don’t need that.” The child suddenly yanked the tissue out of his nostril, which Bakugou promptly took from her tiny hands, tossing it into the trash can beside the bed. With this, Natsuki sat back down, leaning against Bakugou’s torso. As he let his arm rest around around her, she tenderly stroked his stomach, obviously mimicking the way Bakugou rubbed her back when he held her during naptime.

Koge patted Bakugou’s leg gently, gaining his attention. “I’ll take her so that you can eat and then get some rest.” Bakugou shook his head, clearing his throat a bit. “No, it’s fine. I don’t want any of you catching this, but… Honestly this is the best I’ve felt. And she’s already asleep.” Sure enough, Natsuki had completely crashed. Koge gave a small sigh, laying down across Bakugou’s legs in defeat. “How about we all just take one big family nap.”

“Let’s do that, Utsuro. As long as that means I don’t have to eat that garbage.”

[purple-red-purple-gold]

Chapter 1 is up Chapter 2 is coming soon..

you have to run before you can learn to walk again

bumbleby bounty hunter au

summary:

au where Yang is huntress of sorts but of the bounty hunter variety, Blake is on the run after escaping the white fang, Weiss is amassing a plan to take over SDC and put her father in jail and Ruby just wants her team to catch the bad guys. Still like Remnant in terms of the world that they are in, Blake is a faunus dust and magic exist etc. They are like early to mid twenties in age.

Chapter 1 AO3

Blake picked a direction and she ran. It was towards the rising sun so east apparently. The sun was burning her eyes, particularly the one that was beginning to turn black. She kept having to wipe her nose and her hands were flaking off dried blood and sweat. Her left side was throbbing sharply. She knew what if felt like when her ribs were broken, and at least a few were indeed broken. Her left leg had a giant gash on it that she needed to cauterize as soon as she could find someplace to build a fire. Better yet an actual fireplace.

The first place she saw looked to be a small inn and there was smoke coming out of the chimney. Blake had no money, no identification, and she looked exactly like the trouble that was no doubt following her. She couldn’t just walk in the front door. She could probably pry a window open though. She saw a window with a tiny balcony, she could get her weapon to catch on it and hopefully pull herself in without bleeding to death. The sun would fully illuminate the sky soon, so she needed to act fast to stay hidden.

Yang had tracked the bastard of a fugitive she was chasing all through the night. The sun was beginning to rise on the mountains of Mistral and all she wanted to do was sleep. She knew she had to catch him first. God only knows what he will blow up next and how many people he will kill before he gets put away again. Just then her scroll buzzed and by pure luck or some other divine intervention, Weiss had seen him and bagged him. She released a very sleepy breath and walked up to the first Inn she saw.

It had a wooden sign post that read The Outside Inn, clever as it was just outside the city. Yang always appreciated a pun. She walked in to the old woman at the counter and asked for a room. The old woman actively tried not to stare at how heavily armed the young huntress was. Yang flashed a badge and an ID before the innkeeper could panic further. The place was not fancy by any means but it was clean, and the woman seemed truly kind when she handed her the key.

“Here you are honey, you look like you could use some rest. The kitchen makes decent food if you’re hungry later too.”

Yang responded with a tired smile, “Thanks”.

She walked up the stairs and found her room, she barely noticed anything about it other than the bed. It looked cozy. Lots of pillows, a blanket that looked fuzzier than she was expected and crisp white sheets. Yang turned the deadbolt on the door and disarmed. She took off her gauntlets, the dual pistols strapped to her thighs and her jacket. She laid everything out on the desk in the right corner of the room, and sat her bag in the chair. She flopped onto the bed it was as inviting as she was expecting. She felt herself already falling into the clutches of exhausted sleep.

Before she could even hope to start dreaming an uninvited guest popped in through the window. On the third floor. This would not have been the first time someone had tried to kill her but it was still rather jarring. A few things happened rather quickly. First, Yang propelled herself standing and grabbed a single pistol from the nearby desk. Second, she looked at her supposed assassin. Third, she made eye contact with her ‘assassin’ and felt true surprise for the first time in a while. Finally, she decided in an instant that this was not the time for threats and violence. The woman in from of her clearly had enough of the latter, Yang was not about to add to the former.

She looked at the woman, a cat faunus if her ears were anything to go by. She looked like she had crawled directly out of hell, and it clawed at her as she left. Yang set her pistol back down on the desk and slowly made eye contact. This could technically still be an escaped prisoner, but her clothes, the way her eyes scattered around the room, and the amount of clearly defensive wounds she had said otherwise.

“So here’s the deal here: I’m Yang, I’m a bounty hunter, and if you are in the trouble with the law I’ll give you only one chance to run.”

If possible the cat faunus’ eyes looked even more terrified. So no on the fugitive from the law thing. That was one thing she had going for her here.

“I’m going to take a wild guess, and say that you are in some kind of trouble.”

The injured faunus spoke her voice was raspy but softer than yang had been expecting at the same time, “I’m Blake.”

“Well Blake, I have a med kit behind me and my sutures are shit but they will do the job. Can I help you?”

“You don’t even know me, I could be dangerous.”

“Blake. I follow dangerous for a living, let me patch you up a bit.”

Blake sighed, and after her exhalation, both women seemed to notice how big the puddle of blood had become on the floor. Blake was dizzy on her feet and would have landed face first on the ground if not for Yang’s quick catch.

“So, I am going to take that near concussion at my feet as a yes on the help.”

Blake could feel herself fading, there were black spots in her vision and she felt rather delirious. She would blame her delirium on her next choice of words.

“You’re strong.”

See Yang had scooped her up bridal style and was laying her down on the bed. Blake really didn't have an excuse to run her finger down Yang’s jaw but that was exactly what she did. Blake barely noticed Yang’s response she was so distracted.

“I’m not that strong you’re just tiny, and I’m pretty sure a solid portion of your weight is now on the floor of this room.”

Once Blake was on the bed Yang disappeared. Blake was confused until she returned with towels. Yang saw Blakes confusion and answered it.

“Innkeepers ask less questions if you don’t get blood everywhere in their rooms.”

“You know from experience.”

“Yes.”

Blake wasn’t sure what to do with that. She didn’t need to worry long though, because in the next moment she passed out.

more coming soon on ao3

[nevermindthewind]

so where do we begin? Ch. 2

He’s in a dingy cafe in New York when he finds out. 

 “So what are you saying?” he asks, unable to believe what he's hearing. 

 “The Mahoney's are in prison. Castillo too. Denver’s been disbarred. We have no reason to believe your life is in danger anymore,” the officer replies. Then he says the words Wes never thought he'd here. 

 “We’re releasing you from the system. You can go home.”

 He almost laughs at that because, last time he checked, he didn't have a home. He's bounced from city to city since he was twelve, since the Mahoney's took his mother away. Home was just a myth, something happier people than him always have. 

 But then again…

 “Laurel.”

 “What?” Nate asks. Wes didn't realize he'd said her name out loud. 

 “How's Laurel?” he tries again. 

 He watches Nate shift uncomfortably in his seat, suddenly unable to meet Wes’ gaze. There’s something he hasn't told him, he knew it.

 In an instant Wes is on high alert, as if he wasn't already. He’s always on high alert these days. 

 “What happened to her?” he asks, forcing Nate to look him in the eye. 

 “Nothing,” Nate replies quickly. “She’s fine. Still at Middleton. But there is something you should know.”

 Wes’ mind begins to race, thinking through all the things that could've happened since his “death”. His first thought, even though he hates himself for it, is Frank. Laurel made it clear she was done with him; he’d gone too far, betrayed her too many times. 

 But what if something changed? 

 He tries to shake the thought, but its already taken hold of him. Frank had made her happy at one point, and with Wes gone, he was probably more than happy to offer a shoulder to cry on. The thought makes Wes cringe. Maybe he doesn't need to know. Maybe she’s better of without him and he should just go somewhere else and start over again. It's what he's good at. 

 Nate, oblivious to Wes’ inner dialogue, continues on. 

 “As you know, on the night of the fire Laurel also got brought to the hospital to get treated for injuries. Mainly smoke inhalation, but she also had second degree burns on her leg and abdomen.”

 He looks down, absentmindedly running his hand along his scars, trying not to relive the hell he went through, and trying even harder not to imagine Laurel going through anything like the brutal treatment he went through. 

 “Is she okay?”

 “Yes. She was in the hospital for a few days but she’s fine. However when they ran her blood work they found something else, something not related to the fire.”

 Nate pauses for a beat, then,

 “Laurel was pregnant.”

 Whatever Wes is expecting, that is definitely not it. 

 “What?” he asks, his voice echoing his confusion. His mind couldn't seem to register what Nate had said. 

 “Wes, you have a daughter.”

 --

 He had wanted to get on the very next train to Philadelphia but, thanks to a horribly timed transportation strike, he is forced to wait until the next day, and even then it's dark by the time he makes it on a train. 

 As he boards he tries to ignore all the stares, the double takes as he passes people on his way to his seat. But no matter how hard he tries he can't help but feel hundreds of curious, disgusted eyes focusing on the scar that runs down his cheek and neck. 

 He’d been in the hospital for six months after the fire. It had been absolute torture, there’s no other way to describe it. He’d had several surgeries on his hand, arm, chest, neck, and face; some were to control the burns, some to repair ligaments, others for skin grafts. But the worst part was by far the daily cleanings. Everyday a nurse would come in and submerge him in water to clean out the wounds to prevent infection, and everyday he would be submitted to the worst pain known to man. Half the time he was delirious, either from pain or meds or both. But when he could actually think straight he constantly found his mind wandering back to Philly, back to Laurel. Everyday he wondered if he'd ever get to see her again. He’d wanted to contact her, to find out how she was, but he was in absolutely no shape to do so. And even if he could, the moment he made contact he’d have put her in danger. So he had stayed quiet, even after he’d been released from the hospital. He convinced himself she was okay, that she was better off without him. 

 But that was before. 

 Now he's on a train back to the very place he never thought he'd see again, trying desperately to piece together all the information he’d been given in the last 36 hours. 

 Laurel had a baby. Their baby. 

 For ten months he had been kept in the dark. Nate had known for ten months and didn't say a word. He didn't bother to tell Wes that the love of his life was carrying his baby. That he is a father. And for that, Wes is furious. He’d already grown up without a dad, and he’d be damned if he put his own kid through that.  He should've been there, that’s all there is to it. 

 They'd always been a team, him and Laurel. For the better part of two years they never made decisions without talking to each other. Yet Laurel had been left making the biggest, scariest decisions of her life, of their lives, without him. While Laurel is by far the strongest woman he knows, it kills him to think she had to go through all of this alone. And now for the past, what, two months, she’s been raising their daughter AND taking classes?

 As if she wasn't a badass already. 

 But still, she shouldn't have to do it by herself. And now, hopefully, she won't have to.

 -- 

 The next few hours are some of the longest of his life, but as soon as he steps off the train everything becomes a massive blur.  Before he knows it he’s sitting outside Laurel’s apartment in an Uber, trying to figure out what the hell he’s going to do.  

 He’s frozen to his seat as thoughts begin racing through his head.

 What if she’s not home? What if she is and she wants nothing to do with me? What if Frank is there?

 Maybe this was a bad idea. She’s probably moved on, she’s fine without me.  

 He almost tells the driver, who looks barely old enough to drive, to turn around and take him to a hotel, when he remembers.

 The baby. He has to see her.

 “Dude, you getting out?” the driver asks impatiently.

 He opens his door in response and begins to head up the steps, the very steps he’s walked hundreds of times before.  Looking down, he notices his hands are shaking.  

 His thoughts continue to spiral as he makes his way to her apartment. Memories are flowing back to him: studying for finals, spontaneous fast food runs, late nights that turned into early mornings, their life together.  It’s all there, welcoming him back.

 Just like that he’s outside her apartment.  There’s light under the door, so he knows she’s home.  

 He pauses.

 What will she think? What will she say?

 How am I supposed to be someone’s dad?

 He can’t seem to move.  He wants to, but he just…can’t.

 He stands there for a moment, trying desperately to prepare himself for what’s on the other side of the door.  

 Then, finally, he knocks.  

 Nothing.

 He waits for a bit and then tries again, louder this time.  

 This time he hears movement on the other side, something like papers being shuffled.  

 Then he hears her voice.  

 It’s muffled, but there’s no denying it’s her. She’s saying something about Michaela, getting louder as she gets closer to the door.  

 Suddenly, the door is opening.

 “You know if you wanted to study, a phone call would’ve—“

 And now, after almost a year, Laurel is standing right in front of him.  Her hair is up, which means she’s probably been studying, and there’s a baby monitor in her hand.  She’s got on her favorite old Dolphins sweatshirt that’s two sizes too big, plaid pajama shorts, and mismatched socks, one green and one blue. She’s absolutely beautiful.

 She also looks confused as hell. Not that he blames her.  

 Say something. Anything.

 All he can think of to say is,

 “Hi.”

 --

 Everything goes about as smoothly as he could have hoped.  She’s angry and confused, as she should be, but under that he sees a glimmer of happiness.  He knows her too well not to see it.  But she won’t let her guard down, not yet.  He knows that too.  

 Still, it could’ve gone worse.  

 She’s just left him in the living room to get the baby and Wes is absolutely petrified. He has no idea what to do.  He knew she was real, obviously, but it is a whole different thing to actually see her, to hold her.  

 What if I fuck up? What if I can’t even hold my own daughter the right way?

 Should I sit down? Or stay standing? What if she starts crying?

 Just as he starts to move towards the couch, Laurel comes out of her room, holding a tiny bundle against her chest.  She moves slowly, her eyes full of nerves.  But she also looks determined and once Laurel puts her mind to something, it’s going to happen.  

 “It’ll be easier if you sit,” she says, motioning towards the couch with her head.  Wes quickly moves in that direction.  Laurel follows and sits next to him, moving a pink blanket as she sits to reveal the tiny baby underneath.  

 In that moment his life changes forever.

 She’s without a doubt the most beautiful person in the world.  With a mess of jet-black hair, Laurel’s nose, and his ears, oddly enough, she’s the perfect combination of both of them.  Her head is turned so she is looking right at him, sizing him up.  He knows Laurel’s watching him too, but he can’t seem to take his eyes off the little girl.  

 “Her name is Ella,” Laurel says gently.  “Ella Rose.”

 At that he looks up.

 “You named her after my mom?”

 She nods, and gives him a soft smile. “I wanted her to have a part of you.”

 He returns her smile, and there are tears in his eyes as he brings his attention back to the baby.

 “Ella Rose,” he whispers. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

 For a minute they stay like that, Laurel holding Ella while Wes continues to take everything in.  He reaches out and rubs her back, to which the baby responds with a tiny smile. His smile.

 Whoa.

 “You wanna hold her?” Laurel asks.

 Again he looks up, nodding tentatively.  She shifts her weight and begins to move Ella from her chest, but Wes stops her.

 Once again he’s terrified.  What if he hurts her?

 “What do I do?”

 Laurel lets out a tiny laugh. “I asked the exact same thing when the nurse first gave her to me,” she says, “Hold your arms out and I’ll place her where she needs to go.  You’ll be able to feel it out once she’s there.”

 Wes does as he’s told and puts his arms out in front of him, exposing the burns on his right hand.  This time it’s Laurel who hesitates, looking from his hand to his face with a mix of compassion and confusion.  

 “I’m okay,” he tells her.

 “Okay.” She has questions, clearly, but thankfully she doesn’t push it.  

 Once again Laurel begins to remove the baby from her chest, this time lowering her down and placing her in Wes’ outstretched arms.

 She squirms a bit as the two of them find a comfortable position, but they figure it out pretty quickly, with Ella nestled in the crook of Wes’ elbow.  He smiles down at her, offering her his finger. Almost immediately she grips it with strength he was definitely not expecting, sending chills throughout his body.

 Suddenly he’s hit with a love he’s never felt before, a love so strong and pure it scares him.  Yet at the same time, it’s the most natural thing in the world.  Like his whole life he was missing a part of himself, and he’s finally been put back together. He’s finally whole.

 He gasps, looking up at Laurel.  She’s crying too, but unlike earlier, this time she’s smiling.  

 “She’s…” he starts, but the words don’t come.

 Laurel nods in understanding.

 “I know.”

 Once again they both fall silent, Laurel watching as Wes continues interacting with the baby.  He can tell she’s tired so he begins to rock her with surprising ease.  He has no idea where the instinct came from, but it seems to be working.  After a few minutes she’s fast asleep.

 “I can’t believe this is actually happening,” Laurel says, breaking the silence.

 “Me either,” he replies, looking up with a smile. She looks him right in the eye, sizing him up with a look identical to their now sleeping daughter.

 “You’re really here.”

 “I’m really here,” he repeats.

 “For good?”  He can hear the vulnerability in her voice; can hear how much she wants to believe him.

 “For good.”

 With that Laurel leans into his shoulder, finally letting down her guard just the tiniest bit.  He’s hit with the scent of her shampoo, that lavender stuff she loves, and it’s all he can do to stop himself from kissing her right there.  But he knows it’s not the time, so he just wraps his non-Ella arm around her, hoping to provide some sort of comfort.

 “I missed you so much,” she murmurs.

 “Me too,” he replies. “I thought about you everyday.”

 She looks up at him, keeping her head on his shoulder. “You did?”

 “Yeah of course,” he says, surprised.  “You’re all that got me through treatment.  I just kept thinking that if I could get through that then hopefully I’d be able to find you again.”

 She takes his hand, unwraps his arm from her and begins examining his burned hand.

 “Treatment?” she asks.

 He nods.  “I was in the hospital for six months, with 3rd degree burns on about 40% of my body.  It was...hard. Really hard.”

 She closes her eyes at the mention of his injuries, wrapping his hand in hers.

 There will be a time where he tells her about everything he went through, but tonight is not the night.  Thankfully she senses that, and once again she doesn’t push him.  

 Laurel yawns, causing Wes to look at his watch.  It’s almost three in the morning.  

 “You should get some sleep,” he says.  She pulls herself upright.

 “What about you?” she asks.

 He shrugs. “I got a room for the night at the hotel down the street. I won’t be far.”

 “You’re not staying here?” She seems to deflate a little.

 “I didn’t know if you’d want me to,” he replies honestly.

 “I do.” Her voice is small, but confident.  “If you’re not here when I wake up I’ll just think this was all a dream.”

 He smiles at that. They have work to do, that much he knows.  Even though he has no intention of ever leaving again, it will be a long time before she can trust him again.  But he also knows that he would do whatever it took to be a part of both their lives.

 “Then I’m not going anywhere.”

[insanereddragon]

Accidental Confession

For @witchyscribe​‘s prompt: Eggsy meets Merlin for a meeting but ends up with Harry and Merlin after being drugged for a very short time. Lets say that Roxy may have passed on a conversation from a drunken night by accident as she is overheard on comms and they both fill his fantasy for a threesome at Merlins house.

You were probably looking for more smut, but the muses were determined that this be nothing but fluff, no matter how I poked at them. I hope you still enjoy!

[Also on AO3][Leave a Tip]

“Extraction should be there in 15. Hold tight, Galahad.”

Merlin’s voice is tight, but Eggsy barely registers it over the itch that’s starting under his skin.

“Lancelot, she’s alright, yeah?”

“Aye. You took the dart meant for her, and she escaped out the back. She’s waiting with the women for the response crew now,” Merlin says, allowing his voice to soften with a note of approval. “I’ve just patched her in.”

“I’m here, Galahad,” Roxy says. “Thanks for having my back. Extraction will be there soon and they’ll fix you right as rain.”

Eggsy feels his eyes start to lose focus, rolling in his head. “I know, Rox. Just talk to me, yeah? Getting hard to stay awake.”

As Roxy starts talking, Merlin hears the door to his office open. He doesn’t turn around as Harry walks in, focused on his monitors and directing the team headed to Eggsy’s location. He does, however, press a series of buttons to patch Harry’s glasses into the comms.

“That was a crazy night, Eggs,” Roxy’s saying as Harry watches over Merlin’s shoulder. “I’m surprised you can even remember it.”

“‘Course I ‘member it.” Eggsy’s voice is slurred and on a separate channel Merlin is murmuring for the team to move faster. Merlin turns and he and Harry share a look as Eggsy continues.

“Was when I finally told you about how gone I am on ‘arry and Merls.” Harry sputters and Roxy tries to interject, but Eggsy just talks right over her. “Felt good finally saying it outloud to someone. Besides, I blame ya for all the filthy images I had floating ‘round my head. God, I ‘ad the best wank that night.”

The screens show Roxy’s view as she reaches up to scrub a hand over her face. “Eggsy...Galahad. You do remember that Merlin’s on the line too.”

Eggsy groans and says “No, but maybe ‘e’ll ‘member me saying I’m gagging for the two of ‘em.”

Before anyone can reply, Eggsy’s feed tilts sideways only to settle with just a patch of rough, concrete floor in view. In a heartbeat Merlin is out of his chair, yelling at the extraction team to hurry up. In the background he can hear Harry and Roxy calling Eggsy’s name, with no response.

--

Eggsy wakes up slowly.

The first thing that registers is a faint beeping. Then comes the smell of disinfectant. Med wing, he thinks, all too familiar with waking up here. But this time is different, and it’s then he realizes that both of his hands are being held, warm and tight.

With some effort he cracks his eyes open. He blinks blearily until his eyes adjust, and then he carefully takes in the room.

On his right he finds Harry, asleep and sprawled awkwardly over the chair in an effort to keep his hand on top of Eggsy’s. His glasses are set on a side table, and his hair is falling into his face where it’s broken from its gel. He looks soft like this, something Eggsy’s suddenly sure Harry lets very few people actually see, and his chest blooms with warmth.

Slowly he shifts his head, noting how the small movement makes his vision swim. On his left is Merlin, eyes peering exhaustedly over his glasses. He has one hand entwined with Eggsy’s and the other is tapping at the clipboard on his lap. He looks exhausted and the the comfort he felt looking at Harry quickly turns to concern for Merlin.

Eggsy squeezes Merlin’s hand and his eyes snap up, locking onto Eggsy’s, far more alert. Without a word he sets his clipboard to the side and picks up a glass of water, guiding it to Eggsy’s lips all while keeping their hands firmly linked.

“Hello, lad. We were beginning to worry,” Merlin says quietly.

Eggsy drains the glass, grateful for the cool water on his parched throat. “How long have I been out?”

Merlin sets the cup back and quietly pulls his chair closer to the bed. He takes their joined hands and wraps his free one around them, and Eggsy can’t help looking down at where they are touching.

“Thirty-nine hours. You lost consciousness before extraction could reach you, and the medical team decided it was best to keep you that way until they were able to determine what you were hit with and if they could cure it.”

“And did they…” Eggsy can’t quite finish the thought, suddenly afraid of the reason Harry and Merlin are standing vigil at his bedside. Before he can start panicking about the scenarios running through his mind, Merlin speaks.

“Aye, lad, don’t worry. They’ll want you to stay in medical for twenty-four hours now that you’re awake, to see if there are any lingering effects. But you’re on the mend.”

Eggsy lets out a deep breath, and Merlin squeezes his hand. The sensation reminds him that he’s laying in a medical bed, holding hands with the two men he has a massive and entirely inappropriate crush on, and he feels his face heat.

“Ah, well that‘s good then.”

Merlin smiles and leans in a little closer. “It is. Now, how much do you remember from after you were hit by the dart?”

Eggsy tries to ignore Merlin’s hands and the blush on his face. “I know you got Roxy on the line - thanks for that, yeah?” Merlin only nods. “She was trying to keep me talking…”

Eggsy recalls the conversation, the admission, and his eyes go wide. “You heard.”

Merlin smile softens, and Eggsy drops his gaze so he doesn’t have to meet his eyes. Eggsy is sure that the man who spends his time training recruits and observing missions can easily parse out the equal parts fear and hope raging in his chest.

“Aye, both of us did.”

Eggsy’s eyes dart to the right, to where Harry is still slumped in his chair. It’s suddenly too much, and he tries to gently disentangle both of his hands.

When Eggsy tugs his hand, Merlin lets go as a frown creeps its way onto his face. But when he tries to slide his other hand from under Harry’s the man startles, gripping tight and sitting up straight as his eyes quickly dart around the room.

When they finally land on Eggsy, his shoulders sag and a relieved smile slips onto Harry’s face. “Hello Eggsy. It seems you’ve finally decided to wake up. Merlin and I were starting to think you were trying to avoid us.”

Lifting his free hand to run through his hair, Eggsy feels his face turn bright red. “Obviously it didn’t work.”

“Ah. I see Merlin has already started this conversation without me then.” Harry glances over to Merlin, but his face is fond. There is none of the disgust or anger that Eggsy had imagined would be on their faces if they were ever to find out about his feelings.

“Only just,” Merlin says, voice warm.

Still feeling overwhelmed, Eggsy drops his hand to the bed pushes in an attempt to sit up. But the motion jostles his head and his vision swims again, his stomach rolling unpleasantly, and he groans.

“I hate to rush this along, but if you’re about to let me down easy, let’s get on with it. My head ain’t doing so well, and I don’t think I’m gonna stay awake much longer.”

Eggsy watches as they share a look across his bed and then Merlin is leaning closer, tangling their fingers together once more.

“We’re here to say nothing of the sort,” Harry says. His thumb gently rubs circles into Eggsy’s knuckles, and Eggsy’s heart starts beating a tattoo in his chest. “Darling boy, we’re here because the two of us have had feelings for you for quite some time now. And between your unexpected confession and the all too troublesome poisoning, we wanted to be sure that you knew what those feelings were.”

Eggsy opens his mouth to ask what exactly those feelings are when Merlin squeezes his hand. “What Harry is trying to say is that we’re gone on you too lad, and we’d be humbled if you’d join us.”

“Like a threesome?” He tries to say it lightly, like that would be enough, but his head is starting to hurt and Eggsy’s sure it comes off far more disappointed than he intends.

Harry is quick to clarify, but his tone is guarded when he says “Like a triad, an equal partner in our relationship. That is, if a relationship is something you’re looking for.”

The words make his heart skip a beat, and for a moment he’s convinced that this must be a hallucination, a fever dream brought on by whatever he was darted with. But then Merlin reaches up to brush some of the hair from his forehead, and he’s certain that even at his most delirious he couldn’t dream up the soft caress of Merlin’s fingertips trailing down the side of his face.

Eggsy takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly as he closes his eyes. A smile blooms across his face.

“Hell yes. I want all of it. I hope the two of you know what you’re in for once I’m out of this damn bed.” The last words are said in a whisper as he falls back asleep, hands held tight and warmth settling deep in his chest.

[theysentushope-blog]

But For The Fall (Cassian x Reader) [Part Six]

A/N: Here it is! This is the second-to-last chapter, and I think it was my favorite to write. Hope you enjoy!

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five

Time blurred for Y/N as the fever raged through her. She remembered bits and pieces, mostly Cassian as he tended to her, trying anything he could to slow the infection and lower the fever. Finally, she fell into a fitful sleep as her fever lowered enough to allow her to rest. When she awoke a few hours later, she still felt lethargic and groggy, but was aware enough to register Cassian hunched over next to her, bundled up under a jacket and several blankets.

“Andor…” Y/N whispered, and the man was immediately alert, leaning over and testing her temperature with his hand.

“You’re still running a fever.” He said.

“You look exhausted.” Y/N replied, and Cassian waved her off. “How long have I been out?”

“The better part of a day.” Cassian replied. “Jyn will have known that something is wrong by now. It shouldn’t be too much longer before they come looking for us.”

“At least they’ll find you.” Y/N replied, turning away from Cassian’s gaze.

“Hey, do not talk like that.” Cassian said fiercely, grabbing Y/N’s hand. “We both know you are far too stubborn to die on an icy hellhole of a planet, stabbed in the shoulder by your own ship.”

Y/N chuckled weakly at that, squeezing Cassian’s hand as a coughing fit wracked her body. Once it passed she leaned back onto the pillow underneath her head, refusing to let go of Cassian.

“You’re a good man, Cassian.”

“That’s the first time you haven’t called me Andor.”

“Well, I guess I’m getting weak on my deathbed.”

“You’re not dying, Y/N. I fully expect you to annoy me for many years to come.”

“What makes you so sure I’m going to stick around if we do make it out of here?”

“Because you’re a rebel, even if you don’t want to admit it. You are one of us.” Cassian replied.

“You sure are confident, Cassian Andor.”

“I do not have faith in many things, Y/N, but I have faith in you.”

Y/N would later blame the fever, but she couldn’t resist the urge to pull the hand she had been holding up to her lips, giving it a gentle kiss before pulling it against her chest as she faded into unconsciousness once again.

The next thing Y/N remembered was the sound of the emergency hatch opening, and unfamiliar voices filling the ship.

“Baze, Chirrut!” Cassian called out. “We’re over here.”

“We were on our way back to Yavin when Jyn sent us the message and had us reroute to come and find you.” One of the voices greeted, though Y/N couldn’t find the strength to open her eyes to see who it was.

“This one is injured.” Another, gruffer, voice said, closer to her.

“She has an infection in her blood.” Cassian replied. “We have to get her back to Yavin.”

Y/N felt two large arms slip underneath her, and she groaned in pain as someone lifted her off of the floor.

“It’s okay, Y/N.” Cassian soothed, pushing her hair back from her face. “We’re going home, you’re going to be fine.”

“Cass…” Y/N managed weakly, trying her hardest to reach out for him but failing.

“I’m here, Y/N. Everything is going to be alright. Just rest. Be careful with her, Baze.”

Time blurred for her once again as they exited the remains of her ship, followed by flashes of traveling home. Time moved even slower in the bacta tank, though she could occasionally make out familiar shapes outside of the tank. Han. Jyn. Cassian. Even Chewie stood guard at one point, her rebel friends never leaving her alone. Eventually, they pulled her out of the bacta tank and put her in a regular bed, though for the most part they kept her sedated. As they slowly weaned her off of the meds, she began to register her surroundings again, including her regular stream of visitors. However many days later, she finally felt able to open her eyes and looked over to see Han sitting in the chair next to her bed.

“Hey Solo.” Y/N greeted, smiling weakly as Han looked over at her.

“Hey kid.” Han replied, leaning toward her. “You gave us quite the scare.”

“Well, you know me, I always had a flair for the dramatic.”

“That you did.” Han replied.

“How long was I out?”

“Two weeks.”

“Kriff.” Y/N groaned. “My ship?”

“We had to leave her behind, I’m sorry Y/N.”

“I figured as much. She was a good ship.”

“That she was. Almost a match for the Falcon.”

“I would have had you on the Kessel Run if you hadn’t played dirty.”

“You are obviously still delirious with fever.” Han replied, and Y/N wished she had the strength to throw something at her old friend.

“Are you antagonizing the patient?” A new voice asked, and Y/N looked up to see Princess Leia standing in the doorway.

“I am simply welcoming my friend back to the land of the living.” Han replied, standing to greet the princess.

“And we are glad that she is back.” Leia replied, coming to stand on the other side of the bed. “I’m grateful to see that you’re recovering, Y/N.”

“Glad to be back, Your Highness.”

“You almost died for the rebellion, I’m fairly sure you can call me Leia.”

“Okay, Leia.” Y/N replied.

“Cassian will be glad to know that you’re awake. He’s been a constant visitor to the medical bay these past two weeks.”

“Was he okay?” Y/N asked, worry creeping into her voice.

“He’s fine. Worried about you, but fine.” Leia replied, placing a hand on Y/N’s uninjured shoulder. “I want to thank you for what you did. Because of you, we will soon have a new base to call home.”

“Let me guess, you’re going with the frozen wasteland that almost killed me?”

Leia chuckled and shook her head, but before she could reply a new body appeared in the doorway, panting hard as if he had run here from wherever he had been.

“Y/N…” Cassian greeted, and Leia squeezed Y/N’s shoulder before locking eyes with Han.

“We’ll leave you alone. I hope to see you back on your feet soon, Y/N.” Leia said.

“Thank you, Leia. Han.” Y/N replied, watching as they slipped past Cassian, who was still frozen in the doorway.

“Well, are you just going to stand there or are you going to help me sit up?” Y/N asked, which seemed to spur Cassian into action. He moved into the room and fiddle with the controls of the bed until she was sitting more comfortably.

“I am glad you are awake.” Cassian said once she had settled into her new position.

“I’m glad to be awake.” Y/N replied, staring at her hands as she struggled to find the words she wanted to say. Finally, she sighed and looked up at Cassian, who was watching her curiously.

“I don’t say this often, so...thank you, for everything. I owe you one, Andor.”

“And we’re back to Andor?” Cassian asked, leaning against the bed and sending her a smirk.

“Fine, Cassian. Thank you, Cassian.” Y/N said, freezing when Cassian’s hand came up to push the hair away from her face, gently running his fingers down her cheeks.

“You are welcome, Y/N.” Cassian replied, leaning in and placing a soft kiss on her cheek.

“That...uh…”

“I’ll see you later, Y/L/N.” Cassian interrupted, stepping back and walking out of the room with a wave.

“You still owe me a ship, Andor!” Y/N called out once she recovered from her shock. She didn’t miss Cassian’s laugh that echoed down the hall.

[scriptmedic]

Disaster Medicine--Brittany’s Personal Experience

Hey there everybuddy! Aunt Scripty here. Everyone’s favorite Brittany (of previous masterpost fame) is back on the block with a story from working in an ER during a flood!

Keep in mind reading this story that Brittany was a medical student when these events took place, and names have been changed to protect the guilty (I almost just typed “donkey” there; I’m tired. But protect the donkey!!)

Also, this post confirmed a suspicion I’ve had about Brittany for a while.... she doesn’t actually have a tumblr. THat’s why I keep not knowing what her tumblr handle is and scouring Medblrs looking, unsuccessfully, for her.

Clever, Brittany. Very clever.

And now, on to the post!

Hey y’all!  Brittany, back again.  I really do need to bite the bullet and get myself a Tumblr one of these days.  I wanted to do a quick post on something that’s more a personal experience than a medical overview this time, so we’ll see how it goes.  It’s not so much general writing advice as what I saw, but I figure at least parts of it should be universally applicable to a character in a disaster.  Feel free to steal whatever suits your fancy!

Earlier this year, I worked in the ER during a substantial flood that put about ¾ of the city underwater—the kind of thing that made national news, with people getting rescued off of rooftops, the National Guard swooping in, all of that.  I don’t have enough experience to speak to the entire disaster response, but the healthcare side of it was fascinating, so I wanted to write a little bit of that.

Our particular flood was so bad because it was a steady, heavy downpour that lasted for more than a week, rather than one really bad flash flood scenario.  That meant that it started off subtly enough.  That first morning, I kept getting flood warnings on my phone that pushed back later and later, and on my way in to work I saw a puddle on the way to my car, thought it was small enough I’d just splash through it… and before I knew it, I was knee deep, and not even halfway through.  After a quick trip back inside to change scrubs and switch shoes, I headed in in time to start the afternoon shift.

The ER that day was interesting; fewer people came because of the weather, but then, fewer nurses were able to make it in because they were dealing with closed roads and flooded houses. Weirdly, though, you still kind of feel distanced from everything there—no one was coming in for flood-related injuries, so it felt like the flooding got put on hold. Finished up around 10 PM, stepped outside, saw that it was STILL raining, and when I got home, my parking lot was flooded.

The next day was when it really started to hit that we were in trouble.  My hospital already had a minor nursing shortage, and as the weather got worse, there was a risk of them leaving for home, and being unable to come back.  So, right at their shift change, when maximum staff would be present, the hospital called a “Code Grey,” which was where certain personnel (ie nurses) had to stay at the hospital until further notice due to weather.  It was a problem for a lot of them because they had kids at home or in daycare, not to mention it’s not as if their own homes were immune from flooding.  Things settled into a strict structure for them; nurses who were absolutely sure they could make it home and back were allowed to leave briefly to grab an overnight bag and arrange things for their kids, and everyone was put on a regimented schedule of shifts and breaks with mandatory sleep times in the hospital’s auditorium.  “Non-vital” staff, on the other hand, was sent home and told not to come back until things improved.  (Petitions to count the hospital’s coffee shop as ‘vital’ were shot down.)

And from there, we basically had to roll up our sleeves and deal with what came to us.  We started to get more flood-related injuries that second night, with a lot of people who had slipped and fallen in the water, breaking bones/hitting their heads, hypothermia from staying in cold water, car accidents from the driving conditions, that kind of thing. I guess in movies or whatever, it’s always direct drowning, but it’s the indirect injuries that are actually worse/more likely from what I can tell. Even more notably, there was the delay in getting run-of-the-mill patients to us. One guy had your standard chest pain, but the ambulance got stranded in the floodwater—not drowning, just couldn’t move—and it was two hours before they could get a chopper to him and pull him out to the hospital.

I wasn’t sure if I could make it home and back that night, and even though I’m a student and could be excused, I didn’t want to.  It sounds selfish to say but, well, it was great learning for me.  Plus I wanted to help.  I stayed in one of the resident call rooms (think a teeny tiny hotel room for residents who are at the hospital for 24 hours; if their patients are stable at night, they go there to nap), and from there the days start to blur.  The major events I recall include:

—A major hospital near us closed its ER.  It was surrounded by water on three sides, with their ER about to go under.  They started evacuating all their critical patients to us in anticipation of things going south.  I don’t think they actually flooded, but to be safe, they had most of their patients moved to us, plus we were hit by more ER patients because there were fewer places for them to go.

—The National Guard moved in to help.  A friend of mine actually got some really cool pictures of the Blackhawks landing at our hospital, but the main result for us was they were ferrying in patients with a lot less thorough handoffs.  Normally, we get paramedics that will tell us about the patient, what field medicine’s been done, a list of conditions/medications the patient has, and so on.  It’s not until those are all missing and you’re staring at a delirious, blank slate patient that you realize how nice you had it.  And, hey, they were doing what they had to to make sure everyone got to safety, I’m not blaming them, but it did make our job more difficult.

—As time passed, we started to get more sequelae of the flood as well.  Someone who had cut their leg as they walked through dirty flood water on the first day, and came in four days later with a suspected infection.  A lot of dialysis patients who couldn’t get to dialysis and had their electrolytes all out of whack.  Patients whose seizure or heart failure meds had all gotten wet and/or been lost in the water and were now suffering from the lack of them, that kind of thing.

As things eased up a little and I hit a couple of scheduled days off, I decided to volunteer at the shelters as well, where there were medical facilities set up, and that’s a whole other ballgame.  First of all, I should say that the people who figured the whole thing out were awesome.  I think a couple residents who were supposed to be on vacation started the whole thing, basically roping off a couple of side rooms for a makeshift clinic in each of the major Red Cross shelters.  In those first few days, while national medical disaster teams all geared up, it was the local doctors who kept things running, and the response was surprisingly efficient/informal.  They basically all connected through social media, set up shifts, and asked for volunteers.  I know some doctors who didn’t go home for days because they were swinging between the hospital and shelters, but a lot were also outpatient doctors who, with their clinics closed, were able to devote a lot of time to the shelters.

And, as much as the doctors did, the other personnel there did just as much.  We had two teams of paramedics standing by to transport any critical patients to the hospital, pharmacists who were getting in touch with all the local pharmacies to get any meds we might need, nurses on triage, and so on.

About the same time as the rain stopped, the state/national disaster teams arrived—the thing about a flood is it’s hard to get into the area if you’re outside of it.  They definitely provided a lot more manpower, which everyone was very grateful for, but kept a very close working relationship with the local people.  The locals all knew the hospitals, knew which pharmacies were still open, and what the patient population looked like.  The two of them working together was absolutely critical; no heroic swooping in from the outside and taking over, it was a huge joint effort.

And… that’s pretty much it.  As always, I’m up for answering any questions!

(Also, re-reading this, I worry that it’s going to sound like I’m some hero or martyr or something.  No.  I was in a bad place at a bad time.  I’d like to think I responded well, but I was in no way critical to the response.  The actual doctors, nurses, techs, and paramedics—not to mention the search-and-rescue workers—were vital and amazing, but I was more an observer than anything else.)

And here’s your favoritest Aunty again! I hope this post was helpful and useful for all of you about what an ER might look like during a disaster.

I left the last paragraph in to show you all something interesting (I hope Brittany doesn’t mind). Med humans are less likely to give credit for good things happening than we are to take credit, at least in some situations. We often both blame the patient “I can’t get this IV, he’s got terrible veins”) and credit them (”I literally do not know how this guy pulled through”).

Take some credit, Brittany. “All hands on deck” means everyone from environmental to nurse’s aides to pharmacy to, yes, even students, pitching in, doing what they can, and Making Shit Run during the disaster.

xoxo, Aunt Scripty

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